#videos taken five seconds before disaster

[redbullgivesyouwingedkuriboh]

the billionaires, sitting in the submarine:

the kid: you guys like pokemon

stockton rush, pointing out the window: what the fuck is that

seto kaiba, sailing past the titan in a blue-eyes shaped submarine, middle fingers up:

[cipheramnesia]

I started "A Girl & Her Dog" but just put a bunch of things together so I need to start it over. Or do I? Maybe things changed since last time. I consider any margin under five percent effectively a tie.

Propaganda under the cut.

Saw Down Heaven: The sequel to a Nanowrimo novel, Girl Bites God, picks up the story with Alice Buzzsaw, the reanimated corpse of one of the religious zealots killed last novel, who has become home to a small colony of emotionally sensitive mutant tapeworms. She is taken in by "Iggy," a disabled superstring mechanic who is trying to separate her neighborhood from the authorian oppression of the FCC grid, which helps to prevent the physical world from experiencing a sudden catastrophic entropic collapse but is also used to rigorously oppress the ability of the US population to experience free thought. In the same neighborhood lives AthenA6, former involuntarily institutionalized experimental guinea pig, now subject of a resumed national manhunt due to her ability to process the disruptive anomalous energy trying to destroy all physical matter, ever since the last FCC chairman was killed by a mutated video spider. This is enough of an excuse to lay seige to the upstart off grid community, but they'll have to contend with Alice Buzzsaw, AthenA6, and other locals like Fireball Jill who don't want any cops on their streets. Ghastly, gory anarchy.

A Girl And Her Dog: Intentionally rude and obviously reactive counter to Harlan Ellison's "A Boy And His Dog," not to mention purposefully arrogant to even think of such an undertaking. Roz is a former inhabitant of one of the underground cities on a planet colonized by humans in a far, far distant future which, several thousand years after colonization had the human civilization destroyed thanks to a disaster which resulted in a second sun and a hostile radioactive surface, and the story itself takes place several hundred more years after the disaster. Once imprisoned and abused by the brutal psychic warlord and god eater Viktor Blud, she is returning to his menagerie in the crystal forest for revenge. Her companion is Champ, one of the animals mistreated by Vik, a sort of lizard ant eater pangolin porcupine creature roughly the size of a wolf and with retractable teeth. Champ had a kind of powerful empathic sensitivity that allows him to navigate and sometimes avoid the psychic domination of Vik, and with Roz they have a plan to turn the tables, but it's going to take a lot of dead gods. Luckily, the whole planet is lousy with em. They're joined by Mel, a deserter from the giants teeth valley, formerly a soldier in their dragon tooth army but now fascinated by the road to revenge Roz is walking. It's going to be ugly and messy.

Short Change Hero: Obsidian Bonesplinter made the jump from ensemble ttrpg character to main character of her own world and there's not any going back. Dishwasher at mob front by day, bouncer by night, once in awhile part time knee cap breaker, she's perfectly content with drinking her way through a haze of meaningless sex and violence until a few of her friends from back home show up to visit in the big city. They barely even make it out of the train station before one of the girls is brutally murdered and then they make an even worse mistake: talking to the city guards. Now Obsidian has to untangle the mess of dirty cops and mobsters that goes all the way to the top - which she already knew, but it's a lot different when it's actively trying to kill her and her two friends instead of passively letting her drink and fight herself to death. A hardboiled detective story in a noir fantasy setting. The only thing shorter than Obsidian is her temper.

[wyrddogs]

Babydog ran in his muzzle for the first time and did awesome! We also did some box training separately which featured creative use of the squawker (the dog chooses the reward, after all).

My friends and I set up some nosework hides for various dogs that have upcoming trials. Nothing much to report for Kermit other than he was his usual dependable self and was thrilled to be able to do something he loves at the stupid plastic bag place.

Zaku did unpaired hides for the very first time, on the grounds where the super fun race track is, in high wind, and he found all three exterior hides. So proud!! He was also introduced to vehicle search and it blew his mind.

This video was taken seconds before disaster. I wasn't able to hook the leash to his prong collar, due to the hair and the excitement, so I hooked it to his flat to expedite getting off the track, planning to hook it to his prong when we were farther from the lure. The lure op thought I was ready, and started bringing the lure back to the startline.

I was not ready.

I ended up on my knees and was dragged at least five feet by my excited screaming puppy before I was able to bring him to a stop. I'm just glad I didn't let go or end up on my face. At least he's keen! 😂

[space-blue]

Heartfelt Recom Quaritch x Parker Selfridge shipping—a dissertation

OK so I was on discord discussing how unlikely it is for Parker Selfridge to be interested in Recom Quaritch, if only because he was the one being actually racist in A1. Calling the Na'vi fly beaten savages who live in trees and 'blue monkeys'. He also had a (mostly deleted) falling out with Quaritch before the final mission, and that mission's failure meant going home in abject shame and losing the mines.

We know that Selfridge is due to reappear in the next film from footage of them filming in their suits, and I maintained we could get them to fuck, and not just mean hate fuck, but meaningful past life strangers to weird friends to lovers sort of fuck. Fuck with feelings. 

Buckle up for this unwanted Ted Talk hidden under the cut :

Parker goes back to earth and is in a very sore spot due to what happened. Footage leaked maybe? Quaritch is too dead to take the heat. Parker is forced into some serious introspection and the company does NOT have his back. His money is gone, his respect obliterated. For a while he's untouchable. There are inquiries. Bad times. 

Then he's given a chance to make it back into the company, because see, they have a job for him. Enter the Westworld deep dive. 

You know how avatars mature on the trip over to Pandora? So it takes 5 earth years to make one? And in the video Parker says the recom is 'being grown in a lab as we speak', yet the recoms don't arrive for another 16 years? 

Hear me out : Parker is the person who knows Quaritch best at Hell's Gate, among the survivors. Most of the mercs are dead, and Quaritch had no family he was close to on earth. So they're trying to calibrate his recom off of his memories, but it's messy. It's a new technology. 

The first recom Quaritch doesn't imprint at all. Messy mental breakdown. So they bring in Parker, start trying to personalise the bodies to make the mind stick. He meets them. The first one who melts down. The second one who stays alive for a few weeks but starts diverging and going insane. And then the third one, who feels like a success compared to the previous ones who destroyed themselves inside out. 

Parker gains a brand new appreciation for the hellish, amoral nightmare happening inside RDA labs. And then his job is over, because Quaritch 3.0 was a success. They ship out, and they're already growing Quaritch 4.0

Yeah, so, what do you think happens to Quaritch 3.0, the one that the now almost 40 years old Parker has been working with everyday for months? Yep. "decommissioned". No use for him. Even though he was a sentient being, as far as Parker is concerned. As far as anyone is concerned. He's property. He runs up costs. 

That's when Parker signs up to go back to Pandora, on the next flight after the one Q 4.0 was sent off on with other recoms. He won't let this new Quaritch be eaten alive by Ardmore.

He feels guilty. He's the one who convinced Q to sign for project phoenix. It was good money after all, even if not for you at least for family. And Quaritch had Miles junior on his mind. Even if he wasn't close to Paz and the boy at the time, he must have taken the risks into account and figured it wouldn't hurt to have money sent back to earth for the boy. 

Of course the boy stayed on Pandora, which Parker knows. And no amount of money is worth what he's been witnessing for the past five years working with proto-recoms. 

He also picks up recreational drinking and ruminating. He starts wondering if he isn't exactly the same as the recoms. He's usable. He was turned into a rag when it was convenient, a tool when it suited. 

So when he arrives, 40yo fresh off cryo, dressed in no-nonsense practical gear, Recom Quaritch (fresh off the SeaDragon disaster) is taken aback. He expected the racist jackass Parker. The man with the dollar eyes. The little brat. 

This is someone very different. Since they used to fuck as humans and those are memories Q definitely has, they might have a... talk. And none of the usual jokes or attitudes get the rise Q expects, which would be deeply unnerving as he'd have no human around him from his old life except Parker.

And yet Parker is so damned different now. So serious and earnest. They'd probably have to talk about what happened at Hell's Gate. How Quaritch undermined his authority with the bombing of Hometree, the repercussion of the final failed mission. 

I think Parker couldn't even tell him about the other 2 Qs he's... monitored and worked with. How badly would it fuck with Q's head? 

But imagine how confused he'd be, overhearing some human dropping gossip on Parker, how apparently he's back for Quaritch's sake. What does this man WANT? They weren't that close. And post SeaDragon battle things are not going well at Bridgehead and Parker is defending him constantly. 

Ardmore would have a field day shredding Parker a new asshole for defending the ghost of the guy who ruined his life. But Parker knows by then that what ruined his life is the company and its total lack of loyalty towards him. 

Now have you seen the stills of Recom Q, Jake, and tiny Selfridge together? Imagine Quaritch jumping in to protect Parker. It's this one weird human he hasn't figured out yet and nobody is laying hands on him, no matter how arrogant and smartass he may still be.

So now they've saved each other's skin, or had each other's back, you know. Parker blocking Ardmore, Quaritch intercepting Jake... They've achieved a certain degree of mutual respect.

That's when they have a heart to heart over some drinks, and where Parker admits Miles is nothing like his old self, and that it's reassuring in a way. He's happy to see he's less... uptight and cold. The fire's good. The fire's healthy. Feels like he has a new chance at life despite the memories that still define so much of him.

((flashback to clone Q 1.0 who was too much like his old self, and went incredibly cold and emotionless before slowly falling into a completely silent and catatonic state with Parker unable to help))

And Miles opens up about it being nice to have someone have his back, even if he must admit he is still unsure where the loyalty comes from. Maybe he'd say something about the memories of undermining Parker's authority at hometree and how that decision makes sense still but... it's not something he could imagine himself doing now, and he's a little afraid of what that conviction means for him.

"Means you're becoming your own person. Good for you. I was afraid you wouldn't."

Andddd then Miles is like What do you mean?

Parker puts his foot in his mouth, every corrective sentence just making it worse. Miles just... pins him down. He's almost 3x his size, it's more of an effort to not hurt him than to restrain him.

They were becoming close, but now it's Break Up time.

Parker spills all the beans. How he oversaw the birth and death of three versions of him. Miles is in total disbelief. Parker helped refine the technology? Enabled all of this? How fucked is that? ((but also deep down his loyalty and choosing to drop everything on Earth to follow and make sure he was OK and survived when he didn't have to is touching and it finally makes sense and wow someone needs time to think now...))

Miles is pinning him down as we established, processing the truth of what the RDA did and what Parker did... ears pinned back, pressing harder, teeth bared, just a building RAAAH— sound escaping him out of his control, and Parker speaking faster and faster to get it all out and reassure him he didn't want any of this, that it's not fair, that he used to think it wouldn't be a problem, just like body-hopping, that Quaritch would be brand new and, and... And Miles just flicks his tail, veins popping on his forehead, hissing and looking deep into Parker's eyes and seeing that he seems to mean it.

He orders him to get the fuck away. Just, away from him. NOW. 

Parker is like 😐 I'm pinned under you...

Really long awkward moment where Miles is really on the cusp of aggression, some deep seated Na'vi instinct to lash out at what he perceives to be a frightening enemy... But it's anger at the RDA/military/government too. This whole mess is not something he's learned to unpack. He's not even tried. He's been sweeping all of that under the rug recently, just on a single minded mission of getting Jake's ass.

Parker's admission makes him stop dead in his tracks, intellectually. He has to take a look at himself, at the RDA, what signing that contract meant for him (and how he did that for the benefit of a son the RDA abandoned, a son raised by Jake Sully, a son who is kind and patient and brave and loyal, all things Miles values deeply).

And there's also how little the company has cared for the lives of the Marines they resurrected. Bodies never retrieved, service never honoured, just rebaked and sent out again and again until they die a semi-useful death.

Miles stews for days before he finally seeks out Parker to ask for details about himself. He's straight up terrified of what he'll hear.

How much of his personality now is his? Truly his? What does 'his' even mean by now? Was Parker really the best person to calibrate him?

Parker could have a genuine cackle and ask, tongue in cheek, how much of his personality does he owe to the RDA? Because he let the corporate mindset eat him alive, to absolutely no benefit of his own. And he's got Q to thank in the end for opening his eyes, because he was the one so obsessed with loyalty.

It was this thing he valued over all else, and when Parker was back on earth and received loyalty from nothing and no one, despite years of hard work enriching the shareholders...

Yeah. Eye opener indeed. Better late than never.

It's his fucked up need to taste some of that damned loyalty that drove him to accept the recom calibration work. He figured Quaritch would understand. They used to be pretty close after all. 

He did become close to Quaritch 3.0 in the end. They talked for hours and hours. And even though he was still Quaritch, he sort of went his own way too, in the end. (before being put down....)

Meeting Quaritch 4.0 and seeing how different he is now, after months of life on Pandora and a new environment, it only served to prove they're all unique people. That Q's memories are just like a tree stump from which new growth rises. It's never from the same spot or going in the same direction. 

And it's great, honestly, that Miles is his own person, and Selfridge doesn't want more lives on his hands. 

How can Miles not latch onto that strange man? He still values loyalty and isn't that the sweetest sort? Parker is invested in his life, in his survival. They're working together... And Pandora is dangerous for humans—not to forget the very real danger of Ardmore herself. He won't betray Parker again. He can't discount him as he used to. 

They're both different, they've both changed, and they're both back together under those new, arduous circumstances, having each other's back.

And THAT is how you make them pine for each other, have each other's back, and finally be a little more open about their situation (and with nobody else), and eventually fuck with feelings. 

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk on shipping Recom Quaritch x Parker Selfridge as real sweethearts.

[esroniets]

J'ai publié 19 629 fois en 2022

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Longest Tag: 120 characters

#lmao he wants to be witty so badly. and it’s never going to happen. bc he’s terminally unfunny unless he’s getting owned

Mes billets vedette en 2022 :

n°5

i love you xoris i love you 480% accuracy i love you funny glowing ring that goes boom

18 notes - publié le 5 septembre 2022

n°4

warframe is a fishing game

25 notes - publié le 3 août 2022

n°3

images taken seconds before disaster

28 notes - publié le 30 avril 2022

n°2

sometimes a family is five dysfunctional infested orokin, their cephalon duo, and a fifteen year old piloting a warframe

51 notes - publié le 29 août 2022

Mon billet n°1 en 2022

eudico i love and respect you very much, but i think we should’ve gone w the business’s plan and fucking nuked nef anyo

87 notes - publié le 8 août 2022

Obtenez votre année 2022 en revue sur Tumblr →

[veebs-hates-video-games]

I think maybe I'm going to try to figure out how to do a post about both The House in Fata Morgana and Chaos;Head Noah simultaneously, because I just finished both recently and they're both horror VNs, but one of them succeeds at what it's trying to do a lot better than the other.

Spoilers: The House in Fata Morgana is consistently great, while Chaos;Head Noah is frequently pretty good, never amazing, and too often a bit of a disaster.

I think I'm going to start in kind of a weird place because it's what made me start comparing the two in the first place: the amount of time I had to spend skipping over dialogue I'd already seen. Well, that and they both have main characters who spend most/all of their time stuck in their house as they gradually deteriorate over time, which like they just like me fr.

