#sorry . table stickball

[aquared]

okay i am really brain-latched to this au i really do need to give it a proper name

[badlydrawndoc-scratch]

don't really have time or energy to draw this right now so. you're getting it in writing instead

It's not your birthday. At best, you would call it a day that someone who was you once was familiar with.

One that he didn't like either. Sure, you'd pretend to be him for a bit, accept some birthday wishes for him. But it wasn't your birthday. Not to you, at least. You think they all understand, to a point. Dirk does, at least.

That was why you weren't prepared to humour this conversation.

TG: this is hal isnt it

TG: not mad jst

TG: how do i say this?

TT: It seems there's a fairly large chance you're accusing me of not being myself, based off of a totally bullshit statistic.

TT: Care to elaborate?

TG: if u want me to tell u happy birthday 2 i can lmao

TG: dont hafta be weird about impersonatin dirk for that!!!

TT: I...

TT: Sorry. Holdon.

TT: There we go.

TT: As I was about to say, it's not technically my birthday. It's Dirk's. I wasn't even created today.

TT: I'll relay your well-wishes to him whenever he returns. Don't need to ask me about it.

TG: hmm nah i think i like havin' a hold of u for this

TG: if ur like

TG: not REALLY him

TG: but have his memories and shit

TG: todays ur day too

TG: so happy b-day! im not takin' that back either!

TT: ...

TT: I should go.

TT: Dirk probably won't like me monopolizing his account, even if he isn't here.

TT: Thanks, I guess.

You log off without another word, back in your sort-of space. Maybe you'll check in with Jane in a bit. Maybe you'll go through the internet for no apparent reason.

You can't say that that made you feel human. Or that it made you feel better, but... it made you think. It made you feel something. That was a start, right?

---

A firm series of slaps to the back of the cue-ball/head drags you out of your reverie. It's Itchy, hand poised to continue slapping you if you don't acknowledge him.

"Apologies. I must have became lost in thought," you begin, "as tends to happen with the omniscient. That said, there are better ways to get my attention."

Itchy shrugs and tells you he doesn't give a shit. He was just the fastest. The Felt needs you for somethin'. Somethin' he can't tell you about.

"Vague and somewhat sarcastic as always, Itchy. Just get to the point."

He just tells you you're no fun, before half dragging you out of one of your many studies. The whole manor is technically your study. But especially this one.

Itchy only bothers to take you about halfway, to where Crowbar is standing and waiting. He hardly says goodbye before dashing off to who-knows-where, probably to cause trouble somewhere else.

You pretend you don't know what's being hidden from you. You could figure out, and in the back of your mind you have figured out. But surprise is an emotion you like trying to fake.

Sometimes you wish you weren't faking it.

Crowbar walks up to you, with some off-handed comment about how he didn't expect Itchy to get you there on time. Or at all. He can never tell. Nonetheless, he's slightly more gentle when he offers you his hand, like he's not about to effectively drag you across an entire manor.

You don't remember the last time you've had actual contact with someone in a way that wasn't violent. You're not sure it's ever happened, honestly. (In reality, you know that isn't true. You were an indigoblood once, you recall. It's not as clear as the other memories, though.)

Crowbar's hand is felted, unsurprisingly, almost like a pool table. Again. Unsurprising. It's never surprising, but you commit the texture to memory anyway, all but ignoring what he's actually talking about. Something about a celebration.

He says they got the table stickball table fixed, and your attention is drawn again.

"Just call it a pool table."

He says he doesn't feel like it. It's a ball you hit with a stick on a table. Ain't a pool in sight. You agree, silently. The Alternian names for things were as foreign as they were ingrained; you knew them as much as you didn't know them.

Eventually, you're led into what you believe is the living room, and Crowbar lets go of your hand. You don't immediately adjust to the lack of feeling in your hand, almost like you were... severely touch-starved, actually, or something.

That's ridiculous, of course. You aren't technically alive, even if you're not as "soon to die" as you once were.

Someone, you think it could be Quarters, explains that all the Felt knows it isn't technically your birthday, and that it's only such by a few tangents. (You mentally add on that you weren't even created today).

But, Quarters adds, you've been stuck in a rut of sorts for a while. It wasn't really anyone's idea, he says. But it was agreed that it might get you feeling better for a while.

And, for once, you feel surprise. You never thought that they actually cared. Or even noticed. You're just their boss, of course. You're hardly even there.

(You have spent the past few months only leaving the Manor when you absolutely have to.)

You can't say it makes you feel alive. Or better, really. But it made you think. It made you feel something.

And, as you're dragged to play table stickball with Trace and Sawbuck, you decide that's a start.

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 13)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Billy Russo x Reader Word Count: 2663 Warnings: fluff, light angst, brief mention of smut

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: I’m still sorry... or am I? 😂

PART 12 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Sunlight filters in through the part of the window not blocked by opaque curtains, the golden glow reaches Billy’s eyes making him throw an arm up to block out the brightness. He’s careful of his movements, not to disturb you as you sleep against him.

He had a good time last night bowling and meeting all your friends but when you accepted his offer to come back to his place that was when the real fun began. In the comfort of his apartment you sat curled against him on his couch, feeling warmth spread through your body from the amber colored drink in your hand, though Billy was more intoxicating.

You quickly found your way into his bed, tangled together as your hands and lips explored every part of each other until you reached soaring heights of passion and pleasure. Billy was an incredible lover and you hadn’t thought that simply because he had broken your dry spell. He knew how to please and did so generously. You didn’t intend on staying over but truthfully your legs felt like jelly afterwards you couldn’t do anything but stay beside him, falling asleep in his arms.

Billy puts his arm down, shifting just a little so he could face away from the sunlight, the slight movement unintentionally waking you. He felt bad, watching as your heavy lids blinked themselves open a few times before they focused on his beautiful smile.

“Sorry, go back to sleep babe,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

A smile pulled at your lips as you felt the soft lingering touch of his lips. “S’okay, I want to stay awake.”

Billy smiled at the soft noises you made as you took in a stiff inhale of breath, your body tensing up as you turned away from him, bringing your hand to cover your mouth as you yawned. The feel of morning breath was heavy on your tongue so you decided to go to the bathroom, hoping there would be mouthwash you could freshen up with.

Goosebumps prickled at your skin when you pulled off the sheets, sitting up as you scanned the floor for your clothes that had been scattered around the room amidst the throes of passion. Billy’s eyes roamed your bare skin, memories of last night bring warmth to his body, feeling himself ache for you again the longer he stared.

