#knuckles is a guy who contains multitudes

[generic-sonic-fan]

Knuckles tries to sit Sonic down and show him how to make one (1) flint-knapped axe blade and within twenty minutes Sonic loses it and has to go for a jog around the angel island a few hundred times. Guy who hates sitting still cannot understand guy who can sit still for hours and hours.

[a-singleboat]

LA Girl

Word Count: 3.5k

Request: Since requests are open, can I ask for one where Shayne Topp has secretly been dating an Alt girl (piercings, coloured hair, tattoos ect) for months and she has anxiety and is nervous about meeting the squad as she feels like they’re gonna judge her for being so different to him so Shayne introduces her to Damien first alone and Damien automatically likes her and they click really well so she tells him she’s ready to go public and meet the rest of the squad and they all accept her?❤️ - Anon

A/N: I hope you guys like this! It took me a while to conceptualize it at first but then the rest came pretty naturally :D

Warning(s): Mentions of oral sex (male receiving), swearing, mentions of sex, self deprecating thoughts

You never really liked living in Los Angeles. Most days it was too bright and there were too many people, too many tourists. Yeah, you hated living here. That is, of course, until you met Shayne. 

At first, it appeared that you and Shayne were as different as night and day. Literally. He was the perfect LA Boy, with his blonde hair and his trim physique, always looking like the sun while you… you liked your dark colors and vibrant hairstyles, not to mention your multitudes of piercings and tattoos. In the mornings that you did spend together, Shayne liked to trace them with the tips of his fingers before the day started. 

These past few months with Shayne have been euphoric, for lack of better words. It seemed you were forever stuck in your honeymoon phase together but even you knew that it couldn’t last forever. The first fight you’d have, the first disagreement, stemmed from your own insecurities. 

As you’d mentioned before, Shayne looked like the perfect LA Boy, as did the rest of his friends. He didn’t stand out while walking the length of Hollywood Boulevard and he certainly didn’t catch any of the police officer’s eyes when he went to the bank. 

Which is why you weren’t so sure you wanted to meet them, his friends that is. You were sure that they would judge you for your alternative fashion choices, just like everyone else did. 

“They’re not like that,” Shayne tried to convince you for the umpteenth time that day. You had just finished washing the dishes, using your day off to catch up on chores you’d neglected during the week. Shayne was supposed to be completing his coursework for his degree but instead he’d decided to pester you with this topic once more. 

“My friends are super supportive and they just want to meet you,” he tried again. “And if they say anything then they’re not really my friends. They’ll love you, I promise.”

You picked up the laundry basket full of clean clothes from beside your front door, dumping the basket out on the couch. You cleared off a small section on the coffee table so that you could fold your laundry. 

“I’m just worried,” you confessed, folding a cropped shirt in half twice before dropping it into the laundry basket. “You say that they’re supportive and that they just want to meet me but you also just said, ‘if they say anything.’ Shayne, if I really didn’t have a reason to worry, you wouldn’t have thrown that in there.” 

“Okay, that was my bad,” he admitted, “but I’m serious. You have nothing to worry about, they’ll all love you.”

You gave him a weary look, folding a pair of black cargo pants over your arm. A few weeks ago, you’d met Shayne’s parents and while they were two of the most loving and welcoming people you had met, you could still see the discomfort and unease hidden behind their eyes. They expected someone different, with less tattoos and piercings most likely. They probably weren’t expecting their blonde baby boy to be with a neon-pink-haired twenty-something with daddy issues galore. 

“Okay, how about this,” Shayne took the pants from your hands, folding them and setting them onto the coffee table. “I’ll invite Damien over to mine for dinner tonight as a tester. If everything goes well with him, then maybe you’ll consider meeting everyone else?”

You took up your cargo pants once more, settling them in the laundry basket with the rest of your folded clothing. You had less than half the original pile left, the rest of the clothing being mainly bras and socks that still needed to be sorted. 

“Okay,” you gave in. What was the worst that could happen?

As it turns out, completely forgetting that Damien was due to arrive any moment at Shayne’s apartment was the worst thing that could happen. His best friend’s first impression of you would forever be this: you on your knees with Shayne’s dick halfway down your throat while you gave him a before-dinner blowjob. 

Embarrassment burned through your entire being as Damien realized what was happening before he closed the front door and called out, “I’m so sorry, I should have knocked!” 

You looked up at Shayne who couldn’t decide between being mortified and being smug. It took everything within your power not to punch him in the dick, considering it was literally right there in front of you. 

“Go… take care of yourself,” you awkwardly chuckled, patting his thigh lightly. “I’ll let your friend in and hopefully not die from embarrassment on the way.” 

Shayne scrambled up off the couch and into his bathroom while you opened the container of mints you kept under the coffee table for these types of instances. Not that you and Shayne expected people to walk in during any of that normally. You washed your hands at the sink while you chewed the mint, giving yourself a moment to breathe before even thinking about opening the door.

Once you’d calmed down enough, you opened the door for Damien, unable to meet his eye as you let him in. 

“Uh, sorry you had to see any of that…” You closed the door behind him, double checking the lock to make sure it was still working. “We don’t usually do it out here, um--”

“You don’t need to explain yourself,” Damien tried to save the night. “It’s not like I haven’t seen Shayne’s dick before--I mean--Not in the way you’d think--”

The two of you dissolved into laughter, still thinking of a way to dig your way out of the hole you’d awkwardly made. When Shayne was telling you about Damien, he did mention that he was possibly the most awkward of his friends which made him the perfect ‘test monkey’ for the night. 