With The House in Fata Morgana I started it about a year ago, took a break for like ten months when I stopped being able to read pretty much anything, and then finally went back to it and finished it last month-ish. I was maybe a third of the way through when I stalled on it, and by the time I came back I remember enough of the story to jump right back in but couldn't remember the structure of the VN or what any of my saves were for. Probably some of them were at the very sparse decision points, but I didn't want to load every single one of them again and try to figure it out.

I think it was probably after getting the very first ending that I tried to go back and start over to see if there was any new dialogue added or new decision points or ones I hadn't previously checked before. It seems like the skip button skips really fast, but oh no it does not. It was like half an hour of waiting to get to the first decision point (not counting the one at the very beginning), but I guess I made the same choice again and there was nothing new.

I kept skipping, and another half an hour went by before I made it back to where I'd stopped the original time almost a year earlier. Then I went back again and loaded the save from that previous decision, chose the other option, got like 500 words of new dialogue, still wasn't sure if that would affect anything later on, and got to skip through another entire half hour to get back to where I was and discover it does not have any effect.

Finally after 90 minutes of fast forwarding I was able to get on with the story and my life and the rest of it was great, but that was really not an awesome experience and I nearly gave up on it entirely. If I weren't bad at video games and had realized that it's almost totally linear and the decisions don't affect anything down the line that would've all been easily avoidable, and that's probably how it would've gone if I hadn't forgotten so much about how the game worked during that time. I'll keep that in mind next time I decide to have ADHD and various other health problems that prevent me from sticking with something until I'm done with it.

Chaos;Head Noah on the other hand requires that you spend at least as long as that, probably significantly longer, fast forwarding through stuff you've already seen, because it's part of the incredibly poorly thought out structure of the VN itself and not just a consequence of being a dumbass. I had been spoiled by mostly only playing stuff from the past five years or so recently and forgot how much it blows goats in some older VNs getting all the right flags set for certain events or routes. It would've taken even longer if I hadn't given up like three chapters into my second playthrough and just used a guide to get through everything as fast as possible, and I still had to waste at least a few hours just on the skip button.

This is quite frankly terrible. I get what they were going for with the gimmick and how stuff was laid out, but the different endings don't actually branch out until the end of chapter seven (out of ten) on average, and the stuff before that is 95% the same every time through. You also just have to kind of magically intuit several three way choices and correctly answer five yes/no questions to get onto each of the different routes (and for one of them way, way more than that), which you can sort of figure out some of it but a lot of it is just guessing and hoping for the best. This is in fact bullshit and does not respect my time, and in this case is a deliberate design decision and not just me being stupid like with the other one.

This one thing that I've already gone on for far too long about kind of sums up my experience with both of them. Most problems I had with The House (I don't know why I started shortening it to that, but I blame talking about it with @dragonsbutalsorabbits) were my fault or could've been avoided, while most problems I had with Chaos;Head were on purpose because someone (incorrectly) thought they were a good idea.

They both are full of characters who are completely a mess because of the things they've been through in their lives, often but not always deliberately inflicted on them by someone else for their own benefit. The character arcs in The House are much, much better fleshed out though, and anyone who recovers or is redeemed (or gets worse for that matter) gets a lot more development, and the end results feel a lot more earned.

Chaos;Head does that to some degree with some characters, but I wasn't entirely convinced by all of them. I actually am totally down with the main character being kind of a shitty person and the biggest loser in the world (and generally a parody of stereotypical imageboard otakus from the 00s) and don't need my protagonists to be good people or anything, but I feel like they didn't put that to as good use as I would've liked, and I was very not sold on stuff like the "secretly he was a Mary Sue all along" ending.

I feel they could've used it to actually say something a bit more beyond "this guy is a shitty person at least partly as a reaction to the shitty circumstances he was put in outside his control" (totally reasonable) and "maybe girls should be nice to incels because that would fix them (and also they might secretly be superheroes)" (uhh try again chief). It came close a few times, but they never really quite went anywhere else with it.

The House is in some ways the way more fantastical one of the two, but I found it a lot easier to suspend my disbelief for it. It doesn't pretend anything works like the real world does, but it has its own weird but consistent internal logic, and I never really felt myself questioning it. It serves the story, and the story is compelling enough to just go along with it.

Meanwhile Chaos;Head tries to be heavily grounded in the real world, with plenty of psychology and physics and other jargon thrown in to try to tie it in with real world concepts. Unfortunately the writer(s?) have next to zero understanding of how any of that stuff works, so it gets pretty silly pretty frequently. I'm not even going to get into it because I'd be here all day, but even as someone who dropped out of high school twice and only finished like a semester and half of university before dropping out of that too, I still know infinitely more about pretty much every single thing like that they tried to drag into their story and would exhaust the entire world's supply of Cinema Sins dings if I tried to point them all out. The short version is if you know even the absolute bare minimum about psychology or physics or anything like that you're going to have to pretend you don't and just roll with it.

I feel like I've been saying a lot of nice things about one of these and not very many about the other. Let's completely not even things out by saying that I think The House would've been better if it'd ended like ten minutes sooner at the fakeout credits and left some stuff implied at the end instead of actually showing any of it. I was still overall very happy with how things came together in the end, but I would've been even more happier if they'd had a tiny bit more restraint.

And, uh...what can I say nice about Chaos;Head? The first and last/true endings were kinda lame in my opinion (pretty much anything involving the main villains in any of the routes kept making me go "oh no has this secretly been stupid all along?"), but there were some genuinely interesting moments in some of the individual character endings, and I did actually like a decent amount of stuff in the main common route at times too. They did make a pretty interesting world, and some of the characters can be pretty interesting at times too, even if the overall package left something to be desired.

In the end I think The House in Fata Morgana might be the best/my favorite pure VN I've played/read in the past year (although if we count hybrid stuff I think I'd still put 13 Sentinels ahead of it), and Chaos;Head Noah is probably the worst that I enjoyed the least, even if it had its moments and was still ok enough that I finished all the routes. I look forward to one of these days going back to do the side stories for The House and moving on to the next game in the Science Adventure series, Steins;Gate, which I already know I like the characters and story of because the anime adaptation was great when I watched it like a decade ago. I might need a break to do other stuff for a while though, because this last one kind of burned me out.

[brexiiton]

At least 13 dead in Spain nightclub fire

By CNN, 7:38am Oct 2, 2023

At least 13 people have been killed in Spain's deadliest nightclub fire in decades, with fears the toll could rise further as emergency services search for more victims.

The cause of the blaze, which broke out early on Sunday (local time) at the Teatre venue in the southeastern city of Murcia, is not yet known.

Four others were injured: two women, aged 22 and 25, and two men, aged 41 and 45, who were all taken to the hospital due to smoke inhalation.

The fire started around 6am in the popular Teatre nightclub and quickly tore through the venue. (Supplied)

Survivors gathered outside the nightclub described the scene to journalists as emergency services carried out their work.

"I think we left (the club) 30 seconds - one minute before the alarms went off and all the lights went out the screams saying there was a fire," an unidentified survivor told Reuters.

I was at place at that time where I could get out, but five family members and two friends are missing."

FATAL NIGHTCLUB FIRE

A video shared by Murcia's fire service showed firefighters trying to control flames inside the nightclub.

Police and emergency services worked to secure the interior of the club to avoid a possible collapse and were trying to locate and identify the bodies.

"We don't know anything," another man at the scene said.

"We are waiting for news to see whether some of our family members have come out alive."

The fire marks the deadliest nightclub fire in Spain in 33 years.

A blaze in 1990 at a nightclub in northeastern Zaragoza left 43 dead.

In December 1983 81 people were killed in a nightclub blaze in Madrid, with smoke, a failure in the lighting system and a closed emergency door all contributing to the disaster.

Spanish Prime Minister Pedro Sanchez sent his condolences.

"My love and solidarity with the victims and families of the tragic fire that occurred this morning in a nightclub in Murcia.

Officials said the death toll could increase. (Javi Carrión / Europa Press / AP)

"I have just conveyed to the president of the Murcia region all our support and collaboration," Sanchez posted on X, formerly Twitter.

At the time of the incident, emergency services were dispatched, with local firefighters calling in helicopter help to tackle the blaze.

Three days of mourning have been declared in Murcia.

[morgana-ren]

This is so inappropriate, but in your expert opinion, how would Shiggy react to his crush stealing his favorite game controller so she'd have an excuse to see him again?

Oh! How degenerate an ask! I suppose I can indulge you, but I’ll have you know this is quite filthy.

Firstly, I’d like you to know that it takes him about 30 minutes after you leave for him to even realize it’s gone. Why? Because he has to furiously masturbate.

What do you want? He’s a horny young man who just had his crush in his room- on his bed no less- spending time with him totally alone. No buffer friends, no awkward grouping; just you and him in a dark, confined space together.

It was difficult enough to hide his awkward hard on the entire time, and if he inhales his messy bundle of sheets hard enough, he can still smell your lingering presence, so he’s gotta take care of some business first.

After he’s ‘taken care of business’ (aka orgasmed mind bogglingly hard panting your name into his pillow until his hand is caked in viscous white cum that rightfully should be inside of you) it’s right back to gaming. Plops down in his chair, signs onto discord (definitely not to obsessively watch for if you send him a message, he doesn’t do that, nuh uh) and- it’s gone. He could have sworn he left it right on the desk when he got up to give you a too-tight and too-lingering goodbye hug, but it’s definitely not there anymore. He digs through his drawers and scatters his desk, even tears through his sheets because in truth, he was a wee bit distracted at the time, but there’s no trace of it.

This is where he starts to get frustrated. Sure, he has others, but that one was made for him and his “playing style” (a special made controller he ordered due to his little five finger handicap). He doesn’t know where it possibly could have gone, but he wants the damn thing, so he’s going to find it.

He rips his room completely apart compulsively, tearing the poor place a new asshole in his search efforts. He’s so engrossed in making a complete disaster that he doesn’t notice a little ping from you until he finally flips down in his chair, bristling with irritation and defeat. And what do you know? It’s a picture of your soft little hands cradling his favorite controller.

‘Think I accidentally pocketed your controller. I’ll swing by tomorrow and bring it if you want?’

At first, he’s a little confused, because how the hell did you manage that? How does one “accidentally” pocket a controller? He takes a minute to think how on earth that possibly could have happened, tries to envision ways it maybe just slipped into your bag or ended up with your things, but his mind draws a blank there- and that leaves only one real possibility.

You slippery little thing. You took it on purpose.

He’s heard of that before. Girls taking their crushes hoodies or little trinkets or even leaving things at their place so they have an excuse to see them again. He just never thought it would happen to him. Once the realization hits him, he gets those fluttery little butterflies sending waves of glee radiating through his guts- and another fucking erection because he desperately wants to be all up in yours.

He tells you it’s totally fine, and sure, you can come by and drop it off tomorrow… or whatever. Not that he cares. You’d never guess from the total smooth, nonchalant nature of his reply that he’s practically crawling out of his skin with excitement at the prospect. He gets to see you twice in such a short span? Gets to touch you, smell you, breathe your air and get you on his bed for the second time this week?

Sign him the fuck up.

That being said, if you’re going to take his beloved controller, the least you can do is give him a little something in return. Maybe a teensy weensy little video of you grinding on the handle moaning his name and groping your tits or maybe just a picture of you naked and playing with it if that was a bit too much- you’re a creative girl, you could figure something out to make it up to him. Though he can give you plenty of ideas if you can’t.

He wonders if you like him enough to do it if he asks. You did take his prized possession after all. It’s the least you can do.

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Chapter Seven: Trying for Normal (Gifts)

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“You can not honestly tell me you are thinking of announcing that girl as your daughter.” Damian says, his scowl deeper than Dick had seen it in a while.

“‘That girl’ has a name, Little D. Plus she’s your sister.” Dick says, resisting the urge to nudge him. They had gotten to the point where a small nudge wasn’t a death sentence, but Damian was on edge. And a small nudge would probably not be appreciated.

“I do not care what her name is, Grayson. Since coming to Gotham she has been involved in two separate Rogue attacks. She is suspicious at best, and a nuisance at worst.” He replies, crossing his arms.

“Enough, Damian. Marinette is not a nuisance. She simply has bad luck.” Bruce says, obviously trying to defend his daughter.

“And poor self-preservation skills. Talking back to the Joker? Snarking the Riddler? For an individual with no combat training, she gets much too involved in attacks. It is idiotic.” Damian argues, shaking his head.

“It might have something to do with the Paris situation. She said she’s been at attacks before, so she must have some experience with villains. And from what I read on the Ladyblog, none of the damage in Paris lasts. She just may not realize how dangerous it is for her to do here what she would do in Paris. We just need to warn her, or, at least remind her, that Gotham is a dangerous place.” Dick says, thinking back to her reaction to the Riddler and the Joker. She was definitely more tense with the Joker, despite the fact that both villains had arrived with armed goons. Maybe she thought the Riddler was less likely to kill someone, not true. Or maybe she- Dick frowns as he remembers a key difference between the attacks.

“I just realized something.” He says with a frown.

“Care to share with the rest of the room, Dickiebird?” Jason asks, strolling in and flopping onto a chair.

“She was more tense at the attack with the Joker, she seemed to understand that it was a dangerous situation. Sure, she talked back to him, but she didn’t try to fight back or anything. But at the attack with the Riddler, he wasn’t even targeting her at first. He was targeting the boy she’d been talking to. And she was more reckless, and then she fought back. She fought well, but it was still super dangerous.” Dick rambles, pacing as he explains the predicament.

“Is there a point to this? I feel like I walked in at the wrong time.” Jason calls out from his chair, feet propped up on the table in front of him.

“My point, Jay, is that Marinette has a crush.” Dick says, shuddering at the word like it’s something disgusting. (It is, his sister is too young for crushes and boyfriends).

“Is that why she ran off with him right after the attack?” Jason asks with a smirk. Dick feels his eyes practically shoot out of his head.

“She what!?” He yells, running over to the Batcomputer to look at the security footage from the wax museum. Spots that were targeted frequently, like the wax museum, had their security footage directly linked to the Batcave. Just in case of an emergency or in case an attack happened and they needed an extra set of eyes.

“I’m sure she didn’t do anything that you wouldn’t do.” Jason teases, and Dick pales.

“Shut up, Jason!” He moans, his typing turning frantic as he scrolls through the day’s footage. He stops when he gets to the moments after the battle. When the phones of the French students had all gone off. Frowning, he watches as his sister runs up to the boy and grabs his hand, leaning in and whispering to each other before the two run out of the room. Towards the bathrooms. Oh hell no. Dick scrolls forwards, frowning when they don’t come out in five minutes. Or ten minutes. Huffing, he switches to the cameras aimed at the exits. Surely one of the cameras had to catch the pair leaving the museum. He rewinds it and watches, but...there’s nothing. They don’t leave the bathrooms and they don’t leave the museum. For the rest of the day.

“Has anyone been in contact with her since the attack?” Bruce asks from right beside him, making him jump out of his seat with a yelp.