You spotted your sweater, pushing yourself up from the low platform bed to grab the crumbled fabric from the floor, stretching it over your skin. Beside it was your pants though you picked up your lacy bottoms and stepped into them before leaving his room to find the bathroom.

Billy leaned back against the arm he folded under his head, not feeling like getting up to find his phone wherever he last left it. He didn’t need to distract himself anyway since you walked back in, slightly shivering as your bare feet walked along the cold floors.

“C’mere,” he said, pulling back the blanket.

As you began to get back in bed your movements were halted by “nuh uh” as Billy shook his head. “No clothes in bed, it’s the rules.” He smirked, sitting up towards the edge of the bed.

A giggle escaped your lips as you moved towards Billy’s side of the bed, standing in front of him. His hands went under your sweater, holding you firmly by your waist.

“Those are the rules, huh?” You repeated, grinning coyly as you let your hands glide up his arms, caressing his smooth skin until your fingers met a raised ridge along his left shoulder.

Your brows furrowed with concern as you stared at another scar on his chest, having missed both in the dimmed lighting last night. They were clearly old but by the way Billy’s jaw tensed you suspected they weren’t fully healed.

His dark gaze wandered as he focused on something behind you, his trance dissolving from the sound of your sweet voice saying his name.

“There was… this guy, Arthur. He volunteered at the Ray of Hope group home I was in. We all thought he was so cool, playin’ stickball and hoops with us. I was ten or eleven at the time.” Billy clenched his jaw, clearing his throat of the lump that formed there.

His hands dropped into his lap and he began wringing them. “When a grown man tells you that you’re pretty you know nothing good is coming. Let’s just say I wasn’t interested in the kind of games that he had in mind. I went after him with the stickball bat, caught him a few times before he broke my arm… ripped my rotator cuff in three places.”

You had been listening quietly as Billy spoke, not realizing you were holding your breath until his hand cupped your cheek and you let it out shakily. His story wasn’t new– no, unfortunately you had heard about this situation too many times but despite being familiar with this in your line of work Billy’s story really affected you.

No matter who the person or what their story is, you care deeply about all the cases you have from Metro-General but Billy was different. You really liked him and hearing him talk about the terrible memories from his past reminded you about Pietro and what could have happened if someone had been there to help. Growing up in the system is hard enough as it is, but if the caretakers aren’t doing their job to protect these children…

Sighing, your lips flattened into a line of frustration. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Billy.”

“Hey… don’t, okay?” His hands wrapped around your waist as he looked up to meet your sympathetic eyes. “Everyone’s got a story, this one’s mine.”

His lips stretched across his face into something that wasn’t quite a smile but not a frown either. You knew it wasn’t easy to share, something he clearly can’t forget though you appreciated his openness, feeling closer because of it.

Leaning down you cupped Billy’s cheeks, feeling his scruff scratch at your palms as you placed a gentle kiss to his lips. You felt him smile against you as he kissed back, his hands grabbing the hem of your sweater and breaking the kiss for him to pull it over your head.

Billy kissed your exposed skin, softly, slowly as he laid you down on the bed. His touch was like heaven, setting fire to your soul, and together you climbed higher and higher until you reached the apex of pleasure a few more times over.

You got home late in the afternoon knowing you had a novel’s worth of texts to return from your friends, mainly the girls wanting to know all the details. Bucky’s was the only text that you replied to right away. He hoped you would get home safe, and behind your shared wall he let out a sigh of relief, reading your message that you did, even if it meant you were only getting home now.

Bucky shuffled reluctantly to his door, wondering why there’s a knock. Looking through the peephole, he can’t help but let a smile stretch over his face.

“Hey neighbor!” you said, with a beaming smile.

He hadn’t seen you in a few days, throwing himself deep into his work, thankful for the distraction. “Hey Y/N.” Bucky takes note of what you’re wearing, a comfy hoodie and oversized polar bear pajama pants. You always had the cutest pajamas.

“You busy? I was gonna watch a movie and order a bunch of food since my period came and all I want to do is eat. Sorry was that TMI?” you asked, seeing his expression change in a multitude of ways.

He let out a slightly uncomfortable laugh. “Where’s Billy?”

“Working.”

Bucky wasn’t happy with that answer, making him feel like you were settling for plans with him since Billy was busy. He was about to decline, making up a lie about anything just so he didn’t have to feel bad about himself before you continued.

“But I’d rather hang with you anyway. Not that Billy would care about my period like that but, I don’t know, we’re not at that point yet, you know? Like I feel like I can always be myself around you.”

His blank expression turned into a smile as Bucky nodded his head. “Yeah, yeah I get that. I feel the same about you.”

Bucky felt a weird sensation in his stomach as he stood there smiling at you, breaking out of his trance as you spoke again.

“Okay so hurry up and come over. I don’t know what I want to eat. I kinda want tacos, but also pizza. And if you have cookies bring them over because I already ate the ones I had.”

It felt right, sitting beside you on the couch, stuffing your faces and laughing as you watched a movie. Bucky took it upon himself to grab the bottle of Advil from your bathroom, bringing over a full glass of water for you to take for your cramps.

“Thanks. You know, I know you hate relationships and stuff but you’d make a really good boyfriend.”

Bucky was frozen, the only sound he could hear was that of his heart drumming rapidly in his ear. “Y-you think so?” he croaked out, swallowing down the thick knot in his throat with a gulp of his drink.

You nodded, leaning forward to set the glass down on your table. “Why, you don’t?”

“No, that’s… That’s not it.” He turned away from you, silent and contemplative.

It wasn’t always like this. Bucky was a young boy that grew out of the idea that girls had cooties long before his friends did. It started with Olivia. They met in sixth grade, two nervous kids in a brand new school that happened to sit next to each other in homeroom.

Her eyes were like honey and Bucky was stuck, letting himself get lost in her beauty. He memorized the freckles speckled across the nose and cheeks of her sandy brown skin like a galaxy of stars, each one more dazzling than the last. Her hair was polished bronze packed in tight corkscrews that Bucky loved brushing aside so he could kiss her; every morning before they got to class, during lunch where he neglected his food in favor of her lips, and after school when they parted.

Bucky loved her as much as a young man could love a young woman, his first love, the girl he thought he would have everything with. He was a fool to think he could have it all, blinded by his utter devotion to Olivia before he realized his relationship was more one-sided than he realized.

They spent seven years together and not once did Olivia tell him she wasn’t planning their future the same way Bucky was. Olivia meant everything to him and when she was accepted to college on the West Coast Bucky immediately started looking into transferring to a school out there. It didn’t matter that their music program wasn’t as accredited, he was willing to do anything to make what he and Olivia had last.