“I should’ve knocked,” Damien settled, an apologetic look on his face. “Shayne gave me a key a while back and I usually just let myself in but that’s really no excuse. I’m sorry.”

Shayne had also mentioned Damien was the most polite out of them all. Not that the others weren’t polite, because they were. He had meant it in the way that Damien would apologize for existing if he could (which he has done before). 

“It’s okay, really. Though, we might have to tweak the story of how we met for future conversations.” You made your way into Shayne’s little kitchenette. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Water is fine,” Damien said, moving to sit in one of the chairs at the high table. You grimaced at the couch, making a mental note to grab some disinfectant once Shayne came out of the bathroom. “And yeah, we’ll just leave that part out for future retellings.”

You pulled a glass from one of the cabinets, filling it with water from the Brita. You added a few ice cubes as well, smiling as they clinked against the sides of the glass. 

“So, how did you and Shayne meet?” Damien asked, thanking you for the glass. You took up the other seat, crossing your right leg over your left. 

“At the tattoo shop I work at, actually,” you played with the end of your belt, twisting the fabric over your hand until it covered your knuckles. For this meeting, you’d decided to tone down your wardrobe--less chains and more softer fabrics. Your pleated skirt had been exchanged for the black cargo pants you’d folded earlier. That paired with a simple side release buckle belt and a structured white top for contrast, this was probably the most “tame” you’ve dressed in a while. 

“He came in with another friend of his, Paul, and sat with him while I worked on a piece for his sleeve. After that, I gave him my number in case he ever wanted to get a tattoo himself and the rest is history.”

“I can’t believe Paul technically met you before I did,” Damien said in disbelief. You heard the toilet flush and the sink turn on which meant your boyfriend would be joining the two of you soon. 

The awkwardness between you and Damien had faded slightly but you could still feel the tension in the air. Shayne opened the bathroom door and you looked over your shoulder to watch as your no longer disheveled boyfriend entered the room. He’d changed his pants, which was fair, and he was holding the disinfectant in hand as if he’d read your mind. 

You hopped off the seat and took it from him, spraying down the entire couch while he greeted his friend. 

“Really sorry you had to see that,” Shayne said, laughing as they clapped their hands together. “We would have disinfected the couch either way, just so you know.” 

Damien laughed as you finished cleaning off the couch, setting the disinfectant on the coffee table. You couldn’t be bothered with putting it away in the bathroom right now. 

“Well, this is Y/n, my girlfriend,” Shayne pulled on your arm until you settled into his side. You gave a small wave. “And she made Italian for dinner so unless you now want nothing to do with me, we can start eating now.” 

“Sounds great.”

Once you actually got over the initial awkwardness, your night actually turned out enjoyable. Damien was extremely funny and nice, just like Shayne had said. He’d even asked about your job and your own tattoos, expressing his own thoughts about getting one or two done himself. 

“If you get it done at my shop, I can get you a discount,” you offered, taking a sip of your water. “Friends and family get twenty-percent off, though that doesn’t include the tip.” 

“Really?” Damien asked. He looked shocked that you’d even offer to tattoo him, let alone provide him with a discount. 

“Yeah,” you grinned. “Just let me know when and we can set up an appointment.” 

“That’d be amazing.”

The three of you were sitting on the couch now, you and Shayne sitting on the side closest to the window while Damien was on the other end. His body was angled toward the two of you as “The Office” played quietly in the background. 

“Does this mean I’ll be seeing you around more?” Damien asked. “Shayne always comes alone to out-of-work get-togethers and Courtney’s been pestering him to bring you around for some time now.”

“She has?” you looked up at Shayne, asking if that was true. 

He nodded. “Why do you think I’ve been so insistent on getting you to meet my friends? They all want to meet you.”

“It doesn’t help that you’re all he talks about,” Damien chuckled. “I swear, every other word from his mouth is something about you. Whether it’s wondering what you’re doing to wondering how you’re doing, it’s always about you.” 

You reached up and patted Shayne’s cheek lightly. “Aw, babe. You think about me? How embarrassing.”

  He swatted your hand away, chuckling as you giggled at the shared joke between you. 

You talked for a little longer, sharing stories between the three of you before Damien caught sight of the time. 

“I should get going,” he said, standing up. You got up as well, giving him a hug before letting him and Shayne say their goodbyes. Once Damien had left the apartment completely, you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding in, you shoulder relaxing. While Shayne was an extrovert, you found yourself physically and mentally drained from hanging out with just one person. 

The entire experience was new for you. Since you’d started dressing how you wanted to dress and expressing yourself accordingly, there have been people less than willing to be nice to you or show you any sort of kindness. It was mostly linked to the fact that people thought that if you wore black, put on lots of make-up, had piercings, and had tattoos you were a bad person and an even worse role model. Not only was that hurtful, it made you very self conscious about meeting new people. 

“That wasn’t so bad,” Shayne said, pulling you in for a hug. You sunk into his arms, wrapping your own arms around his torso. 

“It wasn’t terrible,” you replied, your words muffled by the fabric of his shirt. You turned your head sideways so that you could hear his steady heartbeat, allowing it to lull you into what felt like security. “Though, the beginning could have been better.” 

“We’re never speaking of the beginning again.”

“Agreed.”

Shayne started to sway with you in his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before letting go. “So how do you feel about going to brunch with the rest of my friends on Saturday?”

After meeting Damien, your anxiety had subsided. No longer did you think you would be judged for the type of clothes you chose to wear but this time the anxiety of meeting so many people at once surfaced. When you didn’t respond, he looked down at you worried. 