“I don’t even have her number.” Dick says, resisting the urge to glare at his adoptive father. He might’ve had Marinette’s number had Bruce actually acted like he wanted her to be there for dinner the other day. Instead, he practically ignored her and she left. And now she was missing. Definitely missing, because she never came out of the bathroom at the museum.

“Hello, Marinette? Yes, I apologize for calling so suddenly. I was- yes. Yes, I did hear about the attack….yes, that was part of the reason I was calling. I was wondering if you would like to come to dinner at the manor. You could bring your friend, Adrien Agreste, I believe was his name. Of course. Yes. Oh no, I’ll send a car. No, no I assure you it- Marinette please. Taxis aren’t always safe after dark. Thank you. Yes, I- we’ll see you then. Goodbye.” Bruce hangs up, and Dick looks at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Just gonna suddenly invite her and her boy toy to dinner, B? What’re you gonna do, interrogate them?” He asks frowning.

“That’s the second time that Marinette has ran off after that alarm. I’ve seen videos of the situation in Paris and I’m concerned. Now go upstairs and act normal. I want all of you on your best behaviors at dinner. Damian, better than best please. No weapons.” Bruce directs before leaving the room, presumably to ask Alfred to pick up Marinette. Dick sighs and looks at his brothers.

“Well this isn’t going to be a disaster or anything.” He says. --- “Tikki this is going to be a disaster!” Marinette whines, throwing herself face first onto the bed. She tries to ignore Tikki’s amused giggle. This was not funny. This was dinner with her family that she hadn’t made a great impression on the first time. And Adrien was invited, and she wasn’t sure where the two stood but she was sure that if Dick was at dinner, he would just push Adrien farther away from her.

“I could practically hear your suffering from Adrien’s room, pigtails.” Plagg says, making Marinette sit up and glare at the Kwami.

“Are you just here to mock me?” She asks, pouting. He snorts.

“No, I’m here to tell you the kid’s on his way over here. I told him you were panicking and he practically ran out his door.” Plagg says with a chuckle. Rapid knocking on the door makes him laugh more before dropping onto the bed next to Tikki. Marinette sighs, rolling off the bed and pulling the door open, jumping forward in time to catch Adrien before he completely falls to the ground.

“Are you okay? Plagg said you were panicking, did something happen?” He asks quickly, looking her up and down. Marinette blinks, slightly taken aback by his sudden concern. It was nice, but still a lot all at once. Shaking her head, she gestures for him to come in and shuts the door behind him. Walking back over to the bed, she once again face plants and groans.

“She’s nervous because Mr. Wayne invited the two of you to dinner.” Tikki chirps, giggling when Marinette lifts her head up enough to glare at her.

“Traitor.” She says, dropping her head back down.

“If you don’t want me to go with Marinette, I won’t.” Adrien says. Marinette immediately jumps up, shaking her head rapidly.

“No, no that’s not what I meant. I just- I’m nervous about actually sitting through a dinner with them. And I’m pretty sure Dick will try and sit between us and glare at you like he did at the museum.” She admits, cursing the way her cheeks heat up. Adrien raises an eyebrow.

“He was glaring at me?” He asks, utter confusion on his face. Marinette groans, dropping her head into her hands.

“Sometimes your obliviousness is cute-”

“You think I’m cute!”

“But right now, it’s kinda making me want to scream into my pillow.” Marinette admits, giving him her signature “not amused” look. A look she usually saves for when Chat Noir is making a pun.

“Wait, why wouldn’t Dick like me?” Adrien asks, thankfully stuck on that now instead of the fact that she thinks he’s cute.

“Um, maybe because we were holding hands? Did you really not notice how he kept standing in between us the entire time we were at the museum?” Marinette asks, suddenly unsure if she’d imagined the whole thing.

“Oh no, I did. I just didn’t think it meant he didn’t like me. I’ve never really dealt with siblings before. I mean, I’ve met Nino’s little brother but...that’s about it.” Adrien says, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. Marinette sighs, grinning softly.

“I don’t really have a lot of experience either, so maybe I was just imagining things.” She admits. Adrien’s shoulders instantly relax and she smiles. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“So, did you want me to come with?” He asks after a moment of silence. Marinette nods, agreeing immediately.

“Please. I don’t think I can go back there alone, not yet anyway.”

“Of course, Mari. Now, what’re you wearing?” --- The ride to Wayne Manor wasn’t as quiet as her first, with Adrien making quiet jokes and saying things to try and help keep Marinette out of her head. She was thankful that he had come with, because she was definitely going to need the emotional support to get through dinner. The car stops and Marinette sucks in a deep breath. Smoothing out her skirt nervously, Marinette glances at the small, neatly wrapped package sitting between her and Adrien. It was something she had started back when she first found out she was adopted. And that her parents didn’t know her bio dad. A scrapbook with copies of everything important from her life: baby pictures, school pictures, birth announcement, report cards, clippings from newspapers where she had won or placed in contests, pictures of her early designs and recent designs, pictures of certificates and trophies from various competitions and activities. Basically a road map of her life to be given to her bio dad so that he could get to know her. She’d written her name on the front page, with the words “daughter of Bruce Wayne and Bridgette Le” underneath. A sort of amendment to her birth announcement which listed her as the daughter of Tom and Sabine Dupain Cheng. And while she definitely was their daughter, she also wanted Mr. Wayne to know that she wanted to be his daughter too. Not just by blood, which isn’t the important part. No, she wanted to get to know him and for him to get to know her. Pushing down the intruding thoughts insisting that it was too soon and that he didn’t want her in the first place, she opens the car door and steps out, clutching the package to her chest like a safety blanket.

“Would you like me to take that for you, Miss Marinette?” Alfred asks, glancing at the package.

“Oh, no thank you Alfred. It’s for my da- er, um, Mr. Wayne. I can hang onto it.” She says with a bright smile. She could do this. Sure, it didn’t go great the last time she was here. And she was pretty sure Mr. Wayne’s youngest son could kill her and wanted to kill her. But it was fine. Everything is fine. Walking through the front door, her shoulders relax slightly when she sees Dick is the only one standing there waiting for them.

“Marinette! He cheers, rushing forward and picking her up in a hug. As in, legitimately picking her up. Okay then.

“Good to see you too.” She says, trying not to show that he’s literally suffocating her with the hug.

“Good to see you again, Dick!” Adrien says cheerfully. Marinette feels Dick tense before setting her down, his smile less bright as he looks at Adrien.

“And you. Adrien, right?” He asks, sticking his hand out for a handshake.

“Yup!” Adrien says cheerfully. Marinette watches cautiously, noticing that Dick seems to be squeezing a little too hard….and then Adrien appears to match his strength, if the look on Dick’s face is anything to go by. Marinette coughs to hide a snort, her face heating up as both boys turn to look at her.

“Uh, is it just you and Mr. Wayne tonight?” Marinette asks, choosing to ignore their awkward handshake.

“Nope! It’s me and Bruce and Alfred, of course, and Jay and Tim and Damian and Cass. Steph’s not in town and Babs is having dinner with her dad.” Dick says, and Marinette’s eyes widen. There were a lot more people in her bio dad’s family than she thought. She knew about the boys, but she hadn’t seen anything about Cass, Steph or ‘Babs’.

“I didn’t realize I had sisters too.” She says instead of voicing her insecurities. Before she only had the boys to measure up against, now she had three girls too?

“Well, the only official sister is Cass. Steph used to date Tim and she just kinda stuck around. She’s practically family at this point. And Babs and I used to date, but again, she stuck around after and now she’s practically family.” Dick explains with a grin and a shrug. Cause having your exes around isn’t awkward. Or, maybe it isn’t. She doesn’t have any exes to compare it to. Just as she starts to get lost in her thoughts, she feels Adrien brush against her gently. Reminding her that he’s there, for her, giving her the strength she needs to follow Dick into the living room. Where everyone else was sitting. Oh boy.

“Marinette, so glad you could join us. And Mr. Agreste, nice to see you again.” Bruce says, standing from his spot and moving to shake Adrien’s hand.

“You as well, M. Wayne. And please, call me Adrien. Mr. Agreste is my father.” He says, and Marinette can just barely see his wince. His father always had been his least favorite subject, no matter how much or how little they spoke of him.

“Thanks for inviting us.” Marinette says, moving the package so that she’s no longer clutching it like a lifeline. Holding it out to Mr. Wayne, she laughs at his confused face. “It’s a present.” She adds.

“Oh, well, thank you.” He says, his face unreadable. Marinette shifts her weight, glancing between him and the package, waiting for him to open it. Or properly introduce her to the rest of the family. Either option would work at this point. Glancing at Dick, she sighs in relief when he claps. At least someone was going to make the first move.

“Right, so I don’t think you got the chance to meet Jason and Damian properly when you were here the other day.” Dick says, tugging her around a still frozen Bruce in front of the two boys from the other day.

“No, I didn’t. Hi, I’m Marinette.” She says, smiling and holding out a hand to Damian first. He tuts and turns away, making Marinette’s smile fall slightly before she turns to Jason. Jason grins and shakes her hand.

“Welcome to the family, kid.” He says, before whistling. “You didn’t get B’s height, that’s for sure.” He teases, Marinette snorts, her smile turning into a teasing smirk.

“Hey, don’t count me out for my height. Ever heard the phrase, small but mighty?” She asks, crossing her arms. Jason snorts, reaching out and messing up her hair.

“Whatever you say, Pixie Pop.” He replies. She rolls her eyes and turns to the other two siblings she hadn’t met.

“Hi, you must be Tim and Cass.” She says, smiling at both of them. Tim nods, his hand twitching towards his pocket. Marinette tries not to laugh, having seen Max do the same thing when he had to socialize for any amount of time. The boy was always far more comfortable with his phone in his hand, even if he wasn’t actually looking at it. Cass smiles, and Marinette notices her hands moving. “Sorry, could you repeat that, I wasn’t watching closely.” She says. Cass’ smile widens and she nods before starting over.

“Welcome to family. Nice to meet you.” Cass signs, making Marinette beam.

“It’s nice to meet you too.” She says, eyes widening when she realizes she left Adrien alone with a frozen Mr. Wayne. Whirling around, she moved back to Adrien and tugged him forward, rolling her eyes at his surprised yelp. Honestly, he should expect this by now.

“Geeze, Princess. Give a man a warning.” He says, adjusting his shirt that she’d accidentally messed up.

“Sorry k- Adrien. Sorry. Anyway, uh, everyone this is my friend Adrien Agreste. Adrien this is Jason, Damian, Tim, Cass and you already know Dick.” Marinette introduces, gesturing to each of her new siblings. Adrien shoots a wide smile, not quite his model smile but also not quite a real one.

“Nice to meet you all.” He says.

“Marinette, I apologize. Did you want me to open this now?” Mr. Wayne asks suddenly. She turns and raises an eyebrow at his unreadable expression and the way he holds onto the present like he doesn’t know what to expect. Which is fair, considering they’d only met in person the day before.

“Oh, um, if you want to. It’s nothing big.” She says, watching nervously as he nods and unwraps it. His eyebrows twitch together as he looks at the book, obviously not yet understanding.

“Open it, B.” Dick whispers, clearly understanding the gift more than their father. Mr. Wayne nods and opens it, his unreadable expression falling into one that she...still can’t read. But it’s not emotionless anymore. As he flips through the book, a small smile creeps its way onto his face and Marinette almost cheers. That’s the most sincere look she’d ever seen on the man.

“Did you put all this together?” He asks, glancing up from the book to look at her. Marinette nods.

“When I found out I was adopted, I wanted to have something to give my bio dad. So that even if he didn’t want to see me in person, he could get to know me. When I found out you’re my, um, dad, I added some personal touches.” She says.

“And I can keep this?” He asks, and Marinette’s shocked that he sounds almost scared. As if he thinks she’ll say no and take everything back. She smiles.

“Of course. My Maman and Papa already have those pictures. These are all yours.” She says.

“Thank you, Marinette. I- This is an amazing gift.” He says. Marinette’s smile widens and her shoulders sag in relief. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be a disaster after all.

Next

Tag list: @maribat-bdbwm @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @jayjayspixiepop @jjmjjktth @mizzy-pop @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @waiting247 @laurcad123 @toodaloo-kangaroo @ritacrow-blog @deathssilentapproach-blog @kittenmywaythrulife @imarivers8 @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks

[overthefroggymoon]

Recipe Book - a Pikelan One-Shot

Summary: a car chase, a woman who fears for her man, and a violent opening up - HOW WILL THEY SURVIVE? (they play mario kart, pike gets worried she's overstepping some boundaries, and Scanlan talks about his Feelings a little)

Words: 2,559

Day 7 of (hopefully) 30, using the ‘September’ prompts by @creativepromptsforwriting

Read on AO3!

“YES YES YES” Pike squealed, “One more bend and you are toast, Shorthalt”

“In your dreams, Pikey” Scanlan retorted, though his contorted face suggested a slight lack of confidence.

After a night of loud music and drinks, Pike and Scanlan decided today was to be filled with nothing but comfy clothes and video games. A few hours into the Mario Kart marathon, however, Pike was getting restless and decided it necessary for the game to get, in her words, “spiced up”.

Despite Scanlan’s suggestions, she insisted the best way to ‘spice up’ the game was by placing a wager, and so after 2 separate instances of the terms of the bet being changed (‘nonono best of three is stupid, it should be best of five’ ‘that is not a fair win, King Boo's AI clearly cheated' ) they found themselves strewn across their worn grey couch, eyes locked on to the screen.

Currently Pike, as Dry Bones, was in 1st and had just entered into the final lap of what they had just insisted would be the deciding race. Scanlan, as Link, was trailing behind in 3rd, after Bowser had decided to blue shell him only moments beforehand.

“Oh Mr. Shorthalt get ready to expose yourself” Pike said, mind too focused to fully hear the words as they left her mouth. Scanlan was even incapable of responding to such a suggestive request, transfixed instead on getting his rightful place in 1st back.

Whipping around the track, Dry Bones’ driving got more and more erratic with every passing second. Driving past yet another cow, he barely managed to avoid a mud puddle which would have lost him precious moments he couldn’t afford to lose.

Link, on the other hand, was facing disaster after disaster. Between bananas hidden around sharp turns and meandering cows, he somehow found himself soon falling into 4th place, the promise of a win becoming a near impossibility as he did.

If there had been anyone else in the room, they may have taken notice of the two people playing this game as well as their avatars in front of them.

They may have seen that offscreen, Pike was beginning to rise from her seated position, the blanket that lay on her lap falling away as she did. From her squat-like position hovering above the couch, Pike started biting her lip and gripping the controller much tighter than needed.

They could also have seen Scanlan, who stayed in his seat, but who’s face had become rigid, to the point that he had not blinked in nearly 2 minutes.

But the only people in the room were too focused on the television before them to notice any of that.

That is until,

“AHA!” Pike yelped, spinning herself around to face her opponent as she did, “I. Fucking. Won”.

Scanlan found it hard to tear his eyes from the game he had been so focused on for the last few hours, but eventually he found his way back to Pike’s eyes - like he always did.

“On a technicality, I suppose you maybe won that one” Scanlan conceded, smirking up at Pike - happy for her win but refusing to explicitly acknowledge it to her face.