What Bucky didn’t know was that Olivia didn’t feel the same. Not anymore. She fell out of love with him and was hoping to use graduation as a clean break. She broke his heart and Bucky was devastated.

He didn’t understand how she could stop loving him just like that. How it was so easy for her to let go of all their history; wondering what the turning point was in their relationship and why she didn’t tell him. His trust was broken. She strung him along for months, years maybe? It wasn’t just the fact that they broke up, she had moved on. Olivia was with someone new and every day Bucky asked himself why he wasn’t worthy of love.

He shut down, losing himself in composition, letting the melody of strife carry him through the sea of heartache. It was decided then, by a boy who was barely a man, to take what he needs and never be vulnerable again. It was easy.

It was easy.

Over the past few months everything has changed. There was a moment Bucky was ready to abandon his beliefs. He had grown up, matured; he knows his boundaries and knows there is so much more of himself to give to someone.

Bucky thought that someone could be you. It was a silly idea. You were just friends. But he was friends with Olivia first too. He felt the same ease as you did with him, enjoying spending time with you even if you did nothing. He thought there might have been a chance, somehow for him to break free of the mold he set upon his life and ask you out but someone beat him to it.

You and Billy had been seeing more and more of each other. He remembers that feeling from so long ago, desperate to spend every waking moment with the person that sent your heart a-flutter. Bucky understood when you cancelled plans with him, for the times Billy was able to make a last minute date after work arrangements changed. He understood, even if he didn’t like it. He couldn’t object even though he wanted to. You were happy and Bucky felt worse the more he thought about even thinking of taking that away from you.

He changed the subject, letting the movie resume but the thoughts never left his mind.

For the first time in a very long time Bucky is lonely. While the world is out overspending on chocolates and roses, fancy dinners and champagne Bucky lays in bed, trying to distract himself with a movie. He’s usually alone on Valentine’s Day, by choice. It’s too complicated to sleep with one of his regulars, not wanting to get their hopes up by any means on the day that celebrates love.

Bucky exhaled a heavy breath, upset with himself for being unable to keep his mind off everything. His heart is a dilapidated shack lost in a desolate wasteland. Abandoned after so many years, it’s dust covered, with a haze of cobwebs clouding over the part of himself that used to thrum with life.

And suddenly the walls become unsteady. His heart begins to crumble at the sound coming from the other side of the wall. It’s you, with unmistakable cries of pleasure, in a duet of passion with Billy.

Bucky shudders, feeling uncomfortable for being able to hear something that should be so intimate. It’s payback perhaps, a taste of his own medicine for all the times he’s disturbed you in the same way.

His mind runs wild against his will, imagining you in bed as the soundtrack of your lovemaking permeates the thin walls. It’s bittersweet poison to his ears.

Bucky throws the blankets off him, nearly tripping over the boots he haphazardly toed off earlier as he rushes towards his desk. He grabs his headphones to block out the sounds, a painful reminder of what could never be.

He grabs his phone, scrolling through his contact list. So many names and yet he feels nothing for them. He stops at your name, his chest hitching with agony. He wants what you have. To love fully, and give himself completely to someone. To renovate all the broken pieces inside of himself.

His fingers tap away and Bucky refuses to stop himself of their doing. He’s scared but excited, knowing the threat of getting hurt again is very real but he’s had enough of telling himself that the way he’s been living is what he’s really wanted.

With his own melodies playing in his ear Bucky is ignorant of the way you cry out Billy’s name. He is blissfully ignorant, opening the Tinder app he’s just downloaded, creating a profile because he’s finally ready to give dating a real shot.

PART 14

[blaperile]

Hiveswap Episode 1 Reaction Part 22: Xefros’s Hallway + Xefros’s Arena Stickball room

Let's exit Xefros's room.

Woah, he's got a LOT of pictures hanging on his walls! A bunch of himself, with his Lusus and/or with Dammek. Even a picture of what appears to be himself playing arena stickball!

Heh, Dammek would probably living in Terezi's forest, if he really wants to be somewhere with more trees.

Confirmation that Dammek and Xefros are moirails! :D

Wait, they ACTUALLY use "Clover" to describe the ball with number 4? And ha, he was LUCKY. I totally see what they did there.

Anyway, as far as I know (or Google tells me) "clover" is not an actual word used in human culture for that ball, so do they really use The Felt names for all the balls?

Those are some REALLY adorable pictures with his sloth-like Lusus. :3

Come to think of it, what with all these descriptions of Dammek seemingly determining a pretty big part of Xefros's life, it's kind of like how Equius was so bossy with Nepeta and told her what to do.

Maybe it's kind of a standard thing with moirails, maybe especially when one of the two is of a higher caste?

And maybe then Xefros's role is making sure Dammek doesn't go to far with his rebellious actions and doesn't get himself killed doing it? Like, he's Dammek's voice of reason or something. D'aww. :)

RUMPUS ROOM.

Umm. Sorry, but I can only think of the FRUITY RUMPUS ASSHOLE FACTORY right now. xD

Let's go in...

:O

It's Xefros's mancave! So many cool attributes in there... I'm surprised he's even capable of affording them!

TEAM PENANT ==> "Sport of Lords", hehehehe, sneaky. ;)

MIC && TEAM PENANT ==> Oh man, "snowglobes" refers to the 8-ball. Snowglobe. Snowman. Goddammit. xD

And eeeesh, the 8-ball detonates and explodes after a while, kind of like how Snowman was pretty much a bomb for the entire universe if she got killed.

RECESSED TABLETOP ARENA STICKBALL > PLAY ==> Holy shit, I hadn't realized yet how it kind of looks like a pool table, with all its pockets! Daaaaaang.

CUEBAT && BENT SPOON ==> Niiiice, we can take it with us as a weapon! Kind of like Gamzee's juggling clubs. I assume these will definitely come in handy, considering his telekinesis powers aren't that strong.

I wonder if Trolls even know flashlights, or if he's going to think Joey's got a cuebat herself. xD

XULTAN MATZOS POSTER ==> Huh, Xultan Matzos... abundantChewtoys has a good point, what if this guy is Xefros's Ancestor? :O

There doesn't seem to be that much difference between their appearances after all. They've got the same interest, and they're also in conflict with the Heiress, hmmmmmm!

XULTAN MATZOS POSTER && TELEKINESIS ==> Like illegal parts of history he's not supposed to think about... is he referring to The Handmaid? After all, she was an incredibly powerful rustblood as well.