“Tell me what’s wrong.” 

“I just…” If you said what you were thinking out loud, you knew you were going to sound ridiculous. “It’s nothing.”

“No, really,” he frowned, “tell me what’s wrong. Bottling it all up inside won’t work this time.” 

You sighed. “I--Shayne, you’re perfect, you know that?” 

“I wouldn’t say perfect but…” You dug your fingers into his side, causing him to laugh. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“It’s just that you’re the perfect LA Boy and I look nothing like the perfect LA Girl that you so clearly deserve. I mean, Damien was nice but that’s literally just how he is. What if your other friends think I’m, like, a terrible influence on you with my millions of piercings and tattoos and attention-seeking hair and--”

He cut you off with his lips, arms pulling you in impossibly closer and effectively stopping you in your tracks. 

When he pulled away, you fixed him with a playful glare. “Shayne Robert Topp, you did not just pull a movie cliche on me while I was airing out all my concerns to you. Apologize right now.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said, pressing another kiss to the top of your head. “But, Y/n, you don’t need to be the ‘perfect LA Girl,’ you’re perfect the way you are. That doesn’t mean I’d like you any less if you decided that you did want to become whatever you think is the ‘perfect LA Girl’ because I’d like you no matter what. I just like you.”

“Even if I went bald?”

“Even if you went bald.” 

You’ve said it once and you’ll say it again: you fucking loved this man. 

“I love you,” you said, pouting your bottom lip. You felt the tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you looked up at him in adoration. 

“I love you, too.” 

By the time Saturday rolled around, you were ready to meet the rest of Shayne’s friends. Most of your anxieties had been successfully quelled, though they still lingered. You had gotten your hair done again the day before, meaning you were now sporting a bright neon green. You matched your makeup to your vibrant new dye and picked out a heat-appropriate outfit. 

“Are you ready to go?” Shayne called from your front room, interrupting your self-admiration session. You gave yourself one last look in the full-length mirror in your room before slipping on the pair of DnD dice filled platform shoes that added at least three inches to your height. 

“Ready.” You stopped to pose in the doorway, the bottom of your shirt riding up as you leaned against the wooded frame. “Baby, how do I look?” 

Shayne looked up from his phone, his jaw dropping the second he laid eyes on you. A blush settled nicely onto your cheeks, as you grew shy under his gaze. He dropped his phone on the couch and crossed the room in three long strides. He pulled you in by the waist, pressing a kiss to your lips. You melted into his touch, a giddy feeling spreading through your being as your arms looped around his neck, bringing him closer. 

“You look amazing,” he breathed, pulling away. You giggled as you realized that a bit of your black lipstick had transferred off onto his lip. You reached up and wiped his top lip with your thumb. 

“Thank you,” you giggled, rubbing your fingers together until the black rubbed off. “What time did your friends say?”

“We’ve got some time…” his fingers crept up your side, dipping under your shirt and tracing the band of your bra with his thumb. 

You smacked his hand. “Naughty boy.”

You didn’t end up leaving the apartment for another thirty minutes, though you couldn’t complain about it. Still, you ended up making it on time. From where you’d parked on the street, you could see Shayne’s friends spread across two connected tables, laughing on the patio. 

Damien was the first to spot the two of you, standing from his seat and calling out, inviting you into the sectioned off area. You took up residence in the seat closest to him, leaving Shayne to take the seat on your other side. 

“You guys, this is my girlfriend, Y/n,” Shayne introduced you to everyone at the table. There were nine other people sitting at the table. You recognized maybe six of them from the videos you’d watched, while the other three were most likely spouses (considering how close they were sitting next to who you assumed were their significant others). 

“Hi, Y/n!” the blonde sitting next to Damien greeted. You recognized her immediately as the inspiration for Shayne’s alter ego, Courtney Freaking Miller. 

You smiled politely as everyone went around introducing themselves to you, from Olivia and Sam to Sarah and Claudio, you didn’t feel out of place for one second. The hand that had been tightly intertwined with Shayne’s relaxed as you grew even more comfortable around his friends. 

“So Damien told us that you worked at a tattoo parlor,” Ian inquired, propping an arm up on the table and resting his chin in the palm of his hand. On his left sat Anthony, who also looked interested in your answer. “And Shayne did, too, I guess. Did Damien tell you that your boyfriend literally never stops talking about you?”

You giggled. “He did tell me that and I find it adorable that he can’t go a second without missing me.” 

“I wish Peter was like that,” the purple haired woman, Mari, complained playfully, nudging her husband’s side. Peter just laughed it off, casually putting his arm around her shoulders. 

“You do not,” he refuted. “You get flustered when I even mention you to my friends.”

She huffed, though there were no traces of anger to be found on her face. “It’s the sentiment that counts.”

Courtney put her menu down, reaching over to grab her glass of water. “I’ve always wanted to get a tattoo. Y/n, yours are so pretty.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks at the compliment. “Thank you! I actually did most of them myself.” 

Courtney’s eyes widened at that. She reached over Damien, who had leaned far back enough in his seat to allow her to do that. She motioned at your sleeve, specifically at the roses that decorated the back of your forearm. They were cliche and most likely overused but you just thought they were pretty. 

“Those? You did those yourself?”

“Yeah!” you said enthusiastically. You offered your arm out, allowing her to take a closer look. “My friend, Alyssa, designed it for me and as soon as I was trusted to wield an actual tattoo gun, it was the first piece I worked on.”

“That’s insanely cool,” she gushed, tracing a finger over one of the larger roses. “And you’re insanely talented.”

“Thank you!”