Standing up fully now, Pike dropped her controller to the couch below her dramatically, “You cannot ruin this for me, Scanlan. I officially won this tournament. And you know what that means”

Pike’s legs had seemingly turned jelly from what must have been a combination of lack of movement and spontaneous elongated squatting, and in that moment they seemed to fail her as she suddenly dropped to the floor in front of Scanlan’s legs.

She pulled herself closer to him, and propped her head on his knees as soon as she was able to. “You have to show me now” She stated, eyes wild with excitement and intrigue.

From his spot above her, Scanlan smiled slightly, “Are you sure this is what you want for your prize?” he asked her, placing a hand on her cheek as he did.

“Positive” she answered instantly, nuzzling his hand slightly when it met her skin.

Scanlan shrugged and rolled his eyes at her perseverance, “Okay!” he proclaimed “but don’t blame me when it’s not that interesting!”

He shifted his torso forward, intending to try and stand but Pike made no attempt to move when he did so, “Pikey”, he addressed her softly, her eyes still locked onto his, “I need to get up to do it”

Pike sighed deeply but surrendered eventually, and picked herself off the floor (a more than difficult feat when your legs are currently made of jelly).

“Let’s-a go!” Scanlan deadpanned, holding a hand out for Pike to take.

Pike simply frowned in response, but eagerly grabbed his hand in hers as she did.

Once their hands were interlaced, Scanlan turned away from the still-playing race recap, and started to move his way toward his bedroom, Pike trailing behind him slightly as they walked.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I could have sworn it was in here” Scanlan called back to her, head half buried in his closet that now stood in complete disarray.

It had been 10 minutes since they entered the bedroom, and 8 since Scanlan first stuck his head in his closet and began pulling through every inch of it in search of Pike’s prize.

Pike sighed slightly from her spot on the bed, “It’s okay if you don’t have it. I’ll just have to think of a new prize” She assured him, tucking her knees beneath her head and beginning to think of the many possibilities before her.

“Ooh” she spoke after a moment, “How’s about ice cream?” she asked, directing her question toward Scanlan’s feet - the only part of him she could currently see.

Her question gained no response, and his feet soon disappeared into the closet with the rest of him.

Accepting the defeat that she would simply have to sit and wait for him to re-emerge eventually, Pike lay back on the bed and allowed her eyelids to flutter closed.

When her eyes opened again, she was immediately met with an overly-eager Scanlan. He now stood at the side of the bed, entranced in a shoebox he held in his hands.

“You found it!” She said, yawning as she did.

“Yeah, I don’t even know what’s in here, really” Scanlan said, eyes not leaving the box.

“Let’s find out then” Pike urged, scooting her body closer to his standing form as she did.

Scanlan plopped himself next to her, keeping the shoebox in his grip. He was good at playing at aloofness, but Pike could tell from his demeanor that he was anxious, uncomfortable, and excited all at the same time. Being him though, she also knew he would in no way want to talk about any of those feelings and so she simply placed a hand on his arm and squeezed in support.

He flipped the box open soon after, and turned it to her, “would you do the honors?” he asked.

Before Pike’s eyes was a treasure trove of Scanlan. Everything from souvenirs to the odd baby photo was poking it’s head out from the mess of stuff that somehow all fit together inside this small box.

“I’d love to” she said simply, and took the box in her hands, slowly beginning to sift through it when she finally felt the man beside her relax a little.

The first thing she pulled from the box was a harmonica. A small, rusted silver thing, with an intricate V on it’s side, “this is cool” Pike said, the worry of stumbling into rocky terrain stopping her from asking or saying any more about it.

After a few more various knick-knacks, old birthday cards and jewelry, all of which Pike observed in either silence or with only a small comment (‘pretty’/’wow’/’you were so young'), Scanlan interjected in her exploration.

“Pike” he started, placing a hand on hers, in which currently rested a passport photograph from at least 20 years ago, “I can tell you want to ask things about this stuff, you’re doing that tongue thing you do when you’re tryna do your sudoku’s - it’s adorable, don’t get me wrong, but I’d love you tell me what's on your mind rather than try and not get into anything messy. It’s gonna get messy eventually, unfortunately” he admitted, a softness in his eyes telling Pike he was scared but wanting to open up to her. All he needed was for her to ask.

She tilted her hand, and the photograph in it, toward Scanlan, “This?” She started, “What are you, 6? 7?”

A nervous smile started on his face as he gazed into the eyes of his younger self, “No actually…that is unfortunately me at the ripe age of 12”

Pike couldn’t help the bulge in her eyes as it happened, “12?” she asked bewildered, looking back between the man in front of her and the boy in the photograph, “I knew you’d said something about a growth spurt but that must have been real rough”.

He laughed lightly at her comment, nodding and confirming her theories, “Turns out girls don’t like you so much when you look like a literal baby”

What followed was an hour of intense analysis and exploration of the random knick knacks that were Pike’s only clues to his past. From his first visit from the tooth fairy, to a particular edgy (and hilarious) song he had written at age 15 after he kissed a boy for the first time, Pike felt like she had struck pure gold.

The late afternoon quickly turned into evening, and the shoebox’s interior grew less and less crowded as time wore on, until eventually all that remained was a small, worn leather folder.

“What’s this?” Pike asked as she grabbed for it, removing it carefully after seeing its corners had become nearly congealed to the box around it.

“I don’t actually know” Scanlan admitted from beside her, “I haven’t looked in here for a long time”

Finally freeing the folder, Pike popped it open and gently pulled its contents out. Seemingly in response to the movement, Scanlan’s breath suddenly slowed.

From inside the folder, Pike had found a notebook, which she imagined had once been a lavish and delicate thing covered in an intricate pattern, but who’s outside was now worn from use and age, and who’s insides were crammed with various bits of paper.

“Wait”, Scanlan said as she went to open it, Pike freezing immediately upon his request, “I think I’d like to open this up. I haven’t seen it in a long long time”

She simply smiled at him in understanding, and handed the notebook over with ease. It took him a moment, but eventually Scanlan accepted the book and began to simply caress the front cover.

Pike didn’t feel inclined to question or rush him, and so she took a moment to simply watch and observe him. From her seat beside him she found she was able to see hints of emotion she wasn’t sure she would have caught from any further away.

In his hands and arms she saw a gentleness, one he carried only on occasions where he was desperately trying to make sure what he held was real, was cared for, and wasn’t going to leave.

Finally, Scanlan flipped the book open, and Pike was struck with the sheer messiness of the journal before her. The front page was a simple ‘This book belongs to’ page, and yet every inch of it was filled with one scribble or another.

Pike tried to make out the name labeled on the dotted line, but found herself dumbfounded by the scrawl of handwriting atop it. Moving quickly on to the other sporadic notes which littered the page, Pike did her best to make out some of the hidden messages, but only found herself able to decipher 2;

“Sully - Piano Lessons” and

“12/12/88”

The second one she imagined was a date, but given the complete lack of context for either message, she couldn’t tell if this was something that meant anything or if it was just another scribble on a page; a forgotten note taken in haste.

Just as Scanlan went to turn the page again, he paused, and brought his calloused fingertips over to the date Pike had just read.

12/12/88

She thought hard on it, but came up empty for what it could have been.

“Her due date” Scanlan finally provided, “She always called me a 'scoundrel' for making her wait an extra few weeks” he laughed lightly to himself. "scoundrel" he repeated lightly.

In the silence that followed, pieces of the puzzle that was Scanlan began slotting into place in Pike’s mind.

And suddenly, that scrawled name along the dotted line became clear as day.

Juniper Shorthalt.

Flicking her eyes over to Scanlan, she took note of the joy that seemed to have sparked in his eyes and she grew desperate to climb behind them and watch the memories that played inside.

“She seemed like such a good person, Scanlan” She said, unsure of what else she really could say in such a moment

“She really really was” He responded, “Fucking awful handwriting though, Ioun’s sake, I cannot read half of this chicken scratch” he continued, turning the notebook every which way as he did, chuckling lightly with Pike’s soft laugh following suit.

“She called it a ‘recipe book’” He explained, replacing the notebook back onto his lap again, “And like, sure there’s a lot of recipes in here, but really it was her scribble pad. Everything, everything went in here”

“I don’t know how she managed that, I’d forget what every note meant instantly if I had something like this” Pike said, hoping to get Scanlan talking about his Mother more.

In their 5 years of knowing each other Pike had heard very little about Juniper - mostly all she knew was that she was kind hearted, had supported Scanlan through his artistic endeavors, and that she had died when Scanlan was young.

Despite her careful attempts at triggering conversation about the woman, Pike had found Scanlan was nervous to give any more details than the basics and so usually most conversation about her had covered those same three topics on a loop, in the most detached way Scanlan could muster.

But now Pike was finally getting context to the woman, and relished in the moment while she could.

Scanlan flipped through an assortment of pages quickly, and finally landed on a random page in the middle.

“I think this one was my favourite” he cooed, and Pike read the recipe name along the top - Shorthalt’s Shortbread - exhaling a small laugh at the name as she did.

“Why don’t we make it tonight?” Pike asked him, seeing the short list of ingredients needed, “we’ve got all that in the cupboards, I think”

Scanlan paused for a few moments longer than Pike was comfortable. Had she crossed a line? Had she pushed him back into the fear of the intense intimacy of their situation? Was this all just too much for him?

Until finally she felt him exhale beside her and put a hand to her knee, “You have no idea how much I would love that, Pike”

[crannab]

"This can't be legal," Peter Burke said to Nate Ford by the buffet table.  The two of them had followed their partners to an event, catered by Elizabeth Burke, at a small neighborhood art gallery, where they fell to chatting about the old days before realizing exactly what their respective pet (ex! alleged!) felons were up to. It was, in retrospect, too much to hope that such high profile criminals as Neal Caffrey and Sophie Devereaux had never heard of each other, much less met each other, but the petty sniping and rivalry had taken both men by surprise.  Luckily, just as they were starting to worry that someone was going to have to be fished out of the punch bowl, the two grifters decided to settle the score like adults.  Professionally.  Which resulted in the appalling scene before them now.

On one side of the gallery, Neal had taken up the cause of a young woman who worked both fast food and retail, and managed to paint in whatever spare minutes she could get.  He currently had two hedge fund managers in a bidding war over a painting of the McDonald's where she worked.  On the other side, Sophie was talking up the found object sculptures created by a mousy young man who had been subsisting on ramen for the past two weeks.  She was casually adding zeroes to each price and convincing a C-level executive from a Fortune 500 company that the sculptures were a great investment in an up and coming young artist.  Even more bizarre, Elizabeth had talked one of the gallery assistants into helping her take video of the disaster.

"Well, I'm not going to stop them," the gallery owner said, "If this works, those two artists will be set for a couple of months at least."

"That's what you're concerned about?" Peter said.

"You're not?" the gallery owner replied, taking a sip of her Chardonnay. "Look, I've got those five pieces from whats-his-name-- Nick Carter," which she indicated with a tip of her glass, "and any two of them will pay my expenses for the month.  Not only that, I'm sure to sell all five.  Those other poor kids are just hoping to make enough money to buy supplies for their next work."

"Those are very nice pieces," Nate said, "I thought about buying the sculpture, but Sophie said it wouldn't go with the decor."

"I'm not surprised," Peter told him, "I saw Neal working on it."

Nate smiled a little.  "She always could pick his work out of a crowd.  Do you know, I once found one of his forgeries because she passed over stealing it?"

"Really," Peter said.

"Yeah, when Sophie Devereaux steals the second most valuable painting in a collection, it's a good idea to look closely at the first."

[nonbinaryroyalty43]

Analogical, envy!patton, final

Characters: Virgil Sanders, Logan Sanders, Envy!Patton, Roman Sanders

Pairing: Analogical

Warnings: None that I can think

Summary: Virgil and Envy made a bet, but now Virgil doesn’t think he’ll win. Luckily, Logan’s there to help, with a nudge from someone else.

Let me know if I need to add any warnings.

*******

Virgil stares at the screen in disbelief. He had been so close. Victory had been at hand and then been taken away from him. He could almost cry.

He is so focused on the screen that he doesn’t notice Logan walk in. “Virgil? Is something wrong?”

Virgil jumps and quickly looks at Logan. “No, nothing important anyway.”

Logan frowns. “What has happened?”

“I was playing this video game. Envy bet me that I couldn’t finish this game in two weeks. My deadline is tonight at midnight and I’m almost there! I just.... I can’t beat this final level.”

Logan sits next to Virgil, gazing at the screen curiously. “And what did you bet?”

“I bet my jacket. If I lose I have to give him my jacket. But if I win, he has to go without his glasses for a day!”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “That does not seem like a fair trade. Anyway, I would like to help you accomplish your goal. Is this a multiplayer game? And would my assistance break any rules you have with your bet?”

Virgil shakes his head. “No. Envy didn’t say I had to do it alone. The game is multiplayer, too, but I know you’re probably busy. I don’t want to bother you.”

“It isn’t a bother. Most of these games are actually very simple to beat once you know the pattern, so it should be no trouble for the two of us to complete it.”

“Uh, alright.” Still a bit confused, Virgil grabs another control and gets Logan logged is as the second player. The game reloads, revealing the final boss. “We have three lives each. If we lose those lives, it’s game over and we have to restart. Ready?”

Logan nods and Virgil clicks start.

For the next five minutes, all that can be heard is the sounds of the game and the clicking of buttons as they work together to defeat the boss. Logan gets the pattern down quickly, only losing one life in the process. Virgil goes more by instinct, jumping and dodging.

With the two of them working together, the boss is defeated, finishing up the whole game. Virgil cheers and hugs Logan.

“Thank you! I never would have been able to do it without you.”

Logan blinks rapidly, eyes wide. “O-of course, Virgil. I know how much your jacket means to you.” He clears his throat as Virgil pulls away. “However, I did very much enjoy doing this activity with you. Would you be amendable to partaking in other such activities?”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Did you really just ask me out using nerd speak?” Before Logan can defend himself, Virgil adds, “Yes, I would like that.”

Logan breathes a sigh of relief. “Great. That’s great. “ He clears his throat again, readjusting his glasses.

Virgil grins and takes a picture of the victory screen that had come up. “I need to go find Envy, but I’ll see you later, okay?” He sinks out before Logan can respond. Logan leans back in his chair, a grin spreading across his face. That wasn’t a complete disaster. Proud of himself, he sinks back out to his own room.

*****

Envy knocks on Roman’s door and enters without waiting for an answer. Roman is sitting on his bed, writing something down. He looks up when Envy enters.

Roman gestures for Envy to close the door, and once Envy does so, Roman asks, “Well? Did it work?”

Envy nods. “Yes. Logan went in to help Virgil with the last level and then asked him out. Virgil has just informed me that he won the bet.”

Roman grins. “Excellent. It’s about time those two got together.”

“Indeed,” Envy agrees. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you put this all together?”

“It was one of my better schemes,” Roman admits. “I got you to place a bet with Virgil. I knew that eventually Virgil would get frustrated by the game or be stumped by it. When that happened, I mentioned to Logan that Virgil was getting upset, banking on the fact that Logan would be concerned. I was correct.”