PRO ARENA STICKBALL LEAGUE CREST ==> All balls have different sizes and have their own powers... holy shit, there's pretty much no way those powers aren't inspired by The Felt's powers, right? I imagine that the 4-ball is the smallest, and the 15-ball is the biggest then, hahahaha.

SPLAYSAC > LOOK ==> Oooh, so it's filled with Sopor Slime! :O

I think we've seen other stuff in the Trolls' hives in Homestuck that had these green circles on them, but I never even thought about the fact that it could imply they were filled with Sopor Slime!

That's interesting, so they use it for more than just sleep. Or uh, eating, like Gamzee. :P

SPORTS VAULT && TELEKINESIS ==> Haha, nice, a minigame to open the vault! Kind of like how Joey had to play a Snake minigame earlier.

I guess we'll need to do this later to wake up Xefros's Lusus?

[need-a-fugue]

In the Beginning - Chapter 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Summary: He knew how to hide, how to either fit in seamlessly with his surroundings or lean back into the shadows to escape detection. He knew how to get around without money or supplies. He knew how to get any supplies he may need. He knew how to evade and how to disappear. What he didn’t know – from the moment he pulled Captain America’s body from the Potomac – was what the hell he was going to do now.

Warning(s): some angst, some emotional and mental turmoil… nothing big

A/N: This is the first story in a series I’ve been working on for awhile (Supernova), an AU wherein Bucky Barnes gets the girl, and a chance at a new life.

Steve always hated going to the doctor. Always. They very rarely seemed to help him when he was a kid, instead issuing out lame advice like, stay indoors and don’t play so rough. And all too often his mother heeded their words, locking him away in the apartment to watch all the other kids play stickball in the alley. But did that keep him from getting sick? Nooo. And when an asthma attack happened during his quarantine, what advice did the doctors give him? Get out more. Get some fresh air. The apartment’s probably too dusty.

From a very young age, Steve Rogers was taught that doctors are only out to make your life miserable.

Then there were the doctors who relentlessly poked and prodded him post-serum, each one eager to find something – perhaps a sickness that the serum couldn’t fix or prevent, maybe a side effect that just took time to show itself. Sometimes doctors would enter the room and just stare at him, as though he were a fascinating marvel in a circus sideshow.

“Well, you kinda are,” Tessa tells him as she snaps on a pair of latex gloves.

He gives her a disappointed, almost motherly look. “I am not a specimen,” he tells her, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“You are a medical miracle. That serum is one of the greatest inventions of the 20th century… of any century.”

“But the serum isn’t me.”

“Sit,” she tells him as she approaches. He goes from leaning up against the exam table to reluctantly sitting atop it, the paper crinkling beneath him. “I know it isn’t you,” she says, taking hold of his left arm and inspecting the faded bruises. “But it’s a pretty damn big part of you. And like it or not, it’s the part that’s most visible. Especially to doctors.”

“I just don’t like being treated like a science experiment,” he sulks.

“How’s the range of motion?” she asks, her fingers gently probing along his shoulder. He lifts his arm above his head and rotates it in a large arc to show. “Good.” She steps back and snaps off the gloves, leans against the wall opposite him. “You get how amazing this is, right? You dislocated your shoulder two days ago, and now it’s basically healed.”

“Yeah, I know. But – ”

“Would you blame someone for staring at a person who could fly? Or who could… freeze things just by touching them?” He cocks his head at her, a little confused. “Yeah, it’s a thing. I had a friend who could do it.”

“Fly or freeze things?”

“Freeze things.”

“Really?”

“Ah,” she starts, waggling her finger at him. “You see? It’s fascinating. Out of the ordinary. Amazing! Why wouldn’t people want to see that?”

He hops down off of the exam table and grabs his shirt from the chair off to the side. “Out of curiosity, if you’re so comfortable with people ogling… enhanced individuals, why are you hiding who you are?” He raises a brow at her, quirks his head.

“That’s not the point,” she replies, smile fading. “And for the record, you signed up for this. You agreed to take the serum. You allowed them to dub you Captain America. You went on a freaking USO tour.”

“Tessa… I’m just trying to explain to you why I don’t like doctors.”

“But I’m a doctor,” she whines.

“You’re my friend.” He pulls the T-shirt back on over his head and looks her square in the eye. “And that’s mostly because you were able to see past the amazing and just see me.”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “I am pretty great.”

“Definitely,” he says with a laugh. “Now can I be cleared for duty?”

“Yeah, of course,” she says reaching around him and grabbing a tablet off the desk. She taps a few times, swipes all the way down without actually reading the form on the screen, and scrawls a messy signature with her index finger. “But, you can’t leave yet.”

“What? Why not?”

She tosses the tablet onto the chair beside them and turns to peek through the closed blinds on the window. “Because as soon as you walk out of here, Claire is going to come in and lay a million problems on me.”

He lets out a small chuckle. “Welcome to heading up your own team.”

“Ugh,” she breathes out dramatically. “It’s not just that. I mean, it is. And I never said I wanted this either.”

Steve places his hand on her bicep and gives her a reassuring squeeze. “You’re a good doctor.”

“I’m barely even a clinician,” she interrupts.

“And we all trust you,” he continues, unfazed. “You should be the one running the tier 1 med team.”

“I think Tony just thinks that if I’m closer to the action I’ll decide to jump in.”

“He’d make you a hell of a suit.”

“I already have a suit. And I don’t wear it for a reason.” She sulks for a long moment, actually sticking out her bottom lip like a toddler. “I just want to do my research.”

“Didn’t Tony give you a whole staff for your lab?”

“He gave me Max and four interns. And Claire.”

“And that’s not enough?”

She stares down at the floor for a long moment, grinding her toe into the tile. It is enough. To make sure that the lab stays up and running. But she wants to be the one running it, and lately it feels like Max has been doing most of the day to day stuff, leaving her stuck on the outside looking in. “How’s your friend?” she asks, finally looking up at him.

“Changing the subject so soon?” he asks with a smile and a wink. She only glares in response. Steve leans back against the exam table and lets out a long sigh, his face turning more serious. “Bucky’s fine. Or as fine as he can be, I guess.”

“It’s been, what, six weeks?”

He nods. It’s been almost four months since the Triskelion fell, the entire event ending for Steve with his best friend turned cold blooded assassin dragging him from the Potomac. Bucky didn’t exactly disappear after that. He actually followed Steve for a little more than two months. Followed him upstate once he left DC, taking some time for a little R&R. Then he followed him back to New York when Steve gave into Tony’s pleas to join up with the Avengers full time. He even followed him up to Ontario when the ragtag group of superheroes went on a recon mission to find more about old Hydra bases. That was where Steve spotted him, when he casually stepped out from behind some trees as though he’d been waiting for him there all along.