For some reason, Courtney was originally your biggest concern. Most of the insecurity had sprouted from the constant online presence of the ship Shourtney, which Shayne assured you was nothing but a meme. And you trusted your boyfriend, and though you didn’t know Courtney, you trusted her too. But sitting here, at the same brunch spot as her, sharing the same meal as she was, all your fears washed away. 

It was incredibly difficult not to like her. Not only was she extremely nice, but insanely pretty as well. Though you had to accredit most of your confidence to Shayne, who only had eyes for you despite everything else. You’d thought that you would find yourself vying for his attention in front of everyone but not once did he leave you to flounder. He was always there, ready to step into any conversation you were having. 

When you’d all finished your meals and began to wrap up the late morning, you couldn’t help but show your gratitude for your amazing boyfriend by pressing a huge kiss to his cheek, whispering that you loved him while everyone had grown content in their own little conversations with each other. 

Content, he grinned and his arm around your shoulders tightened just that much more as he used his free hand to tilt your face up towards him. He pressed a kiss to your lips, keeping it short and sweet, before pulling away and whispering, “I love you, too.” 

TAGLIST

Permanent

@beautiful-holland​ @toms-order​ @starlightfound​ @grandmascottlang​ @positiveparker​ @bippity-boppity-boopa​ @caswinchester2000​ @andreasworlsboring101​ @imladylunaticbitch​

[rusty-guitar-strings]

Sleep Schedule

or This Fic Switches from Fluff to Angst so Fast it Gave Me Whiplash and I’m the One Who Wrote It (Not Sponsored by Starbucks)

Summary: Someone can’t sleep. Two someones, actually, and neither of them want to do anything about it. They do want the other person to sleep though. How could this possibly be solved?

or

Logan has work to do. Remy has no work to do, but is staying up anyway, for some reason Logan can’t comprehend. Remy is hiding something. Logan intends to find out what.

Rating: G or T

Pairings: Losleep/Sleep Schedule (goin’ full RWBY on these ship names)

Word Count: 2,025

Warnings: cursing, playful arguing, two very slight sexual innuendos, use of an undesired name (not deadnaming but similar), crying, one mention of religion

Note: This was written on request/suggestion from @blinksinbewilderment. My first kind-of sort-of request. I do take them!! Anyway enjoy. Also I love Remy. (If you can find the nod to blink I crammed in there, you win a hat)

All-nighters were better when they weren’t ‘all-alone-nighters’ as Remy liked to call them. Luckily, Logan wasn’t currently dealing with loneliness. No, it was quite the opposite.

“Oi, Squid-nerd, check it.” Logan’s very important financing for props of an upcoming video was suddenly blocked by the Sleep aspect’s phone, which contained a meme of some sort. He squinted wearily and adjusted his glasses, leaning in to get a closer look. It appeared to be Winnie the Pooh (what was a ‘pooh’ anyway?) effectively mimicking Logan’s current expression. The top mentioned something about someone’s mom looking at memes, and it was all he could do not to sputter.

“That is not nearly as amusing as you seem to find it, Remigius, and it doesn’t- it’s not even accurate, I can’t- I’m not your mother, that’s impossible- stop laughing-“

Remy was rolling on the floor now, knees to his chest, absolutely weeping with laughter. He got far too giggly when he was sleep deprived, in addition to the sass, and it was as frustrating as it was endearing. “I can’t believe that worked! Girl, you are too much!” He shrieked and wiped his face, chest seizing with giggles.

“How do you expect anyone else to be asleep with all this pandemonium?” Logan couldn’t quite hide all the fondness from his voice. “Aren’t you supposed to be monitoring Thomas’ dream activity, anyhow?”

“Boring business,” the diva wheezed, waving Logan off dismissively. “Same old stuff, weird self-inserts he won’t even remember when he wakes up.”

“Remigi-“

“Remy.”

“Yes, fine, Remy. Your job is important, you should be taking every aspect of it seriously.” Logan lifted an eyebrow at him, managing to pull a serious enough expression for how late at night it was.

The figment in question was sitting up in the blink of an eye, grinning smugly. His shades obscured his eyes for the moment, but Logan knew they were gleaming with mischief.

“Ha. You said ‘Spec.’”

“Really? That’s what you went with?”

“The best jokes are unanticipated and take time to understand,” he stated matter-of-factly, in an infuriatingly accurate impression of Logic himself.

“You shut your mouth, sir.” Logan shoved a hand in Remy’s face in a feeble attempt to get him to stop.

Instead, he took Logan’s hand and, making eye contact over his shades for a split second, pressed a gentle kiss to the back of the side’s knuckles. “Like this?” He purred, lips curling into his usual smirk.

“That’s acceptable, yes.” Logan, determined not to be deterred from his signature stoic state, took back possession of his hand and patted Remy twice on the head before returning to his laptop. He bit the inside of his lip to avoid smiling at Remy’s obvious deflation. He continued his budgeting uninterrupted for a few blissful moments.

“Hey L, I have a proper- poorpro- a propsit-“

“Proposition?”

“Yes, a that. I have one of those for you.” Remy stared up at him through his shades, now kneeling next to Logan’s swivel chair. His arms were folded on one arm rest and he had his chin on them, successfully equating him to the puppies that Roman summoned so often.

“All right, Remig- Remy, what is it?”

“Get your ass in bed and go the fuck to sleep.”

“Profanity does not make one more appealing.” Logan didn’t stop typing. “And you should also be sleeping.”

“I don’t need sleep, honey, I am Sleep.” Remy stuck his tongue out teasingly.