“How did you know Logan was gonna ask him out?”

Roman shrugs. “That was pure luck. I knew the two would at least be a bit closer and I hoped something would happen. I didn’t really do anything about that, I just set them up.”

“You’re a great friend. The two probably would have danced around each other for years.”

Roman nods. “I know. It was so obvious they liked each other, I just had to do something about it.”

“Well, it worked. And now I have to go without my glasses for a day.”

“It’s worth it to see those two stop pining over each other.”

Envy rolls his eyes, muttering something about Roman doing the bet next time. He doesn’t say much more, leaving just as quickly as he’d arrived.

And when he sees (blurrily) Logan and Virgil holding hands and smiling at each other later, well, he has to agree that the whole thing had been worth it.

[broadstbroskis]

drunk dial | auston matthews

a very long time ago, an anon sent me an ask with a prompt that was like “so we’re just ignoring the fact that you drunk dialed me to tell me you love me?” with auston and @nolypats and i have been chatting recently and, well this is finally completed

-----

It’s a typical Saturday night and the boys don’t have another game until Wednesday, somehow, someway, so you arrive at Scotiabank Arena dressed for the bar after and notice immediately that you aren’t the only one who’d made the choice to do so. 

“Ohhh.” Steph runs her fingers along the sleeve of your leather jacket as soon as you slip into the seat beside her. “I love this! New?”

You nod at her, but are already busy gushing over her sweater to answer anything else about the jacket, which you’d openly lusted over for months before your best friend had surprised you with it for your birthday a few weeks ago, despite your insistence to Auston that it was too much. 

Steph seems to have been waiting for you to arrive because as soon as you do, she flags down Alannah, who grins as soon as she sees you. “Wine o’ clock!” She cheers and you grin, standing and following the two of them to the closest spot in the club level for you each to get a glass.

It sets the tone for the evening, with the three of you giggly and tipsy by the time the game ends and you meet up with everyone in the lounge downstairs.  

“Oh boy.” Zach’s eyes widen almost comically, when he’s the first one to approach the three of you, coming out of the locker room fresh off his shower. Alannah straight up squeals when she sees her husband, throwing her arms around him like she hasn’t seen him in days or weeks, instead of like five hours, and you give the reaction the giggles it deserves, hearing Steph join in right behind you. “Oh boy.” Zach repeats, looking between the three of you.

“What’s going on?” Mitch asks, appearing at his side, with Auston and Will right behind him.

“It’s wine o’ clock, bitch!” Steph cheers, erupting into a fit of giggles, and that’s the last thing you remember.

-----

Considering how much your head is pounding the next morning, you’re just happy to wake up in a bed, even if you know right away that it isn’t your own. It takes you a few minutes to open your eyes, but you breathe a sigh of relief when you do, taking in the familiar sights of one of Steph and Mitch’s guest rooms.

Poor Mitch. You bite back a laugh, taking your time to sit up at the edge of the bed, and a couple deep breaths as it makes your headache even worse. You might not remember last night, but you know from prior experience that having to wrangle a drunk you and Steph back here was no easy task for him. You owe him big time. 

The two of them are both, unsurprisingly, already awake when you make your way downstairs, nursing large and larger cups of coffee. “Any more of that?” You ask hopefully, and Mitch snorts, while Steph points pathetically toward the counter.

There is, blessedly, a good portion of the pot still left, and still warm, and you pour it in a mug, hugging it toward your chest like the lifeline it’s about to be. “Sorry, Mitch.”

“You will be when you see the pictures.” Mitch says cheerfully, way too cheerfully for this early in the morning, especially considering how hungover you are.

You groan immediately, noticing Steph’s done the same only after she bangs her head against the counter and follows it with a soft, “Ow.”

“Where’s my phone?” You whine reluctantly. You might as well get the roast over with.

Your phone is hiding in the blankets of the bed you’d slept in, almost dead, where you’d apparently just thrown it at some point. Steph’s already back in the kitchen when you make your way down, her face paling even as she occasionally laughs at whatever she’s scrolling through.

Your own phone has more than a few messages with pictures from last night, as well as a few more chats that are blowing up with texts this morning, commenting from last night, but there’s one message that catches your eye. 

It’s from Auston, separate from any of the group chats, and it catches your eye because it’s just...not like a usual text he’d send you? you good? is the only thing he’s sent, no emojis, nothing, and it’s strange enough that you ignore the other incoming texts to explore through your phone a little to see what you could have done to get a text like that.

Instagram and Snapchat both yield nothing- embarrassing videos, sure, but nothing overly terrible- and the photos making their way through the texts are the same, but your call log is another story.

“Shit.” You groan, swiping back into your messages with your best friend. 

“What?” Steph asks.

“I called Auston, like, ten times last night.” You tell them, more focused on texting him. i’m sorryyyyy. didn’t mean to keep you up

it’s good. He sends back a few minutes later, and you frown, because as cool and chill as he might pretend to be, he’s not, and this is strange. 

couch movie day? You ask him. The coffee has done the trick; you at least feel like you could move, and there’s no better way to spend a hungover Sunday than with your best friend, lounging on his supremely comfortable couch. i’ll even agree to football if that’s what you so desire.

yeah alright, that sounds good. It’s punctuated with the fingers forming the ok sign emoji,though, and that, at least, is close enough to normal that you smile. You must have kept him up later than you even realized with your calls, for him to be so short with you.

“Alright lovelies.” You suck down the last bit of coffee and address your hosts. “Thanks for the bed last night. I owe you big time, Mitch.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll come collecting!” He teases.

“Headed to Auston’s though.” You press a kiss to Steph’s head and then Mitch’s as well. “Comfy sweats and a couch calling my name.”

——-

When you let yourself into your best friend’s place, it comes as almost no surprise to find a giant ginger sitting at the counter. “Freddie!” You beam, throwing your arms around him and regretting it pretty quickly, once your head starts to pound again. He starts to squeeze you, returning the hug, but you shake your head quickly. “Nope, don’t do that.”

“Alright, fair enough.” He laughs. “So rough night last night, huh?”

You level him with a look but he barely even blinks, and you sigh. “Where’s Auston?”

“Right here.” Your best friend is still shirtless as he walks out of his bedroom, yanking some ridiculous graphic tee over his head as he gets closer, which gives you the second you need to look away and take a breath after even just that tiny minute of exposure. Auston’s abs are honestly unfair and they are, objectively, not even his best feature. “Hey.” He gives you a nod, fixing the glasses he tries to pretend he’s too cool to actually need, refusing to wear them outside the house unless absolutely necessary, and you grin back; as annoyed as he may have seemed over text, he’s not acting that way at all now. 

“Is there coffee made?” You ask hopefully. Auston rolls his eyes at you, but nods over at his absurdly fancy machine, the one that had taken you about three months to figure out how to use. “Sweet, you’re amazing. I’m stealing that and then going to steal some sweats, okay?” You don’t even wait for him to respond, knowing it’ll be fine. Precedent is on your side here. Instead, you reach for a mug and address Freddie instead. “Fred, you joining?”

“Nah.” Freddie says, surprising you a bit. You’ve never known him to turn down a lazy Sunday. “You two have fun.” He says, giving you a knowing glance, which means he definitely caught you looking at Auston earlier, and it’s only the fact that Auston is standing right there that stops you from flipping Fred off on his way out the door.

It figures Freddie’s freaky goalie powers would be working now. Catches onto your more-than-best-friends-feelings for Auston, sure, but too oblivious to notice the hot neighbor in his building he’s crushing on is practically in love with him. Good one, Fred.

It’s barely a minute after Freddie clears out that you slip past Auston to go change, bringing your coffee mug along with you and reaching for your favorite pair of sweatpants the minute you enter his room. They’re old and perfectly worn, from his first year in the league, too small for Auston now, but just large enough for you to feel cozy in. One of his comfier sweatshirts completes your outfit for the day. Auston might be able to survive the day in a t-shirt, always radiating heat even as he complains about the Toronto cold, but fuck that, you were ready to be comfortable and nap through an afternoon of American football. 

Auston is already settled on the couch and if you weren’t so hungover, you’d throw yourself on him, just to be obnoxious, but as it is, you settle slowly onto the cushions beside him, and then lower your head to rest in his lap, frowning to yourself when you feel him tense. 

But it happens so quick; one minute his quads are tight underneath you and the next he’s relaxed again, you find yourself wondering if you imagined the entire thing. Maybe he wasn’t even annoyed with you this morning either; maybe you were just projecting your annoyance at the entire world onto him.

His hand moves to your hair, just like it always would, and you decide your hangover must have you paranoid. “How’s your fantasy team going to do today?” You mumble, already ready to fall back asleep.

Auston hums. “Good, I think. I play Willy this week and he’s a fucking disaster.” You giggle into his lap; his hand stills for a second, but then goes right back to playing with your hair. “Hey, uh, you-” Auston starts, but whatever he says next goes unheard by you, as you give into the sleep that’s been ready to overtake you since you settled onto his lap only moments ago.

-----

It’s hours later when you come to again and you only know this because whatever football game Auston has on is well into the second half. 

It takes you a few minutes to wake up again, slowly coming out of your sleepy state, before you realize that Auston’s talking to someone- quietly, but talking pretty freely- and it’s actually this that’s what has woken you up.

“Yeah it’s-” Auston cuts off frustratedly. He sounds kind of like he wants to be pacing but your head is still in his lap and his hand has moved from your hair to rest on your shoulder, brushing gentle strokes over the curve of it. “I just haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

Ohhh, juicy. You don’t want to listen in on Auston’s conversation; you know he’ll bring it up to you when he’s ready, but well, it’s hard not to. You can’t get up without alerting him that you’re awake already. You shut your eyes again tightly, focus on your breathing, and try to fall back asleep, but he’s talking again. “You don’t just get the fuck over that, Fred.” He hisses and ohhh, that sounds angry. You wonder what could have possibly happened to make him sound like that; the two of them never fight. “I would have gotten over her already if I could.”

And that’s the end of that for you. You’re already feeling sick enough today before hearing Auston and Fred talk about one of Auston’s girls. You squeeze your eyes closed tightly and re-double your efforts on trying to fall back asleep, concentrating on blocking out the sound of his voice. 

It works a lot better when you focus on how his hand feels on your shoulder, but it still feels like taking the L.

-----

The second time you wake that afternoon is much smoother. Your headache is basically gone, but the tradeoff is Auston’s thumb digging into your upper trap, which you ease off. “Sorry.” He winces, soothing that spot immediately and you don’t have to look up at the TV to know the Raiders have just done something terrible for his well being. 

“I’m hungry.” You whine at him and he laughs.

“Two minutes.” He responds, checking the time, which of course, turns into more like five, because the difference between “football time” and “real time” is fucking riduclous, but when the half does end, you sit up, the two of you swiping between food delivery apps to decide on dinner for the evening.

When you look up from your phone, Auston’s looking at you with a soft smile, that one you can’t let yourself look at for too long. “I’m gonna shower real quick, if you don’t mind?”

You’re already standing before he answers, but he nods, smile fading from his face a little. “Yeah, go for it.”

“Thanks.” You call, already moving towards the master bath, ready to steal a second pair of sweats for the day.

The shower is the distraction that you need, the step away from that smile that’s too close to everything that you want. The large walk-in a scalding reminder of every other girl who may have been in this position, of the girl who Auston wants to keep around in this position, the one girl who’s managed to do the thing hundreds of girls in Toronto thought was impossible. Auston’s soap smells bitter today, as you lather yourself in it, wondering how you became one of those girls.

You must have taken longer than you thought in the shower because the food’s arrived when you come back out. Auston’s unpacking the takeout bags onto the coffee table, with utensils ready. “Ohh, smells good.” You tug the long sleeves of his shirt over your hands, settling into the couch next to him again and watching him spread your takeout favorites out in front of the two of you. “Thank you.

Auston hums in response, passing you over your favorite dish ordered, the one that you love and he hates, and you only kind of watch him make a plate for himself, a mish-mash of options from the rest of the meals that you’d ordered, more focused on the plate of food in front of you, which is maybe why it’s a total surprise when he says, “We’re really just going to ignore you drunk-dialling me to tell me you love me?”

You choke. “What?”

Auston pales. “Uhh.” He freezes; his fork’s halfway to his mouth, but you can’t even chirp him for how lame he looks right now and it’s not even just because you apparently did something a hundred times more stupid. 

No, it’s because your mind is racing at the fact that you did do something a hundred times more stupid last night and you can’t even put together a coherent thought about that, let alone anything else. No fucking wonder he’s been strange all day.

“Uh.” Auston repeats. “You know what? Don’t worry about it.”

“Absolutely not!” You protest, words finally coming back to you. “What the fuck? God, I’m so sorry!” 

And somehow, that makes this worse? Auston’s shoulder’s tense, he looks extremely interested in his food suddenly. “I mean, it’s cool.” He shrugs, acting again too chill for the situation.

It’s a long moment before you respond, trying to gather your thoughts before you say something you don’t mean. “Is it though? Because you’ve been weird all day and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, but, like, I can’t take it back now. So the best I can do is leave and like, let me know if you want to talk about it ever and promise not to make things super weird everytime I see you if you don’t want to talk about it.” You don’t realize you’ve stood up at some point in this chat, but Auston still hasn’t responded, and well, maybe it’s for the best that you’ve stood. 

You turn to leave, only for him to tug you back gently toward him, but he either pulls harder than he thinks or you’re just not expecting the tug, and you land in his lap instead of the couch. It’s hardly a graceful fall, with Auston having to loop his free hand behind your back to catch you, your nose bumping against his shoulder on the way down, and your legs folding under you unnaturally until you squirm around to fix them.

Auston’s barely breathing when you finally look up at him, a little annoyed that he’s still acting weird after what you said. “Could you-” He trails off. “Just sit still for a second please?” You give him a look, but settle down, stopping your movements, and he takes a deep breath, relaxing, finally. “I’m sorry if I’ve been weird all day, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you telling me you loved me.”

You huff at him, annoyed and ready to climb off his lap to storm out, but he tightens his grip on you, like he knows what you’re thinking. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

“I swear, I’m not!” His thumb slides up to brush a spot of skin between the waistband of the sweatpants and the oversized shirt. “I haven’t been about to stop thinking about that, and then you came in here, looking like you always do, in my clothes all day, and I’ve been trying so fucking hard not to ruin shit between us for months now,” Your eyes widen and your jaw drops as everything starts coming together. “Until last night, when you called me and left me that message and I thought maybe we were on the same page…”

“Except I didn’t remember doing it.” It pains you to even say it; you hate that he’s been feeling uncertain throughout the entire day. Uncertain and unsure and just...hanging. “Auston-” You reach your hand out to brush against his cheek.

“You didn’t even mention it.” He says. “Not in your texts, not once you got here. I thought...I thought you just wanted to carry on with things as normal, that you regretted saying it, or wanted to take it back completely?” He shakes his head, like he’s clearing his thoughts, but you don’t let him move away, putting your hand right back on his cheek.

“I mean, I wish I remembered saying it.” You tell him softly. “But I don’t think I’ll ever regret loving you.” 