That was six weeks ago. The crazy mission in Ontario, the bizarre conversation with a man who so looked like his friend yet was so obviously not him, at least not entirely. The decision to bring him home and help him rediscover who he actually is, or was. “Yeah, six weeks.”

“I guess he’s still just staying holed up in your place… acclimating?” Steve nods again, a sadness filling his eyes. “It’s kind of starting to cut into our time together.”

That brings a hint of a smile to his face. “Yeah, sorry we haven’t been able to have movie night in a while. Although it really seems like you’re the one who blew it off the last few times.”

Her hand flies to her chest, an expression of mock horror taking over her features. “Blew it off?! I was trapped here,” she says, flailing her arms to indicate the tight exam room. “Or in the lab.”

“You love to work,” he says, shaking his head and chuckling. “This place is your life.”

She merely shrugs. “Well you could’ve come to see me in the lab, brought me some of your mom’s chicken soup to keep me going. You used to do that sort of thing for me.”

“I’m sorry.” He takes a step closer and places his hand on her shoulder, gives her a firm squeeze and says with utter sincerity. “I promise I’ll make you some soup soon.”

“That’s all I ask.”

He chuckles again before saying, “Actually, I was thinking that maybe you could meet him.”

She glances up only to find that Steve has averted his gaze and is now nervously staring at the door in front of them. “Bucky? Sure. I wanted to meet him when he first came here. Or check him out at least. You did promise that you’d get him to the med floor and I’ve yet to see him.”

“Yeah, he hasn’t really been totally… stable.” He looks over and connects eyes with her. “He’s just… he’s figuring things out, I guess. Hydra did a lot to him.”

“Torture?”

He takes a few steps back and straightens himself in that way that indicates the beginning of a very serious talk. “I’m sure. And brainwashing… programming, he calls it. He’s not himself.”

“Steve, if you expect him to ever be the carefree kid you grew up with, you’re just gonna be disappointed.”

His shoulders slump rather dramatically and he gives a half-hearted shrug. “I know. But I want him to be… I don’t know. I guess I just want him to be okay.” She nods slowly. “When I came out of the ice, I was lost. I didn’t know where I was, and I didn’t really know who I was. And it’s different with him, I know it is. I was never… programmed or anything. But just being in a totally different world…”

“Well, what did you do that helped? What got through that lost period?”

“I’m not sure I am through it,” he says with a sort of self-deprecating smirk. Then, looking up at Tessa, “You helped, though. You helped a lot.”

She nods again, a serious look on her face. “Movie nights can do wonders for emotional healing.”

He laughs heartily. “Yes. Yes, they can.”

“So you want me to come over and make nice with your assassin friend,” she states, no question needed.

“Would you mind?”

“I don’t mind. Tony told me not to go near him, so I’ve already been thinking about just dropping by anyway.” She shoots Steve a smile when his face falls yet again.

“It’s just… you were one of the only people who treated me like a real person. Even though you’re a doctor,” he finishes with a hint of disgust.

“Careful,” she tells him, aiming a sharp index finger at him. “I can still revoke that form clearing you for duty.”

[ospreyarcher]

Bedside Manner

For @smilesguaranteed, who took me up on the fics for ACLU donations offer.

When they were kids, Bucky used to stomp out to play stickball in the streets when Steve got like this.

He can’t do that now. He’s too old for stickball, and anyway no one plays in the streets anymore (what do kids <i>do</i> all day in the future?), but he promised he’d stay close to Steve for the first few days after they let him out of the hospital. A small price to pay to get Steve out of that place.

Bucky gives the chicken noodle soup a stir. It’s almost ready. He’ll have to take it in to Steve soon, and then his reprieve will be over. How can Steve been so damn antsy when staggering to the bathroom and back sets him napping for an hour?

The soup is bubbling. Bucky switches off the stove and pours it into a bowl. He stands over it for a little bit, watching the steam rise – he’s letting it cool for Steve, that’s his excuse – but eventually he’s got to take it in.

Steve doesn’t look up when Bucky comes in. “Dinner is served,” Bucky announces in his snootiest French waiter voice. The bowl rattles on the coffee table as he sets it down. A little slops over the side.

Steve winces. “Wipe that up,” he says. “It’ll stain the wood.”

Bucky rips a paper towel off the roll. “You know, being rich doesn’t suit you,” Bucky says. “You were more bearable when your furniture was shitty.”  

“I’m not rich,” Steve protests.

“My whole family lived in an apartment smaller than this.”

Steve’s face tightens up. “Fuck you,” he snaps, and then his whole face contorts, like he just swallowed a sour plum. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I hate being sick.”

“You always did,” Bucky says. He sits down on the floor next to the couch. “I kind of liked being sick. After I got through the really bad part and was just convalescing. Then I could lie around all day and read Tom Swift books, and Mom would fuss over me.”  

Steve tugs restlessly at his blanket. “My mom had to work.”

“I could fuss over you now,” Bucky offers. He tucks the blanket in as a demonstration.

Steve kicks the blanket loose. It slides off his legs. “Oh, fuck off.”

“I could bring cool clothes to soothe your tired eyes,” Bucky says. “Scented with lavender or eau de cologne. And I’ll rest a single hand on your fevered brow…”

Bucky suits actions to words. Steve knocks his hand away.

The blow isn’t painful – Steve’s as weak as a kitten – but it hurts Bucky’s feelings, perhaps the more so because he knows he goaded Steve into it. He cradles his affronted hand by proxy.

“Did I hurt you?” Steve’s truculence melts into concern.

“No,” says Bucky. “Do you need help eating your soup?”

Truculence returns. “No.”

Bucky retrieves his book. He attempts to focus on reading, but the labored clinks of Steve’s spoon distract him.

Then there is a rattle and a thump and Bucky looks up to discover that Steve, in returning the soup bowl to the coffee table, as fallen out of the couch. He sets his book facedown on the arm of the chair and gives Steve a lift up.

Once he’s caught his breath, Steve lifts his chin toward Bucky’s splayed book and says, “That’s bad for books.”

Bucky hefts the book. “Do you think it’d be bad for the book if I beat you over the head with it?”

“Probably,” Steve says. “I’ve got a very hard head.”

Bucky laughs, and Steve laughs a little too, which of course isn’t any good for him with his ribs like they are. The brief laugh cuts off abruptly. Anyone else would groan, but Steve just presses a hand to his side and holds his breath, and then lets it out slowly, slowly.