“Falsehoods are not a good look on you, sweetie,” Logan deadpanned. Remy fell backward with a gasp.

“Who are you and what have you done with my Logan?” He demanded. At the end of his accusatory point, the side in question tried not to preen at the (admittedly over-dramatic) reaction to his outburst.

“I am still present.”

“Good. Go to sleep.”

“Why?” Logan waited patiently for his desired statement.

“Because you need it.”

That wasn’t quite it, so he tried again. “And why is that?” He asked evenly, adding Roman’s desperately important party poppers to the budget and scrawling a sticky note reminder to warn Virgil of the prince’s plans. The last thing they needed in a lighthearted video was an attack from him. Or on him. Logan added another sticky note directing future Logan to further explore Virgil’s role as anxiety, if he was the cause or effect, or if he could be both. He almost missed what Remy said, which would have been a disaster.

“Because sleep is important, Dumbo!”

“Ah ha!” Logan whirled in his chair triumphantly, the tip of his pen pointing directly at the figment’s nose. “So we are in agreement, then.”

Remy blinked in bewilderment. “What?”

“We both agree that you-“

“Stoppin’ ya right there, babes.” He waved a hand and conjured green tea in a Starbucks cup (not sponsored), a peculiar ability of his that Logan had yet to discover the reasoning behind. “I didn’t say nothin’ like that.”

“Why are you using double negatives? That is a disgusting misuse of the English language.” Logan, a certified nerd, gave Remy the dreaded Stare of Disappointment™️. Everyone in the Mindscape trembled in their figurative boots. But they were also asleep, so… figurative dream boots. Unless they weren’t wearing boots. They trembled in their figurative dream boots-or-other-footwear. Logan almost missed what Remy was saying for the third consecutive time.

“English is already disgusting, she doesn’t need my help.” He waved a hand. “End scene. Go to bed.”

“Roman appears to be rubbing off on you.” The creative side was the one to originate the habit of saying ‘end scene’ when he wanted to drop a conversation, and lately had begun to use it more and more seriously.

“Bitch, what did I say?” He pointed sternly at the bed, sitting with his legs crossed in the floor like toddler.

Logan tilted his chin upward defiantly. “Only if you sleep with me.” He was promptly hit in the face with a pillow.

“Ew! Nasty! No ma’am! Not in my good Christian household!” A multitude of other objects were thrown at him, luckily light and mostly harmless.

“Remigius, please- Remy! Let me rephrase, I did not intend to imply that we would, ah-“ he cleared his throat. “-have intercourse. If I am going to sleep, I want you to as well. Nothing more.” Logan adjusted his glasses awkwardly.

“Oh. Well, in that case, you’ve got a deal.” Remy looked around at the mess he’d made. “This looks like a problem for future me. I’m gonna get changed, see ya in a bit, boo.” He stood, winking. “Unless you want to join me.”

“No. I can change quite well on my own, thank you.” In a split second, Logan was wearing a science pun t-shirt (courtesy of Patton) and constellation pajama pants, and was idly removing his glasses to place them on his nightstand. He smirked to himself as Remy disappeared into the closet, complaining under his breath about how unfair his powers were and the fact that he had to change by hand.

About ten minutes later, Remy was in a tank top and shorts and his sunglasses still, lying next to Logan in bed and scrolling through his phone idly while the other attempted to sleep.

“Remy,” Logan whispered after a moment, harsh and sudden enough to make the figment jump and drop his phone. “Go to sleep.”

“Not until you do, wise guy.” He immediately regained a cool composure and reached for his device carefully.

“Are you always this hard-headed?” Logan sat up.

“Darling, have you met me?” Remy quirked an infuriatingly perfect eyebrow.

“Remigius-“

“Don’t call me that!” Sleep looked as stunned as Logan felt at his own outburst, then stiffened up and focused on his screen again instead. “Please.”

“Apologies. I wasn’t aware your proper name was a… sensitive… subject.” Logan rubbed one eye, staring downward. The other didn’t look up.

“It isn’t. I just don’t like how similar it is to… his.” He tapped his phone once with odd finality. “End scene.”

“I’m sorry, Remy, truly. I just believe that things should be called what they are, but I shouldn’t have applied that to-“

“End scene, Logan,” he persisted. “Please.” His voice broke a little, startling Logic, which was a rarity.

“Of course.” He fell silent and turned back to the blankets, rewinding the events in his mind and wondering what he’d done. It was unusual to see Sleep silent, still, and just… not causing general mischief. Where was the giggly figment he’d seen less than an hour ago? “Will you at least try and rest?”

“No rest for the wicked.” Remy smirked, typing something to someone, but it lacked the usual fire. “I meant what I said earlier. After you.”

“Remy…”

“It’s no biggie, Issac No-Fun. Go ahead and nod off, I’ll be here.”

“Rem-“

“I can hold down the fort, you know. My incredible humility prevents me from sharing my immense capability.”

“Remy. Look at me?”

“‘Course, I’d never complain about getting to- woah!” He jumped slightly when Logan took a light hold of his jaw, not daring to pull away.

“You mean that literally, don’t you?” Logan swallowed, all of his late nights or totally sleepless ones crashing back with a wave of a guilt to accompany them. “You are incapable of sleeping until everyone in the mind palace is no longer awake.”

Remy shrugged and opened his mouth, as if preparing a snarky comeback. Instead, what came out was, “It’s my job.”

Logan pushed Remy’s sunglasses up into his hair carefully, revealing dark, watery eyes shadowed by sleepless nights too numerous to count. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, “that you feel the need to use caffeine to stay awake.”