“Good.” Auston says firmly, and you barely have time to grin in response to that before he’s tugging you closer in his lap and kissing you soundly. 

[imaginesupply]

Homecoming - Chapter Six

(I know it's Henry and not Sy in the photo, but it just fit too well with this chapter.)

Summary: The day has arrived, Captain Syverson is going home. For good, this time. He is going home to a civilian life he can hardly remember and a wife he barely knows, with memories of the war still fresh on his mind. Love might not be able to heal everything on its own, but it’s a good start.

Genres: Romance, drama.

Story warnings: Smut (always fully consensual), mentions of PTSD and nightmares and mental health, angst, hurt and comfort, fluff, mentions of war (minor), mentions of cheating (minor), mentions of pregnancy (very minor), police appearance (very minor), violence (very minor).

Notes:

It’s my first time writing for one of Henry’s characters and I’m unsure I did Sy’s character any justice.

This is a Capt. Syverson x OFC (Ada) story, written in 3rd person POV but OFC’s physical description is very limited so it could also be read as Capt. Syverson x Reader, I think.

English is not my first language, so there might be some mistakes. Proofread, but not beta’ed. We die like men and all that.

Timeline is a little wacky: The movie takes place in 2003 and the U.S. forces were withdrawn from Iraq in 2011, but I never set a precise date because I don’t think it’s essential for this story. However, some elements might not be realistic because if we set this story in 2003: Phone cameras quality was not as good as it’s now, but for the purpose of the chapters, I will need you to imagine you could film great videos with your flip phone haha. Plus, it says Sy is coming back after being deployed for more than three years which makes no sense unless we set this in 2006 or later. I am asking you disregard any time inconsistencies.

Also: I am not American. I only lived in the US for six months and it was in the Midwest, not Texas so please bear with me if I write something stupid.

Finally: This will be a Christmas fic and I intend to post the last chapter (there will be seven in total) on or before Christmas. However, religion is never mentioned in this story and the Christmas-sy elements of this story are limited to family gathering, gift giving and tree decorating.

Chapter Six starts after the cut. (Chapter Five can be found here.) Let me know if you wish to be tagged in the last chapter or if you wish to be removed from the tag list.

I will post a master list soon and put the link in the comments to make it easier to navigate.

Chapter 6

Chapter warnings: Smut, Christmas themes, mentions of therapy, embarrassing moments.

Ada didn't mind being woken up with soft fluttering kisses on her neck. She definitely didn't mind starting the day with the tantalizing rub of his beard on her sensitive skin and the hard press of his torso against her back, their legs entwined and his morning erection nuzzled against her butt.

What she did mind, however, was when any of this happened at the butt crack of dawn. Ada opened her eyes just enough to read 6:50am on the alarm clock.

"Sy," she groaned, stopping his wandering hands with hers, trying to trap them beneath her breasts. "Hold that thought for later, okay?"

She heard him chuckle behind her, his chest vibrating against her body as he freed his hands from her weak grip. "Later is for putting up the Christmas tree and the decorations," he teased, his right hand now drawing circles low on her stomach.

Ada groaned again, wanting to fight his tempting touch but unwilling to move away from his body heat. "I'll get up at 7:30." Those were the last words out of her mouth before she had drifted off again.

When she woke up once more, forty minutes later with the blast of her alarm clock, her back was cold and the smell of breakfast wafted through the air, filling her nostrils. Damn Syverson and his military sleep schedule! She had taken all her days off to spend them with him only to wake up even earlier than when she was working.

With barely open eyes, Ada threw on his shirt that hung on the chair and slowly made her way downstairs, following the scent of pancakes. She found Sy in front of the stove, just finishing up the last one before setting it on the huge pile of pancakes that looked fluffier than clouds. Ada had quickly learnt that while Sy was a disaster when it came to the art of cooking, he was the master of pancakes and barbecue.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he greeted her and then smirked when he noticed her attire.

"Morning captain," she mumbled, walking up to him before patiently waiting until he leant down so that they could share a kiss. It always made him laugh when she did that: the adorable pout on her face when he didn't bend down for a kiss fast enough was worth waiting the extra second every time.

They ate in relative silence, mostly because Ada definitely wasn't a morning person, but the fact that Sy had a habit of stuffing his mouth full of food also played a role. When she was done eating, Ada pushed her plate and glass away, and brought her knees up to her chest, hugging her legs on the chair. She eyed her husband intently, waiting for him to finish eating with a grin on her lips.

"Why are you looking at me like that, darlin'?" Sy asked, eyebrow raised suspiciously before taking the last sip of his morning coffee.

Ada blushed, suddenly looking bashful. "Well… I was hoping we could go back upstairs and continue what you started earlier," she admitted in a tiny voice.

Sy laughed, a booming sound that filled the entire room before a shit-eating grin spread on his lips. "Tough luck, darlin'." He got up from his chair, standing in front of her across the narrow table. "Should have thought about that before falling asleep on me earlier."

Ada's mouth fell open. The cheek on this man! And what made it worse, was his huge smile that made him look like a very amused bear, with his hairy, tempting chest. He was toying with her. "Are you really saying no to sex?" She asked, cocking her brow. Sy wasn't really the type to turn down-

"Yes, no sex." He stated, suddenly looking very serious. "We have to head to the store to buy decorations, then put up the tree and hang the lights outside." Ada tried her best not to laugh. He sounded as if he were explaining a major, life or death, mission to her – not Christmas preparations. "You’re dismissed but I expect you back here in fifteen minutes, dressed and ready to go." With that, he turned around and started gathering the plates and silverware to put them in the dishwasher.

"Yes, sir."

Ada knew better than to talk back. First, when he had something in mind, it was nearly impossible to talk him out of it. Second, she hoped that the sooner they were done with this, the sooner she could get laid. Third, he had used his Captain voice that somehow always managed to make an obedient little soldier out of her.

Though, rationally, she also didn't want to make it any more difficult for him. He had confessed to her a few nights ago why he'd felt so uneasy when they had gone grocery shopping: the gondolas were too tall which led to lots of blind spots and the amount of people meant he couldn't rely on his hearing sense to detect potential danger. 'It just screams ambush,' he told her.

Ada couldn't quite imagine what he must have experienced that a supermarket or a store would translate into danger, but it was not her place to question him. Instead, she had kissed his forehead in bed and offered to start doing their shopping on her own. Sy had promptly refused, suggesting they simply go early in the mornings, when there were less people and less distracting noises.

Now at Target, she was immensely glad she had gotten out of bed, the sight alone was worth it. It wasn't everyday you'd see Sy pick up a bunch of Christmas tree baubles and inspect each one of them carefully before determining which ones were worthy enough to make it to their living room. Ada sneaked a picture for safekeeping and then decided to send it to his mom as well. Family dinner was fast-approaching, and she'd seize all the cookie points she could get.

"Darlin'," Sy called, catching her attention. He was holding up an inflatable Santa who, instead of carrying gifts, dragged a bag full of liquor bottles and sported a drunk grin on his face. It was tacky beyond words. "Do 'you think we should get this, or will it just upset the neighborhood kids?"

Ada grimaced but tried to disguise it with a smile. She’d die before letting that thing on their lawn. “I think a neighborhood dog would tear it to bits within a second," she lied, trying to appear apologetic.

"Yeah, you're probably right."

°°°

The lights were up. It was a much quicker process with Sy's help. It was also the occasion for Ada to just sit back and relax because he was adamant, she shouldn’t step on a ladder to help. Instead, she had a glass of bourbon waiting for him for when he finished. It was 5pm somewhere after all.

"You said we had a tree!" Sy's deep voice reached her from the basement.

Ada threw her head back, sighing, before hurrying downstairs after him. "Yes, it's in that box over there," she pointed at a white cardboard box behind a couple of spare tires.

"Woman, it's tiny!" Sy complained, picking up the box and setting it down between them. It was about as tall as her. It was not that small.

"It's the one I've used every year since I moved in. It's pretty enough and doesn't take up too much space,” she defended.

In front of her, Sy exhaled loudly through his nostrils before rubbing his beard. She knew that move. It's what he did to remind himself she was not a soldier under his command, but his wife, and that he better measure his words unless he wanted to sleep on the sofa.

"Look, darlin'," he said calmly, enclosing her small hands in his much bigger ones. "This is my first Christmas home with my wife. I refuse to put up a minuscule, fake sapling in my home and call it a Christmas tree."

Ada was slightly taken aback. She didn’t know Christmas was this important to him. Though it was true he had been overseas on Christmas the past two years, so she could understand where he was coming from with wanting this Christmas to matter. Besides, it was endearing when he put it like that.

With a nibble on her lip, Ada gave in. "Okay. They're selling trees in that parking lot by the pharmacy."

Sy slowly shook his head, a mischievous look on his face. "No. We're going to get our own pine tree from the woods."

You gotta be kidding me, she groaned internally.  

°°°

Ada had no idea where they were. It hadn’t been that long of a ride, but there were no more houses or streets to be seen around them, just endless fields and a forest. It was only when Sy took a right turn, that she started spotting cars and what looked to be a very colorful barn which had been converted into a cozy boutique.

“Where are we?” She asked, staring out of the window as Sy looked for a place to park his truck.

“The Dallagher’s ranch,” he replied. “They do a corn maze and a pumpkin patch in the Fall, and in the Winter, you can pick up your own Christmas tree. My dad used to take Claire and I here every year.”

Oh… This was a family tradition. No wonder Sy made such a big deal about having a real tree for Christmas.

Once out of the car, they walked hand in hand through the dirt road until they reached the makeshift counter made of hay where you could get a handcart before heading out into the man-made pine forest and select a Christmas tree. Most people she saw, however, were already returning the handcarts and happily carrying their trees to their parked cars.

The old man by the cash register seemed to recognize Sy instantly, smiling warmly as he greeted him with a one-armed hug. Ada realized it was the ranch’s owner. “I haven’t seen you in years, Jack!” The old man exclaimed with a laugh before turning to Ada. “And who’s this pretty lady?”

“This is Ada, my wife,” Sy said, introducing them. He watched with amusement as Ada stumbled as the old man hugged her without a warning, taking her by surprise.

“Well, it’s great to meet you, Ada,” the man nodded once he had retreated, and then turned back to Sy. “Should I be offended I wasn’t invited to the wedding?” He teased.

Sy was already wrapping his arm around her shoulders, chuckling. “To be honest, Dallagher, there were no guests at the wedding,” he replied, amused at the way the old man frowned in a confused manner at that piece of information. “Actually, we came here to get a tree.”

“Of course!” Dallagher immediately turned and ordered the young boy in overalls to fetch them a handcart. “What size did you have in mind?”

“Something around seven feet,” Sy said, looking pensive as Ada looked up at him suspiciously, trying to figure out how much seven feet converted to in the metric system. Once she’d done the math, she pulled at Sy’s flannel sleeve to protest – that was way too big, it’d take up the whole living room – but the Dallagher’s grandson was already handing them the cart and leading them to the entrance.

“Trees that big are at the very back of the forest, you’ll have to walk a little.”

This turned out to be quite an understatement. Ada felt like they had been walking for literal years. While they had still come across other people at the beginning, mostly families, they were on their own now – that is if you didn’t count the many squirrels that kept appearing out of nowhere.

She stopped, grabbing the back of Sy’s red tartan shirt so he would be forced to pause as well. “Can’t we just take one of these?” Ads suggested, gesturing at the countless trees all around them. They were all pretty enough and considerably taller than her.

Sy huffed, biting his lip in amusement as he looked at her dispirited face. He’d told her she should probably get changed and wear more comfortable shoes before they left home, but she had insisted she wasn’t going to change clothes just to get a goddamn tree. “These are only around six feet, darlin’. And,” he paused, eyeing the trees more closely, “they’re not Nordmann firs. I want a Nordmann.”

Ada sighed defeatedly, but nodded all the same, starting to walk again when Sy took pity on her. “Do you want to sit on the handcart?”

The change on his wife’s face was instant, the frown lifting into a smile as she climbed on the cart and sat down in the middle, evening out her weight for him. “Is that better, darlin?” He asked teasingly.

She turned her head back just to make sure he saw her rolling her eyes.

By the time they reached an area with Nordmann trees that Sy considered nice and big enough, her butt was sore from the conjunction of the hard, wooden surface and the uneven ground. She wasn’t even sure she had made the better call or whether it would have been better to suffer in her new ankle boots instead.

“Which one is better?” Sy asked, pointing at two pine trees that looked virtually identical to her.

Ada shrugged, almost saying that he should choose before realizing how much time that would take. The man wasn’t picky about food, bedlinen or even the pillow he slept with, but apparently, he had to make sure he brought home the most perfect tree. She still couldn’t wrap her head around that. “The left one,” she said finally.

“Which one? Your left or my left?”

Breathing in deeply, she decided to just point at the tree she was talking about. Sy nodded thoughtfully and grabbed the saw he had brought with him and started to work on the tree. While she had been most eager to get this whole thing over with, it became an entirely different story now as she dreamily stared at her husband getting to work.

With most of his back facing her and one knee on the forest’s soft ground as he started sawing off the Nordmann fin, Sy looked absolutely delicious. The red flannel shirt unbuttoned over his white t-shirt and the jeans made him perfect sight with anyone with a lumberjack fantasy. Ada had never considered herself as having such a kink. A uniformed soldier, or even better, a captain? Hell yes. A strong, rugged husband capable of her breaking her in half? Also a big yes. A lumberjack? The thought had never crossed her mind in the past but there was no point in denying it now as she sat back on the wooden cart, watching Sy carefully saw down the giant tree.

She was wet. Horny. Aroused. You name it. It also didn’t help that they hadn’t had sex that day. Yet.

"Sy," she whined, just loud enough to get his attention, while swinging her legs in the air like a child.

"I'm almost done, darlin'," Sy responded, not bothering to turn around to look at her. "I want a nice, clean cut."

Yeah, and she want a nice, dirty fuck. Pouting, she watched him for a couple more seconds as he knelt in front of the base of the tree, deciding from which side he should bring the saw to the trunk next in order to make it even.

That was when Ada decided she was tired of waiting. Shuffling quietly, she slipped off her wet panties from under her dress and rolled them into a small ball before throwing it at her husband. It hit his left shoulder and rolled down his chest. Grinning wickedly, she leaned back on her shoulders and enjoyed the view, the muscles on his back shifting as he picked up the garment off the ground. If this didn't get her laid, nothing else would.

"Ada Metz Syverson," Sy groaned out her full name slowly, his voice even deeper than usual. He got back up on his feet and turned to face her, looking stern.

Suddenly she didn't feel so brave anymore, not when he had crossed the distance to her in two determined strides and went to tower over her small, sitting frame. His jaw was set, and his eyes were a darker shade of blue than usual. Ada moved her eyes down his body, her eyes pausing at the defined pectorals on his chest before sliding lower. He was definitely hard, the bulge on his jeans prominent.

"Just remember you asked for this."

She wanted to ask what this was supposed to be, but he didn’t give her the chance. “Legs,” he ordered, patting his shoulder as he came to stand just inches away from her. Almost unconsciously, she obeyed his order, her ankles coming to rest on the front of his shoulders, her feet framing his neck. “That’s a good girl,” he praised her with a quick kiss to her right calf before his large hands moved to the front of his jeans, just over the protruding tent and began undoing the belt and snap.