Bucky fetches an ice pack wrapped in a towel. Steve’s eyes are closed. There are tears caught up in his lashes. Bucky places the ice pack gently on his chest and returns to his book.

He’s halfway through the next chapter when Steve stirs. “Bucky.”

Bucky lowers his book. “Hmmm?”

Silence. Bucky sets the book down and leans forward.

“Can you straighten the blanket?” Steve asks. He sounds like the request is killing him, which is what he always sounds like when he asks for anything.

“Sure,” Bucky says. He pulls the blanket back over Steve’s legs and tucks it up under his chin. The ice pack has disappeared, hopefully to a spot against Steve’s abused ribs.

Bucky’s hands are lingering on the blanket. He removes them. But he remains by Steve’s side, kneeling on the floor by the couch.

Steve turns his head so he’s looking at Bucky. Bucky tilts his head to the side so they’re eye to eye, and smiles at him.

Steve doesn’t smile back, but at least he’s not frowning anymore. He blinks slowly. “Bucky.”

“Yeah?”

But Steve seems to have forgotten what he was going to say. He sighs. His eyes drift shut. Bucky tugs the blanket just a little closer under his chin. His fingers stray against Steve’s cheek, just briefly. Steve is stubbly.

Bucky sighs too. He lets his hand fall. He stays on the floor for a few minutes, resting his forehead against the edge of the couch, close enough that Steve’s breath ruffles his hair.

Then he picks up Steve’s soup bowl and takes it back to the kitchen. He might as well have things neat by the time Steve wakes up.  

[bienmoreau]

jerejean + “How long has it been since you’ve slept?”

It wasn’t often that anyone saw this side of Jeremy Knox, let aloneJean.

But here they were,Jean hovering in the doorway, Jeremy hunched at the little kitchen table,gripping the stone-cold mug that held his morning coffee. The evening gloommaking what was normally so vibrant and welcoming look washed out and cold.Jeremy hadn’t bothered turning on the lights or, more likely Jean thought,hadn’t needed to when he sat down and hadn’t noticed it getting dark around himas the day dragged on. Jean let out a heavy sigh after a while concluding that Jeremy wasn’t going tonotice him on his own. Clearing his throat he pulled out the chair opposite.“Jeremy?”
The smaller boy jerked to attention at the sound of his name and raised hishead to meet Jean’s eyes, a pained frown forming between his own. “oh, hey Jean- I uh, didn’t hear you come in.” his expression pulled evengrimmer as he clenched his jaw, dropping his gaze and focusing on his coffee. Jean kept his gaze steady, it was obvious that Jeremy wasn’t okay but Jean hadlittle practice caring for others and no experience of dealing with someone hewould tentatively call his friend looking so small and uncertain in front of him.It simply wasn’t what he had become accustomed to since joining the Trojansranks nearly half a year ago. With a steadying breath, Jeremy looked up again, “about last night-” 

It hadn’t been good. Jeremy knew he’d messed up as soon as Sara grabbed his arm, worming her waythrough the mass of bodied in the basement. Her grim and slightly worriedexpression confirmed it for him before she even got the chance to shout overthe noise of the music and drunk students. “LAILA’S TAKEN JEAN HOME. JEREMY, HE DIDN’T LOOK GOOD.”Everything slowed around him as Sara’s words sunk in. Jean. Shitof course! 
There had been an unprecedented amount of people at the party that night. Morethan there was ever meant to be in the basement of the dorm tower. TheStickball Swing, as the volleyball girls had dubbed their little mid-seasonparty for the exy team, had always been an invite only for the two teams andthe players plus-ones, the perfect casual step up from the few non-compulsoryteam socials Jeremy had been able to get Jean to attend up to now. But thisyear someone had leaked the date and time. Before they knew it, the basement waspacked, the press of bodies pushing Jeremy further away from where he had beenstanding with Jean, Laila and Sara. Of course it had been too much for Jean, he had already looked uncomfortablemaking his way down the stairs underground. STUPIDSTUPID STUPID! Jeremy berated himself as he shoved his way back out to the entrance.How could he have been such an idiot! They had been making such good progressand he was doing well at keeping on top of the things Jean wouldn’t be able todeal with. He had been. 
But it had been a hard season so farand as much of an asset Jean was to them the team dynamic was still a littleprecarious. He had been so caught up in working out the best course for hispost grad plans and finalising his midterm project focus- He’d just wanted a night off. But at what cost?Guilt ridden and suddenly bone heavy with exhaustion, Jeremy headed straightfor his and Jean’s dorm but there was no sign of either Jean or Laila. Itwouldn’t have been obvious to a casual observer, Jeremy had trained himself tokeep his public face back in high school, but a level of base panic wassettling in his gut. The next stop at Laila and Alvarez’s own dorm also had noresult. In the quiet of the empty corridor Jeremy let himself a brief moment of frustration,at the idiot who leaked the party plans, at he season being harder than he’dexpected, at the challenge Jean presented the team not unexpected or the mansfault but still hard to manage on top of everything else that came with beingin his final year. But mostly at himself; for dropping the ball, for puttingJean in such a situation in the first place, for not thinking it through orseeing it coming, for letting his own want for a night off from it all undothe progress Jean had been making. Thumping his hand against the wall, hard, hecursed and turned on his heel trying to think where else to check for hisfriends. He was supposed to be better than this. What was the point of the years he’dput into making himself into the person he was today if he didn’t come thoughwhen it mattered. When it was his friends he hurt or let down. When it wasJean. 

His search seemedendless and endlessly fruitless. He’d gone through all the places he could thinkof, going so far as to run all over campus checking the court, library and evengoing all the way over to the studios to see if there was a chance they wereopen and Laila and Jean where inside. Nothing. His phone had died at some point and it was only knowing how much it would makeeverything worse in the long run that stopped him from lobbing it as far as hecould from the bank at the edge of the beach. That was the last place he looked, slumping down onto his haunches and lettingout a heavy sigh he tipped forward to lean on the railing and watched in numbindifference as the sun rose over the sea.

He trudged back tohis doom in grim silence, kicking at rocks and tufts of coarse grass on theside of the road and kicking himself for the whole situation. Guilt andexhaustion warring for witch could win out as the first of his tangled emotionsto make him cry. He fumbled his keys before finally getting the door open and stumbling into thechill morning light of the empty dorm. Scrubbing his hands over his face hedropped his keys and long dead phone onto the shelf by the door and made hisway into the kitchen to make a coffee, determined to wait for Jean to comehome, for him to be able to apologise and see for himself that Jean was okay.