“I’m so goddamn tired, Logan,” the poorly named figment whispered, head falling forward to rest against Logan’s chest. “I can’t even take naps, it’s so fucking miserable…”

Logic softened, lifting his arms after a moment to wrap them around Remy. One hand cradled the back of his head as his body trembled against Logan’s and he let out a single, shuddering sob. “I know. We are- I am going to set a more steady sleep schedule. For all of us, including you. Would that be alright?”

Sleep nodded slightly against him, sitting up enough to try and rub his face. Logan lifted a tissue. “May I?” At another nod, he wiped Remy’s eyes, then handed it to him. “Blow. I will return with some water.” He pulled away slowly, then left the room after pausing to glance back.

Upon his return, Logan found Remy still sitting up smirking a little at something on his phone. He tried not to focus on how nice the figment’s eyes looked now that he could actually see them. He offered him the glass of water instead, then slid onto the bed next to him. “Drink at least half,” he advised.

Remy nodded, downed the water according to his orders, then wiped his mouth on the back of his arm. “Thanks, L.”

“No need. Lie back.”

“Dominant, are we?”

“Remy, lie back before I push you.”

“Okay, okay, I’m doing it. No need to get your tie in a twist.” He shifted to lay on his side, eyes still a bit teary. Logan reached out a hand to wipe them away gently. The tears. Remy’s eyes remained stationary. He tugged Remy’s shades from his hair and placed them on the nightstand next to his own glasses.

“Good. Relax, I am going to sleep so that you can. Please take advantage of it.” 

“I will.”

“Good.” Logan closed his eyes, lying down as well. He scooted a bit closer to Remy to wrap an arm over him from behind, no matter how it made his skin burn with heat. No one else was around to see.

“Night, babe,” Remy whispered, and that was the last thing Logan heard until morning.

The next day, the two would share knowing glances while going about their daily tasks. Logan would present his sleep schedule, Remy would deny everything that happened the previous night, and then eventually he would confess the nature of his powers. He would receive shock and some concern, and everyone would abide to Logan’s plan. And everything would be fine.

Everything would be fine.

[midnightmoonkiss]

First Kisses

Todoroki Shōto X Reader

Summary: After an encounter with a rude first year, Todoroki is thrown in a downward hazy spiral of PTSD and depression. Will his s/o be able to snap him out of his thoughts with a confession and a kiss?

WARNINGS!: Contains angsty thoughts and self hatred but ends in extreme fluff

Category: Angst to Fluff

Word Count: 2k

Season: Winter

Just to Clarify: 

‘These are Todorokis thoughts’

( c ) = color of your choice

The sound of soft footsteps landing on pristine floors and the wide array of voices seemingly all blurred together into one sound, a buzz similar to that of a fly as it annoyingly keeps chasing you around. It was almost as if any and all sound entering through his ear came straight out the other, but leaving a distant and distorted sound in its wake. His legs moved on their own, numbly down the not-so-crowded hallway.

Todoroki Shōto was lost in the never ending dark chasm of his mind of which was filled with nothing but thorns and bitter wind. Lost in the sound of his mother’s once sickeningly sweet words of comfort, lost in the seemingly forgotten but never ending feeling of his stomach and throat burning from excessive vomiting due to being horrifically overworked. He sucks in a quiet yet desperate breath as he feels the walls begin to close in on him, a slight watery burn to his scarred left eye.

The memories all creep back up on him as soon as he thinks he’s forgotten them, it was as if a bucket of Arctic cold water was poured on him. 

Can he ever escape the depths of his mind?

It’s too much to take, he can’t think straight.

Was he even truly thinking at all?

The distant sound of his name catches his drifting attention.

Oh, how soft and delicate it sounded rolling off whomever’s tongue.

It was as if his name was a piece of thin glass, beautiful yet fragile and easy to break.

Perhaps that glass were him, and not just the name,

“Shōto?”

His heterochromatic eyes blink wildly, searching for the familiar voice, snapping himself from his muddled and violently aggressive thoughts.

A soft hand lands on his freezing tensed right arm,

“Hey..Shōto..?”

Finally, his eyes land on you, unknowingly softening his once distressed gaze.

(Y/N).

Your (E/C) eyes hold a certain warmth to them, breaking away at the frozen murky watered shell he was once encased in. 

He then notices how your delicate brows are furrowed with worry, beautiful pink lips turned down into a frown.

‘Why do you seem so upset..?’

“Are you alright, Shōto ..?”

His eyes widen, a sudden wetness appearing on his face. He lifts his hands, grimacing at the feeling of hot tears. He didn’t know he was crying. How embarrassing, here of all places? In front of his lover, no less.. ‘God, I’m  pathetic.’

You then slowly move to stand directly in front of him, lifting up your soft (S/C) hands to gently wipe some of his stray tears away. Your knuckles were slightly bruised and red from a mixture of combat training and the chill from outside of which creeps its way through the hallway window glasses.

He shyly glances away, a barely-there blush appearing on his ivory cheeks. Even though you’ve been a couple for two months now, he still wasn’t fully used to the delicate touches you would give him. Hell, you haven’t even kissed yet. Other then the bashful forehead kisses of encouragement.

“It’s okay, Shōto..” You whispered, a small yet comforting smile etching its way on your smooth lips.

This happened often. “Not as often as it used to, thanks to you”  Shōto would always mention after he snaps out of his subconscious attacks. It takes time for PTSD to pass, sometimes it never does. How cruel the mind can be. You can never truly escape it’s chilling grasp. Oh, what a horrible man his father was to do this to him. 