From this angle, Sy’s cock looked even bigger, the shiny glans flushed a deep pink. Ada swallowed tightly, her legs already shaking with anticipation and he hadn’t even touched her yet. Pumping his shaft with his right hand, Sy brought his left one to her core, rubbing the rough pad of his thumb over clit once or twice before sliding it between her folds. She was a dripping mess. Sy smirked when she keened eagerly at his touch, enjoying his ministrations until he pulled his hand away and brought it to his mouth, licking off her slick. “It’s good you’re so wet already because I just can’t wait to take you, darlin’.”

He wasn’t lying when he said he couldn’t wait. The next thing he did, was grabbing hold of his throbbing, hard cock and guiding himself into her. Ada moaned loudly at the intrusion, drowning out Sy’s own growl as her walls clenched around his cock, trying to get used to the abruptness and depth of the penetration.

“Fuck, Sy!” She cried out, not even sure what it was she wanted. “Don’t stop,” was all she could muster as he ploughed into her like there was no tomorrow, hitting her pleasure all at once.

He knew they were being too loud. They might be alone, but they were still out in the open air, and yet he just couldn’t find it in himself to care – not when she felt this good around his cock and her noises only heightened his fervor. If someone happened to stumble upon them, then they’d simply be in for a premium show,

It wasn’t long until her legs started shaking almost uncontrollably up in the air, prompting him to remove one hand from his steely grip on her hip and wrap his arms around her legs to keep them steady as he continued with jackhammer thrusts. “Are you going to cum for me, darlin’?” Sy panted, groaning out the question between clenched teeth even though he already knew the answer.

Ada didn’t manage to reply, the first waves of her orgasm already coursing through her when she moaned his name. Her hips canted up, her body tensed up like a bolt, and Sy knew he was done for right then. Her warm walls squeezed him impossibly tight inside of her, milking the cum right out of his cock while he fought to keep his balance as pleasure overtook him.

They came down from their heights slowly, chests heaving. Sy lazily removed her legs from his shoulders, massaging the strained muscles on her inner thighs before he set her legs down. This woman would be the end of him. “That was…” he panted, bending forward over her body to kiss her forehead, unable to find a proper adjective to describe what had just happened.

“Yeah,” Ada breathed out, nodding slowly.

Sy ended up having to carry her and the tree on the cart back to his truck because there was no way she was able to walk straight after that.

°°°

They finished decorating the giant tree. Ada had to admit it looked pretty although the red and gold decorations clashed with the color theme of their living room. She handed Sy the newly purchased baubles one by one – he was the only one capable of reaching the top.

On their way back home, she had somehow managed to convince Sy to stop at the therapist’s office – the one she had found had the highest ratings on Google. They had booked the first available appointment, which was just after the New Year and Sy had made it very clear to their secretary it was just a ‘testing appointment’ and that there was no need to set aside time slots for follow-up sessions yet because there was no guarantee he’d be back. His reluctance was palpable, but Ada was glad he was giving it a try at least. And if he didn’t like, then they’d figure out something else.

In the background, their wedding video kept playing and she wondered for how much longer she'd have to hear the sound of camera flashes as the chapel assistant took way too many photos of them in the most cliché poses you could imagine. Sy has insisted they put on their wedding video since they’d never gotten around to watch it and it fit the season, according to him. Slowly, the annoying sounds began fading away and Ada sighed with relief. Watching herself on TV sparked too much embarrassment in her.

"Hand me the big one with Rudolph, will you, darlin'," Sy asked from behind her, still meticulously decorating the tree.

Ada nodded, searching for the bauble he had in mind. It was still in the shopping bag, she remembered, lifting it off the floor to dig inside it.

Ada froze as a female chuckle was heard, unconsciously gripping the glass ornament too tightly in her hand. "Not that fast, Captain."

Behind her, Sy frowned. "What did you say?"

"Tonight, I'm in charge," she heard her own voice say - no, it was more like a purr.

"Shit!" Ada cursed loudly, letting the bauble fall back inside the bag and she hurried to the TV, her worst fear confirmed.

Sy followed her quickly, stopping just behind her, his hands on her shoulders. "Is that from our wedding night?" He asked slowly, his eyes locked on the screen as he watched his younger self being tied up to the bedposts by his wife.

"Yes," Ada cringed, her face a painful grimace. "I didn't even remember the sex tape."

"Me neither," Sy swallowed loudly, admittedly rapidly becoming aroused at the sight of his Ada doing a striptease on camera. She wore that red ensemble with the garter belt.

"I think the assistant never really ended the video after our wedding, only paused it and we later continued filming in the hotel instead of starting a new video," Ada commented, now understanding what had happened. How they’d even came up with the idea of filming a sex tape on their wedding night, she didn't know. Alcohol had probably played a part in it.

Sy was still staring in awe at the TV, enthralled by the sight of his wife deviously edging him, her hips swaying slowly, when her words slowly registered in his head. "Didn't we send copies of the video to our families?" He stammered, his voice uncharacteristically quiet and hesitant.

Silence fell between them as they both realized they had been dumb enough to send copies before watching it themselves. "Fuck!" Ada barked, seizing the remote to pause the video. "We sent that to my parents, your parents, your sister...," she listed, her face losing all color.

Suddenly, the sound of Sy's deep laughter filled her ears. She turned to him, aghast. How could he find this funny? This was peak cringe! She’d be one needing therapy after this!

"You know, darlin', watching this video was the first time my parents ever saw their daughter-in-law, before even meeting you in person." Sy explained, shaking his head with amusement.

Ada was mortified. No wonder Mr. Syverson had seemed on the verge of laughter the first time they'd met and Helen had given her the side eye. The woman had a USB stick in her home with an hour-long video of Ada fucking her son. "You know, Sy, this wedding video is also the first thing my parents saw of you." He stopped laughing abruptly, his face red, all amusement gone.

They both sat down on the couch next to each other, slowly coming to terms with the fact that pretty much their whole families had seen this, and never said anything, probably keeping it as an inside joke.

Sy broke the silence, his large hand reaching to rub her naked thigh. "You know, I don't think we should be embarrassed," he said, prompting her to stare back up at him, eyebrow raised dubiously. "The way you tied up my arms really enhanced my biceps and you looked adorably hot like a vicious kitten from hell."

°°°

@colourmeinblue​ @hail-horror-queen​ @youthought-iwasa-nicegirl​ @kmuir1​ @madbaddic7ed​ @coffeebreathy​ @purplelove75​ @summersong69​ @helenaellie​ @rn7rocks​ 

[i-ntrmission]

Nine (Van McCann)

Just a silly little fic where Van is sporadic regular at a coffee shop.

Part 1

Part 2 

Saturday morning.

You’ve already baked cinnamon buns and the peacan pie by time Carly officially opens up the café at 8. The smell of freshly baked goods circling the shop, Carly hums in appreciation, hovering in the kitchen to see what she can rob for breakfast.

Toby arrives at half 8, Carly all too gladly standing back from the coffee machine. He hovers by the kitchen door a few minutes later, thanking you again for last night while you’re pulling a tray of breakfast muffins out of the oven.

“Sure you didn’t lose something?” You ask him, he only blinks, a questioning ‘no?’, and you tug his keys from your pocket.

“Are they my- shit, where’d you find them?!”

Fragmented story telling about last night, about Van, between serving customers. You still feel a rush of lightheadedness when you think about last night, think about Van. Heartbeat kicking up in a weird little pitter-patter rhythm - something you only associate with kittens and Hugh Grant films. Toby listens with a knowing smile, which you choose to ignore.

“Oh, and guess who Julia got off with last night?” You say, maybe to change the subject off Van, after he’s handed a takeaway cup to the last of the customers. He raises a how eyebrows, looking at you with interest. Toby liked to act like he wasn’t interested in the gossip, stories swapped between you and Julia on long shifts - but you always caught him half listening, weighing in with his own comments if asked.

But before you can dish out the gossip on who you had walked in on in your kitchen this morning, Julia herself stomps through the door.

“Speak of the devil,” you mumble with a smirk while Toby playfully hisses at her as she walks past “Ey, what time do you call this then?”

It’s 9, she’s an hour late. She had told you this morning she’d cleared it with Carly, when you had brought her water and painkillers. More as a front to question her on who you had found in the kitchen than being concerned for her head. She’d seen through it and buried herself under her duvet when you entered her room.

“Piss off,” she hisses back, taking off her sunglasses. No makeup and too much perfume, the telltale signs of a rough night. “And don’t even start you!” Pointing her sunglasses at you, your smug smile. You only hold your hands up to with a lingering smirk. Toby’s eyes flickering between you both.

The bell hanging from the door rings, drawing your attention back to the till as two mums with buggies and toddlers make their way in, the screeches of excited children make Julia shudder.

“Jesus Christ, kids shouldn’t be allowed out in public until at least midday on weekends,” she huffs under her breath and makes a beeline for the staff room. A chuckle - calling after her, telling her you had left breakfast muffins in the oven. The perfect combination of savory and sweet - the best hangover cure. Apart from more alcohol that is.

You’re loading up a tray with hot chocolates and coffees for the mums and kids when Julia re-emerges from the back room, taking a bite out of the muffin in her hand with a groan of your name, telling you that you were a lifesaver.

“Sure you can manage these? No more bad luck leftover? Need a side of salt?” Toby teases while handing you the tray over the counter, you roll your eyes - telling him not to remind you of yesterday’s disasters.

“So, wild night at the pub quiz I hear,” you hear Toby turning back to Julia while you walk away, biting down on the inside of your cheek to suppress a smile. Recalling her texts.

You make your way out front to the terrace where the noisy kids have taken up residence at one of the tables, except now their shrieks seem to be in despair rather than delight. One of the women standing out on the path while the other is desperately trying to calm the boys, one already in tears. Inconsolable.

“Oh, what’s happened?!” You ask, a frown while setting the tray on their table.

“Pebbles ran away!” The older of the boys wail while pointing down the road. It’s then that you notice the abandoned dog leash on the ground beside your foot, one end under the seat of the chair, the other end clipped onto a collar.

“He must have wriggled out, a lad’s gone running after him - I hope-“ the woman is cut off by the younger boy’s screech of “There! Pebbles!!”

You follow his gaze, almost shaking your head and laughing - it’s Van, of course it’s fucking Van to the rescue. Sauntering back down the path with the runaway Yorkshire terrier in his arms, licking at his face.

You watch the look of adoration in the women’s eyes as he carries the dog back up to the table, the gleeful sounds of the kids. His smile widens once he spots you, hovering.

“Alright lids, see he’s fine! Just a little messer ain’t he?!” Van eases, dropping down on his haunches to hold the dog while the mum fiddles with adjusting the collar.

Ducking back inside while the chorus of ‘thank yous’ surround Van, grabbing a couple of chocolate chip cookies and pain au chocolats, sugar for the shock.

Once you set the treats down on the table, the boys wipe the end of their tears from their eyes. Sounds of delight resurface, something their mothers echo when you tell them not to worry, that the cookies and crossiants are on the house.

Van follows you back inside after high fiving the boys, winking at the women and blowing a kiss at the dog - who seemed rather taken with him. Holding the door open for you.

“You’re in early, thought rockstars didn’t get up ‘til noon,” you say as he follows you in. Eyes a little bloodshot, voice a little husky - but other than that he didn’t share any of Julia’s hangover symptoms. You wonder what kind of drinker he is.

“Eh, never been good at the whole rockstar thing me.” A lazy grin, reaching the counter where Julia stops mid rant about how bacon absolutely belongs in muffins. Their eyes lock, mirrored smirks - sharing the same secrets.

“Think you have someone that belongs to me, love.” He chuckles.

Julia hums in response, “think I’ll hang onto him a bit longer.”

You bite back a smile. This morning, walking into your kitchen at sunrise only to be greeted with a scruffy, bearded man. Vaguely familiar, from the countless interviews and live performances you had binged on YouTube. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, unbuttoned shirt and undone jeans, hand buried in his hair, staring blankly at the floor tiles. Clearly in the midst of a hangover from hell, possibly going through the fear. You could smell the stale alcohol.

“Er, morning?” You said quietly, blue eyes flickering up, a crooked smile, and a rasped “Mornin’, love.”

Like it was the most natural thing for him to be standing in your kitchen, like it was his kitchen even.

“Are you looking for sommat or?” You opened the fridge, glancing back over him. Hoping he wasn’t about to puke all over the place. He had that look.

“Yeah, just the last shreds of me dignity.. and anything.. cold, please... fuck,” he grumbles, pressing his head into his hands. You almost felt sorry for him, then you remembered the videos and messages from Julia last night and hide a smile by looking back into the fridge. Jug of iced water and a pint glass, handing him the full glass before rooting through the medicine drawer, painkillers.

“Aye, you’re a fuckin’ godsent, thanks angel.” Taking the painkillers and water from you. “Can see why Van’s so fond of you, coffee girl.”

There’s a lot of unpack in that sentence, and it was way too early. So you simply blink and watch him take the pills.

“Coffee girl?” You question eventually, arms crossing.

His eyes drift back over to you, grimacing while he sips on the water. “Aye, you work down the café, wi’ Julia, reet?”

You knew you shouldn’t have, but when opportunity arises, you can’t help it. Winding him up. It’s a rare morning you’re in a good mood, able to communicate in more that one syllable words.

“No? Dunno what you’re on about mate, Julia works down the cafè.. heard her mentioned someone called Van a few times, seemed like they had a thing, yeah?”

A flash of panic in his eyes, practically hearing the flurry of curse words going through his head. The prospect of the fact he’s probably shagged someone his best mate is ‘fond of’. Quirking a brow while he stared.

“Nah, she said.. You.. fuck.. fuck me,” a string of grumbles, clearly trying and failing to get his head straight - remember what had happened last night, what Julia had told him. Hands patting down his jeans, pulling out his phone with a heavy sigh. He curses at the screen. “Fuck, Van’s gon-“

“Hey,” you decide to put him out of his misery. He was growing paler by the second, and you were getting more and more worried about the prospect of cleaning up puke. “I’m just messin’ with ya.”

Realisation hitting - eye narrowing at you, telling him your name, confirming that you were indeed the coffee girl who worked with Julia. He shakes his head, a gruff noise and crooked smirk.

“Jesus, threw me for a loop there... well played, my dear... I like you already,” holding out his first, “Am Johnny,” he says while you knock your knuckles against his. You refrain from telling him you knew that already.

“Well, he’s kinda crucial in our band and that, so afraid I get first dibs, darlin’” Van’s voice drags you back to the present.

“So you’re saying you’re going on tour again soon, eh?” Julia tilts her head.

A breathy little laugh - “Bands do more than just tour, yanno?”

“You do realise the internet is a thing, Van - we could literally google your tour dates right now and find out. So your mysterious bullshit ain’t flying anymore.” She rolls her eyes, another bite of her muffin.