—————————

Jean didn’t knowwhat to do with Jeremy like this, he looked small, smaller than Jean had everthough he could. Small and cold and… scared? Jean didn’t understand but he knew he didn’t like it. 

—————–

The party had beena disaster sure, but it wasn’t Jeremy’s fault. Laila had got them both out ofthere quick enough for it not to be too bad. But he had still been badly shakenand couldn’t breathe properly for a while, darkness edging into his vision asLaila pushed people out of their way as fast as she could to get him out intothe cool night air. Once they were there and she had him looking up at theclear winter sky he’d got it back under control. They walked around for a while, Laila making small conversation and justletting Jean know that she was there and he was okay. They stopped to buy teafrom a vending machine and watched the sunrise reflecting off the huge studiowindows behind the art block. Then made their way home and found Sara waitingfor them with the news that Jeremy wasn’t in his and Jeans room or answeringhis phone and that it was decided that Jean would sleep on their sofa so hedidn’t have to go back to the empty dorm. 

That was hours ago.Jean had surprised himself with how long he slept. Clearly this whole transferhas been taking it out of him more than he was letting on even to himself. Sarawent out and got them all a late lunch once he was up. It was already starting to get dark by the time their conversation lulledenough for Jean to excuse himself. 

———

“How long has itbeen since you’ve slept?”  Jeans voice came out quieter than he’d expected, softer. Jeremy looked grey inmood and complexion as he met Jeans eyes. He swallowed thickly and reached upto touch his cheek as if only just realising what he must look like. 

“oh, umm.. I haven’t” he blinked a few times and managed to focus hisgaze on his coffee again before frowning at its tepidity and pushing unsteadilyto his feet, wobbling and having to drop his free hand to the table top almostimmediately but Jean was already on his feet and leaning across the spacebetween them holding out a steadying hand.

“Jere-” he started, a new tinge of worry in his tone but Jeremy steppedaway shaking his head

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry Jean I didn’t mean for that to happen. It shouldhave been okay, it though it would be okay but I- I just wanted a night off. I’msorry I should have known better, it was selfish of me and I put you in a situationI never should have, I should be better, as your captain I should have takenmore care.” His voice dropped to a cracked whisper and he buried one side ofhis face in his hand as he rubbed at his eye “I should have done better- asyour friend -and I’m sorry”

Jean expression froze as he tried to work out what to do with thesituation in front of him but only for a moment before he rounded the table andcarefully took the mug out of Jeremy shaking hand and put it down. Reaching outagain he tentatively turned the shorter man to face him ducking slightly tomeet his eyes. There was a soft clarity to his voice that Jean had never heardfrom himself before when he spoke again. “Jeremy, I’m okay. It wasn’t good and I don’t know how bad it could have beenif Laila hadn’t got me out of there, but she did, so I’m okay. And it wasn’t yourfault. Jeremy, I don’t blame you for this. You need to sleep. You’ve been awakefor nearly 30 hours. And this wasn’t your fault so I don’t blame you. It’sokay. I’m okay.”

It struck him as he watched Jeremy come back to himself a little and nodslowly at what Jean had said, that it felt like the truth to him, in thatmoment it felt like it really was okay.He knew this wasn’t it, that the shadows and demons and nightmares that plaguedhim and the anger and fear that gripped his lungs and poisoned his blood onsome days weren’t gone, hell, they’d nearly gotten the better of him again onlyhours earlier. But here in this little kitchen that slowly seemed to get brighteras Jeremy’s grey shroud of guilt and regret lifted. In front of Jeremy who hadseemed like a figure of such unbearable light in those early days, such a foreignthing from Jean’s understanding of the world, but now that he looked again he sawthe sunrise that he and Laila had watched, and felt the same feeling of calm ithad brought him after the crowded basement. As Jeremy let out a sigh so heavy with relief that it was tangible and finally,finally, smiled Jean realised that in that moment he really was okay.

[fouramour]

for a guy so skilled with words

Rooty-Today at 12:18 AM

> There he goes again, that little shit. This absolutely doesn't sit right with you and something has to happen. You wouldn't want to resort to actual flogging (plus, would that even work on the lucky gnome?), but.. Clover should be reasonable enough to talk with, right...? So you wait in the foyer with a book and a coffee until he returns, whenever the hell that may be.

butterfliesDance-Today at 12:18 AM

> You change out of your little outfit into a clean violet and white one in the taxi back, no mind paid to the driver. They've seen worse, you're sure. You wanted to make sure Deuce saw you in it while he left, who can really blame you? You maybe pick up glitter on the way back. When you slide back into the mansion it's with a cup full of glitter and a plastic spoon, a litle nod given to Trace as you pass him.

Rooty-Today at 12:30 AM

You don't bother looking up to him from your book just yet. You notice him anyway. "Wait" You sound a little tired. "Do you have a moment? Do me the favor."

butterfliesDance-Today at 12:31 AM

You stop mid-step and pause a moment before you turn to him, all smiles. "I thought it was you that owed me th' favors," you say. Wiggle your brows. "Yeah, sure, what's up?"

Rooty-Today at 12:42 AM

"Chalk it up as another one I owe if you so please." Not like one more or less still mattered. Your eyes are still on the book for a moment, then close it and look up at him with a frown. Not an angry tone, more like a concerned parent.  "Do tell, why... are you doing this? I'm honestly confused. Do you like playing with Deuce you so much? With the Crew? Or are you playing us? Is it a game of how much you can get away with? Do you even know?"

butterfliesDance-Today at 12:47 AM

You pause, hesitate, clasp your hands together in front of you. You sound confused, maybe quietly apprehensive. Hoo boy are you gonna do this tonight. "Uh...that sure is a lotta questions. You want me t' pull up a chair or somethin' first? Wasn't figurin'." Maybe you should just run, but. It's not like it's Die or something, right?

Rooty-Today at 1:18 AM

"Have a seat. We can even look for a more private place to talk if you like. Think explaining this is gonna take a while? I'll even make us tea." You're only half joking. You even stand up and stretch a little.

butterfliesDance-Today at 1:19 AM

You look down at your cup and drop the spoon in, shrugging. "Sure, why not. Grab the honey, I wanna see if it agrees with glitter. You lead the way?"

Rooty-Today at 1:22 AM

"Take the stickball room, I'll be there in a bit." You give him a little wave. At least he seems cooperative and you have little reason to believe he'll just take the next emergency exit like some other members of this house as soon as you turn your back too him.

butterfliesDance-Today at 1:24 AM

You return the wave and slide off to follow instruction, slipping into the game room and thankfully not passing anything else of interest. You set down your cup on the stickball table and scoot yourself up to sit on the edge of it. Rather than, you know, a chair, where you'd be as short as ever anyway. You hum to yourself and watch the ceiling while you wait.