He’s always been good at hiding it. Hiding the cracks, covering them with frost to appear perfect.

You flicked away the now cold tears on your fingers, bringing them back up to rest on Shōto’s soft face. His eyes were glazed, not only with tears but with fear.

Fear..

Ah..

This particular scenario occurs from time to time. Not only does the stress of one day becoming his father, which will never happen, get to him, but so do his insecurities. More specifically, his scar. Most days it doesn’t bother him, it’s almost as if it wasn’t even there, but on some rare occasions it does. Like today, when a student from 1-D openly cringed and made a crude remark about it. How else was he supposed to feel? It sent his typically calm and collected emotions spiraling downwards. Despite being given the title of ‘best looking guy in class 1-A,’ his fear of people secretly being disgusted by his appearance ate away at him. More specifically you.

‘I couldn’t live with myself if you despised me too..’

Rugged red skin served as a grim reminder that his left side looks like his father. Out in the open. Right where people look the most. Perhaps that’s why he will become him. Even Inasa pointed it out, his eyes being the key, so surely- ‘No’, he thought, ‘stop’. He scrambles to find his reasoning for telling Inasa off back then. What was it that he had said..? ‘Damnit..!’

Squeezing his eyes shut, he balled his hands into fists as he tried to calm his erratic heartbeat.

He breathed out a cloud of cold mist, using his quirk to cool down his overheated body.

He reopened his eyes, leaning into your touch and solely focusing on you, desperate to escape the reach of his despair.

But he couldn't help but flinch when your thumb grazed over his scar. Not that it hurt. No, he was just afraid you’d come to your senses and leave him like all the other important people in his life. How could you bare to look and be with damaged goods..?

‘I’m disgusting..’

“I love you..” You whispered.

His eyes widened in shock and disbelief, cheeks now fully flushed.

His heart bursts with sunshine and a happiness he’s never felt before. An entire symphony plays in his head, wiping away the icky grime with its melodic and soothing notes.

“W..what..” He stutters. Perhaps those words were a mistake? ‘Surely, surely she didn’t mean it.?’ 

His inner thoughts were disproved once again as you repeat yourself, giggling at his cute dazed expression, “I love you, Todoroki Shōto..!”

He smiles a dazzling smile, his lips part slightly, revealing a glimpse of shimmering white teeth. 

Just as he’s about to respond, a drawn out “Awh!” was heard behind them. As to who the student was, well, who knows? Certainly not you. It seems you’ve both forgotten that scattered students still walked these prestigious halls.

 Todoroki slapped a hand over his face, covering his blush, bashfully grabbing your arm and pulling your frozen body with him.

You gazed out the large windows lining the wall, fiddling with your ( c ) scarf as Todoroki dragged you to who knows where. Beautiful, fluffy snow fell silently outside the slightly frosted windows. Howling winter wind occasionally whipping the delicate snowflakes around. Winter. What a beautiful season it is.

Todoroki pulled you into a secluded corner a little ways away from the cafeteria, promptly stopping and turning your way once again.

He stared silently at the ground, holding your hands in his. Finally, he whispered in a soft voice, “I love you too, (Y/N)..”

A large smile overtakes your, in his opinion, already angelic features. Blood rushes to your cheeks as he bring your hands up to his mouth, placing a feather-light kiss on each hands’ bruised knuckles. Such a gentleman.

He smiles shyly at you, waiting for a response.

Your mind recalls the previous fear in his eyes from before, no doubt due to his insecurities, as you now realize due to the flinch from before.

Looking into his eyes, the fear is still visible. 

The fear that perhaps this was all just a dream, or perhaps that this was a cruel and sick joke. Perhaps it was just a game to you, spending all this time with him, getting his bloodied heart in your clutches just to squeeze what little life it has left out of it to bring you satisfaction.

After all, how could he, a man born from a brutal and abusive father, a man he resembles, ever be loved? How could someone with a scar covering ⅓ of their face ever find love?

‘I’m too ugly..’

Even then, after both confessions, he was still worried.

You remove your hands from his, placing them on his neck, promptly dragging him away from his wretched thoughts again. He was like an open book to you.

You pulled the tall teen down towards you, he none-the-wiser as to what you were doing. What an oblivious cutie. Though, his eyes widened, mouth falling slightly agape as you press a kiss to his forehead, his silky hair tickling your face. It was a light, shy kiss. Though these have been exchanged before, it still shook his very being whenever they occurred.

“You’re so handsome..”

You whispered, then traveled down to kiss his button nose, 

“So stunning..”

A kiss to his pretty white eyebrow, as strange as that may be,

“Charming.”

One to his right cheek,

“Unbelievably gorgeous.”

To his jawline,

“Adorable.”

You continued these kisses all over his face, purposefully avoiding his left upper face, which he noticed, whispering heartfelt compliments as you continued to pepper kisses all over his face.

But just as he thought you were done, “Close your eyes, Shōto..” You trailed off, staring intensely at his turquoise iris. He obeyed, albeit hesitantly. He sucked in another breath when he felt your slips kiss the part of his forehead of which held the scar. You didn’t stop to compliment him as you once had, instead you pressed a multitude amount of kisses all over his scar. The last on you gave was to his eyelid. 

Pulling back, you rested your forehead against his as his eyes flew open to see your staring intensely into his,

“Breathtaking.” 

A tear dripped down his ivory cheeks yet again, but this time not of sadness and despair. More of an immense feeling of happiness, one that only you could bring forth. He had never felt this way before. Butterflies galore gathering in his stomach, breaking free and traveling throughout his body, leaving tingles in their wake.