Since finding out he was in Catfish, neither of you had ever thought about checking on the tour dates, when he came he came and when he left he left, and that’s that. No wondering if he’d show up when the tour was up. Simple, no attachments. You and Julia even named a local stray cat after Van who you fed from time to time when he came snooping around the bins outside, the easiness of coming and going.

So why were your fingers suddenly itching for your phone.

“Ah, love! Why ruin the little mystery that’s left then? Like I said - we do other stuff too, could have label stuff to do, graftin the next album... cheers, mate.” Trailing off once Toby slides his caramel latte over the counter, something he had got him hooked on a year or so ago. “Fuckin missed this.” He says as if every other coffee shop has yet to discover caramel.

“So yous are doing a new album then, that it?” Julia persists, rolling your eyes at her blatant attempts at winding him up. But he catches on, a lazy grin, licking his lips.

“Ain’t ya too hungover to be fuckin’ with us like this?” He calls her out, a smirk.

She shrugs while her eyes slide over to the elderly couple that come in every morning, sitting in their usual spot. Calling over to them that their tea and scones are on the way, fond calls back of ‘take your time, pet.’ telling Van she’s not finished with him before heading into the back to get a teapot.

“What happened last night anyways?” Toby interjects, bemused look across his features. Completely left out of the loop, obviously not getting anything out of Julia when you left them a while ago.

Taking the opportunity to pull up Julia’s messages - putting you phone down on the counter between the three of you. The video is obviously taken at the time of the night where all rational thoughts are lost to drinks. Loud music, girls screams - background static, Johnny Bond stood at the bar, downing three consecutive shots of what you assume is tequila, Julia’s giggles soundtrack while following him out the smoking area, turning back to the camera and taking off his cap with slur of ‘mind this for me, love’ before he proceeds to do a handstand against a wall for 15 seconds. Confused onlookers as Julia counts it out.

Amused sounds - Toby and Van, Julia passing back around the counter in search of scones for the couple, she glances over your shoulder at the video.

“Ey, anyone who does a handstand after 3 shots of tequila without vomming earns their space in my bed.”

There’s another video from about 20 minutes later of Larry stood on a table, Kylie Minogue blaring, and he’s doing an enthused rendition of the Can’t Get You Outta my Head dance mixed with a bit of the Macarena. Cheers erupting around him, wolf whistles.

Van - a rasped cackle, “send that one onto me, that’s too good! Never gon let him live that one down!”

You watch him while he watches the video again a few times over. His eyelashes nearly brushing his cheeks when he looks down, fingers restlessly tapping against his coffee mug, soft chuckles. Feeling Toby give you a nudge, a wink when you look up. Letting you know he caught you, shaking your head with your best ‘fuck off’ eyes.

“So why were you making the lads humiliate themselves for your entertainment then?” Toby asks Julia once she circles back around the counter

“‘Cause, the lads bet me that they’d beat us at the pub quiz,” she explains, helping herself to another muffin. “Johnny spent half the time outside smoking, and Van and Larry fuckin’ argued over every question and ended up writing down bullshit made up answers.”

Toby asks where Van’s forfeit video is, you’re only half listening now - taking orders of the few people who just came in, but you zone back in once you hear your name mentioned.

“-and after I told him she was workin’ late closing up, never seen anyone down their pint so quickly, what was the excuse again, Van? Jet lag was it?”

Glancing up at that to find him already looking at you, catching his eye, his lips tilt making his dimple pop out. It lasts less than a second, your eyes darting back down to the pecan pie you’re cutting. Feeling your cheeks warm up. He never mentioned that he had run into Julia at the pub last night, remembering how he just said he was on his way home. Although, you were half sure it did have nothing do with you, more likely he was just sick of Julia’s drunken bullshit.

“Nah, just quite like that pub and want to be able to show me face in there again, innit.” He tells her, a laugh.

You grab a basin and walk away to start to clear tables, not really wanting to hear anymore of Julia’s torments. You’re happier zoning out, getting lost in your own thoughts, smiling and small talk with a few regulars. On you’re way back to the kitchen when you hear Van again as you walk past, catching your elbow.

“You in then too, Glasvegas?”

“Sorry, what?” Turning back to him, you had been thinking if Julia would be up for getting chipper on the way home after the pub tonight. You were already craving garlic cheese chips.

“Coming down Cassidy’s tonight? Van’s buying first round for being a pussy last night.” Julia quips, and you look from him to her. Fuck, remembering Van’s confession about wanting to buy you a drink last night. Julia’s looking at with you a smug expression, knowing you can’t get out of this one. You and her always went out on Saturday night’s - either just the two of you, or a group of friends. But going to the pub with Van and his mates, your heart skips a few beats, uneasiness. You give her a look before letting your eyes slide back to Van, an expectant look, finishing off his cinnamon bun.

“Er, I dunno..”

“Dunno if you’re up for going to the pub? Like we don’t go out every Saturday night?” Julia tilts her head, feigning mock innocence. You knew what she was doing, and you glare. A non-verbal ‘you’re being a dick.”

“Well, er, it’s been a long week.. yanno. I’m kinda tired.. was thinkin’ of staying in and having a quiet one,” you’re backing slowly into the kitchen as you say this, feeble excuses. “And I’m.. I’m trying to save some and that.”

“So me and you will do pre-drinks at ours,” Julia pushes, entertaining your excuses to a certain extent, but not letting you get out of it.

“And I’m buying first round,” Van adds.

“So, it’s just one drink really.” Julia confirms.

“Jus’ one drink.” Van reaffirms.

“Just one drink?” You say, somewhat defeated.

Toby glances up from the coffee machine, a chuckle. “Now when’s the last time anyone went out and actually had just one drink?”

Van leaves a little while later, Toby giving him a tray of coffees for Larry and Bondy if he’d yet ventured back from your place, you sending him off with a bag of hangover cures in form of pastries and cakes.

He came back in a few minutes later, forgetting his stamp on his loyalty card.

“2 down, eight to go. Cheers, see yas later.” He walked back out, a spring in his step. You turned to Julia.

“What the fuck, Jules?! Will you leave us alone and stop tryin’ to setup me up with Van fuckin’ McCann!” Exasperated tone, she only shook her head and giggled. “S’not funny! He probably already has a girlfriend and you’re here makin’ us look desperate!”

“Dunno what you’re on about, babe!” She says while heading out to clean up the terrace, humming matchmaker matchmaker under her breath. She turns back to you as she reaches the door “Oh, and he deffo doesn’t have a girlfriend, found that out last night for ya. You’re welcome!” She beams, all but skipping out the door.

You somehow resist the urge to chuck the tea towel in your hands at her head.

[cherryonigiri]

when and where (oikawa tooru) - part one

Summary: Tooru can’t seem to understand you loneliness, and you can’t understand his desire to sacrifice anything to be by your side again. In which the words ‘opposites attract’ are both your beginning and end. (Inspired by the song/lyrics of Undone by Haley Reinhart)

word count: 1.8k 

“Stars fade away, they just crash into space, disappear from my life, like you and I.” 

“Tooru,” you whisper. The numbers ‘5:00′ glare back at you in red, reminding you of the sleep that continues to evade you, despite feeling utterly exhausted. Your phone is glowing against the pitch black, the blue light acting as a substitute for the moon, which hides behind wispy clouds. “I miss you.” There is an ache that starts in the back of your throat, winding its way down to your chest where it stays, pushing, prodding, pounding against your sternum. Thankfully your voice doesn’t crack, but the tears are still there, trailing down your cheeks. You’ve steeled your resolve, but your heart is still drowning in the loss that is yet to come.

“I know darling,” he laughs. “I miss you too.” Another light-hearted chuckle. You can hear him shuffling through his bag. Seconds later, after the tap of shoes on tile, keys jingle and you hear the thump of the door shutting. It’s almost evening in Brazil (you know because you’ve long since memorized how many hours are between Sendai and Rio). The sun is probably setting on the beach Tooru just returned from, in complete opposition to the flickering stars keeping watch over your sleepless figure. 

That’s how it is between the two of you. Day and night. Tooru was more than happy to revel in his overwhelming brightness - embracing his role as the best setter in the prefecture and his popularity amongst his fans. He always had that smirk, the one that was always plastered on his face that screamed confidence in who he was. 

On the other hand, you clung to your shyness - you’d never liked large crowds to begin with, and you were happy with the small, close-knit, group of friends you’d made. You weren’t closed off, but new things were met with caution. Tentative touches and long gazes to determine whether an unfamiliar addition would disturb the peaceful familiarity you’d woven. 

The words ‘opposites attract’ made you snort, but you couldn’t deny that you’d been drawn to Tooru’s effervescent energy. (A year after you’d started dating Tooru had admitted he’d found a quiet refuge in his relationship with you.) In the beginning, Tooru had coaxed you out of your shell. Never forcefully, and always done with an observant eye. He ignored his team’s teasing, only inviting you to watch them practice after introducing you to each member individually outside of the university gymnasium. He’d rush you home in a heartbeat the minute you looked overwhelmed or uncomfortable. Like two planets, gravity had drawn you together, pushing you closer and closer with every orbit.

Now it’s different. Gravity is chasing after you, bringing your heart catastrophically close to disaster before flinging it into the distance. Your whispered ‘I miss you’ wasn’t an attempt to impart a fleeting bit of affection, or to reassure Tooru that your heart still beat for him every second of the day (which it did). No, it was meant to hide an unspoken plea that was begging him to return, to once again indulge in hour long phone calls late into the evening; to be present. Of course, you weren’t expecting him to pick up on that. After all, you’d dedicated your time alone to perfecting the art of not letting anyone know of your unravelling.

It started slowly—long video chats in the evening became less frequent, replaced by a dwindling number of rushed phone calls on the train to work. Short texts, snuck between sets and during water breaks, became the norm, erasing your habit of sending each other paragraphs about your days. You knew he felt guilty for missing the small snippets of time that he could spend with you. At the core of his being, Tooru is a caring person: he would run himself ragged and work himself to the bone for someone he loved. It was a double-edged sword; working harder and dedicating more time to accelerate his progress so he could return to you faster meant he was inevitably drifting away. 

“Tooru, I can’t do this anymore.” You wince as you throw your plan out of the window, foregoing any kind of verbal cue that would let him know that this was serious. That you were talking about more than having a mundanely horrible day at work.

“Love, what happened today? Was today a bad day? I thought work was going better…” Your boyfriend trails off as you remain silent. 

“This. Us. I think,” you gulp down the sob that threatens to erupt from your throat. “I think we should break up.” You have to force out those two words, break up, because saying them out loud makes it real. Makes this whole conversation real. Grounds it reality, in the realization that this is really happening, that your heartbreak is rushing towards you much faster than you ever wanted. 

You expect him to protest. To at least exclaim loudly and object to the separation. Maybe a part of you wants him to plead, to experience the same hollow loneliness of missing him. To tell you that, yes, I am suffering just as much, and feeling just as broken as you are. Maybe you are desperate, hoping that he’ll convince you that the exuberance he expresses over the phone is one of his carefully constructed facades.

“Can I at least know why?” You catch the slight uptick of his voice, the crack that he tries to hide from you. 

And that’s when your heart truly shatters. 

Because, by asking that question, he reveals that somewhere between his last night in your apartment and today, at five in the morning, the two of you stopped inhabiting the same realm of separation. In a way, Tooru had confirmed what you’d started fearing with every passing day: that he was stronger than you’d ever be. That he could bear the weight of being separated by continents and oceans while you were crumbling. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t endure the pile of missed calls followed by rushed texts of apology. You can’t stand that the only time you can talk to him is on crowded subways where the ever present bustle of other commuters intrudes on your conversations. God, now that you think about it, when was the last time you’d talked to Tooru for more than five minutes? 

“We barely talk anymore Tooru,” you begin, hunching over as both the tears and words begin to flow freely. “I—”

“But you know why y/n!” he responds. He’s pacing, the thumps of his feet echoing through the receiver. He lets out a sigh and you know he’s running his hand through his hair. It’s one of his habits that you have memorized. It’s painful how easy it is for you to imagine Tooru; all his little gestures and mannerisms etched deeply and intimately into your memory. 

“Yes, I know why,” you hiss. “But the fact that you never told me outright? That hurt Tooru.” It still does. It’s his strange blend of selflessness and ambition that has led you here. You thought you’d be sad, that this conversation would leave you with a heavy heart. Instead, a small spark of anger lodges itself in your chest. 

“How was I supposed to?” He retorts. “It’s not like I can ask you to give up your time with me. I’m trying my best to get back to you sooner!” But how can he say that when he’s already left you behind? Instead of extinguishing your anger, he only fans the flames, truly setting you alight. 

“Did you ever think to ask me? Did it ever occur to you that I would rather have waited for longer if that meant you could actually have time for us?” Your rage is dangerous and all-consuming, centering you within the bitterness of the isolation that Tooru had forced upon you.

Silence. And then,

“Y/n…” The way Tooru says your name nearly breaks your resolve. “Please, just wait a little longer. I’ll figure something out, I can train more so I can come back in less than a year. I’m just asking you to be patient.” No, no, no. What he’s offering is worse. You want him to make more space for your relationship, not less. In his quest to hasten his return, he’d turned to a method that consumed the time you occupied in his day. Slowly but surely, the space you’d taken up was sacrificed, leaving you with nothing but those five minutes on the train ride to work.

“That’s not what I want!” You shout. Why is his solution to make things worse? 

“Then what do you want?” He screams back, his thinly veiled irritation blooming into confused anger. “You’re lonely, so I’m trying my fucking best to go back to you as soon as possible. “Why…” he pauses, as if he’ll regret his words, before plowing on, “can’t you just accept that?” 

Suddenly, all the air is knocked out of your lungs with a whoosh. You barely have time to realize you’d stood up in the midst of your argument before you’re sagging against your bed frame, wilting until you’re sitting on the floor. 

You’ve given up, because Tooru’s stubbornness has manifested itself as an irremovable wedge between the two of you. Blinded by his belief that all you desire and yearn for is his physical presence, he can’t even begin to see that all you want is to be given a semblance of space within his life. To have a few hours of his voice, rather than the fleeting promise of reuniting sooner. To accompany him, rather than wait for him at the end of his journey. He is unwilling to bear witness to the different kind of loneliness you suffer; unwilling to peer into the parallel, yet utterly different, dimension of suffering that branches from his own longing for you.

“Tooru…” I’m being selfish, “This isn’t working. Just let us go,” whatever we are now, before it gets worse. You’re not sure if he can hear the shaky inhale of your lungs as you try to steady your voice. 

“I can’t,” he sobs. “Why can’t you see I’m doing this for you?”

Because you can only see me as the finish line, not as someone who runs beside you. Because somehow, you can only worry about the me you see in the future, not the person who is speaking to you now. “I’m sorry,” you say, your voice still wavering despite your best efforts.

‘No, please, y/n—”

One last reassurance. “Thank you for everything.” I love you.

“Y/n wait, please, don’t do this.” His pleas are tearing you apart. “I can take a break, fly back—”

You refuse to be the reason he halts his momentum. “Goodbye, Tooru.” A broken whisper. 

Equal and opposite, two stars crash into each other violently. Flickering in and out, they vie for the chance to exist as they clash against each other, emitting white sparks.

A press of a red button. 

Both of them are gone.