Rooty-Today at 1:39 AM

You join him soon after with a pot of tea, honey and two cups. He picked the table it seems, so the items go right on the felt and then lean against it with your backside. "So, you wanna start? Or do I gotta repeat the question?"

butterfliesDance-Today at 1:42 AM

You twist around to pour the tea for both of you, a quiet, thoughtful noise escaping in your pause. "Well, uh. Nah. I remember. It ain't a game o' what I can get away with, I haven't covered nothin' up. If I wanted t' have fun with secrets then I would, but it ain't my style."  You dump your glitter in the cup-- most of it-- and offer the rest to Trace. "I play with Deuce 'cause 'e makes me happy and there might be somethin' bigger I can get out of it eventually."

Rooty-Today at 1:52 AM

"Yeah I noticed." You almost chuckle. That puplic show is part of why you're so put off by the whole deal. "Eventually. Doesn't sound like you really got a plan there." You take a spoonful of glitter, no, three, and put that in your own tea, then raise the cup, but don't drink. "He makes you happy? You're not falling for him, are you."

butterfliesDance-Today at 1:56 AM

You swirl the cup around until most of it's dissipated and then dump honey in, stirring it. "I don't," you admit, shrugging. "Don't need one as long as it's not hurtin' nothin'. Longer I go without tricks the more likely I can pull somethin', after all." You almost take a sip before you bark a laugh, raising your free hand to your face. "Falling for him? You're seriously worried? Hell no! He's cute, sweet, funny, don't get me wrong. I'd date him. But truuuue luhv? Fuck that."

Rooty-Today at 2:02 AM

"Well, tell me, what am I supposed to think? We announce some kinda no flirting with the crew rule and you up your game by like four gears." You take a sip, then sigh. "I really don't want to worry about losing someone I oughta trust to the crew, in one way or another."

butterfliesDance-Today at 2:06 AM

"I up my game because Die did that straight after I hooked up with Itchy and he got pissy about it. I up my game 'cause you know I'm the exact sort of guy to do something just to prove I can, Three." You take a sip of your tea, make a little face and then a little shrug. Another sip. "It's not that hard."

Rooty-Today at 2:11 AM

You set your jaw, hardly satisfied with that answer. "Alright. Point proved. Now how do I get you to stop that? Or is a show of undying loyalty too much of a challenge for you?"

butterfliesDance-Today at 2:12 AM

You level a look at him, barely frowning. More bored than anything. "I just want attention, dumbfuck. What'm I gonna do when I don't get it here."

Rooty-Today at 2:16 AM

Well, that answer actually has to sink in for a moment. You roll your eyes and stare at the ceiling before turning to look at him. "Really. You live years in this house and tell me you don't know how to get attention from the people here? So what. You got a whole city to pick from and you run right to the enemy. Don't tell me that anger and distrust  is really the kinda attention you want to fish for here, or are you really enjoying that?"

butterfliesDance-Today at 2:23 AM

You duck your head and look off to the side, then into your cup. Furrow your brows. "You have Fin and Nep. Itchy and Die. Handy and Crow. Eggs and Biscuits. Cans isn't exactly a conversationalist, Stitch, Snow 'n Scratch aren't exactly peers. Dave's not interested, city folk don't get it unless I'm paying them not t' care. At least Deuce thinks about me even though his Crew's better."

Rooty-Today at 2:53 AM

"You think we don't think about you? You know, my life's more than Fin and Nepeta. I always got room for family. And they'd enjoy your company too, I'm sure.  Just.. geez, for a guy so skilled with words you kinda suck at telling us you got issues here, huh? I mean, we all got our share of problems to sort out. It just shouldn't always end with someone crawling to the crew for help, or we get disasters like... " You motion around in the air. "Crowbar. And we don't need any more of that."

butterfliesDance-Today at 3:01 AM

You open your mouth and a sound comes out, then abruptly cuts off. You set your cup down and hiss under your breath, sitting up and leaning closer to him. Your hands prop you up. "Don't compare me to Malcom. Don't start that. I am nothing like that," you almost whisper. Then you pause, draw back. Look almost apologetic. "...I'm easy. Real easy. Not hard t' please. I'm-- sorry." You're panicking, is what you are.

Rooty-Today at 3:12 AM

Oh boy, you hit a nerve there, didn't you? Oh boy. "Listen, sorry, I'm just- Someone's gotta worry in this house if no one else does, right?" That's not really a mood you got to see Clover in a lot. Oh. He's panicking, yes? You bump yourself off the table you leaned on and turn towards him to properly face him, even bowing down a little with a concerned look. What do??? "Hey..."

butterfliesDance-Today at 3:19 AM

"It's fine-- 's fine. You're just doin' your job. You do it great, y'know, I thought y' would." Your voice is just a tiny bit rushed. You glance at the doorway. "I'm sorry. I, y'know, I jus' don't wanna be a problem, don' really wanna get in nobody's way, don' get doin' that if I can handle it myself. You know? Did you have anythin' else to say? I'm not tryin' t' run off from th' Felt."

Rooty-Today at 3:27 AM

"Well uh." Yeah, feels like time over. He wants to leave, doesn't he? "Dunno, dial back the flirting. And uh." You're doing it great he says when really you're just completely winging it. "Is there anything I can do for you? Not just right now, I mean. Should we meet six days a week for tea time or anything. Not just out of pity. I really mean it. Something, anything?"

butterfliesDance-Today at 3:31 AM

"I'll tell you. Text y' or somethin'." No you won't. You rub at your eyes with the back of your hand and take a deeper breath than should be necessary. "It's fine. May I be dismissed? I uh. I gotta go, pretty soon. Thanks for not bein' pissy with me. Y' jus' let me know if y' need anythin'."

Rooty-Today at 3:41 AM

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, but it's obvious that talking any more was no use. "Yeah, okay. Just go." You wave him away.

butterfliesDance-Today at 3:43 AM

You just hug him, really briefly and not all that tight, and you slide off the stickball table and bolt like your life depends on it. Seconds later, the mansion's front door slams.

Rooty-Today at 3:51 AM

You look after him, not... entirely sure how to feel. You didn't exactly go into this conversation with a lot of hopes. For all you know he could have just shrugged you off. You certainly didn't expect this. Oh well, maybe let it sink, sleep on it for a night. Might be good for both of you. You sigh, then start collecting the cups from the table and clean up.