Though he was stuck, unsure of what to do next as he just lovingly gazed into your sparkling eyes.

He gulped when he accidentally looked down at your glistening plump lips. He quickly moved his eyesight back up to your eyes, but he noticed they were staring down at his own lips.

He stood motionless as you pressed your now quivering lips against the corner of his own, and then to the other corner. He found himself subconsciously leaning in and closing his eyes. 

Your own breath hitches when his lips met yours, you weren’t expecting him to make that leap first, but he always did have a way of being unknowingly dominant.

This was undoubtedly both of your first kisses. Not just with each other but first in general.

Todorokis cold lips brushed together with yours again, testing the waters. Once he found no resistance he amped it up best he could, shoving his mouth against yours.

Teeth clacked together accidentally, both parties giggling at that. Awkward mouths met once again, this time softer. Todorokis hands fell to rest on your hips, pulling you closer as your hands came to rest on his shoulders. Anxiety withered away and was replaced with adoration for each other.

The sweet yet clumsy kisses soon subsided for loss of breath. 

You bit your lip as you both pulled away, looking lovingly into one another's dazed eyes.

 It was then that you realized you’d been standing on your tiptoes the entire time.

Todoroki couldn't help the small smirk that formed on his now semi-kiss swollen lips as you sank back down so that your feet were flat. Sometimes he forgot just how short you were compared to him. It was, in this situation, exhilarating. 

“Did you get the picture..?!”

Both his and your ears picked up the hushed voices from around the corner, immediately recognizing who they belonged to.

He chuckled when your groaned, shoving your burning face against his chest as to hide it.

“Midoriya, Uraraka, what are you doing?” He asked monotonously, staring off in the direction where he heard the voices.

Two squeaks were heard as they both popped out from their hiding spot.

“U-uhhmm..!” Deku began, but instead of forming a sentence, he looked over to Ochako.

“We we’re trying to find you two so we can all walk to the train station together! What a coincidence that we found two star crossed lovers kissing~” She teased, the blush on her face increase from the embarrassment of being found out and watching such an intimate moment.

He nodded his head, “Please send me the picture.”

“Shōto..!!”

[steveharrington-imagines]

Collateral Damage (Steve Harrington x Reader)

Summary: Steve confronts and comforts you about your self harm.

A/N: I love steve ! and idk i just felt like this needed to be written.

••••

A thin trail of blood drizzled across your arm as you pulled the blade across it, inhaling heavily as pain seared across the wound. This was it, this was control.

After the situation with the demo-dogs (thanks, Dustin), your life had been so wild. There was no control. The story just unfolded, flipping your world upside-down (no pun intended). You couldn't stand it.

You had been through so much in such a short qamount of time. Your friends Nancy, Jonathan, and Steve had confessed their tumultuous tales from their first experience with the upside down a few months after it had happened. It was only natural that you were involved in the second round.

You had stayed close to Steve and the kids- you felt he could use a partner in babysitting, never mind the fact that Nancy and Jonathan were basically joined at the hip. The kids warmed up to you instantly, finding stability in your kind personality.

Keeping your rag-tag group safe had been your number one priority, even after the whole situation had wound down. You and Steve had gotten ridiculously close after the incident, and you had joined on his babysitting antics.

However, the events hit you like a brick several weeks later. You couldn't stop yourself from slicing your wrists. It just happened one evening when clawing at your skin as you choked on sobs and screams wasn't enough.

No one noticed, thankfully. That was your greatest fear: you could only imagine their expressions as they turned to leave you, for good. So you vowed to keep it secret.

You let out a sigh as you wiped away the dried blood that covered your wrists, preparing to go visit with the kids.

With trembling hands, you began to dress your most recent wounds. The bandages didn't conceal your past scars, but it covered a good portion of your tainted skin.

You slipped your favorite sweater over your head, smiling softly as the thick fabric warmed your chilly body. With another sigh, you left your home and pedaled to the Wheeler's.

•••

Loud laughter and cheers echoed throughout the house as Mrs. Wheeler ushered you into the basement, occupied by Mike, Will, Lucas, Max, Dustin, and, to your surprise, Steve.

"Y/N!" Dustin yelled, standing up from the floor to drag you over to their huddle.  "Hi, guys," you greeted, taking a seat between Max and Dustin. The group had formed a circle around their board game, causing a bout of nostalgia to pump through your veins. 

You felt Steve's eyes linger on you a little longer than usual, and instinctually pulled your palms inside your sleeves. You smiled at him as he turned his head. If you didn't know better, you'd say he was blushing a bit.

"It's nice outside," Will hinted after their intense game ended. "We haven't played hide and seek in a while," Dustin agreed. Lucas nodded and looked to Mike, who seemed content with the idea. "Is that ok with everyone?"

Everyone nodded before they began bounding up the stairs, causing quite a ruckus. You waited until the kids had already made their way before trudging up the wooden steps, jumping slightly when you felt a presence close behind you.

You whirled around, tripping on your own feet in the process. As you fell forward, you shrieked before you collided with Steve's familiar warmth. "Careful," he chuckled in your ear as you gripped the excess fabric of his shirt.

You pulled back, finding yourself still wrapped in his arms. "I'm so so sorry, shit," you apologized. Steve's laugh was breathy as he helped steady you. "Don't worry about it, YN."

"We should, um, go with the- the kids," you mumbled, stumbling back up the stairs. "Careful, L/N," Steve called from behind you. "Don't want you to fall."

You blushed furiously as you continued to the backyard, where the kids were all gathered. "There you are!" Dustin sighed, ushering you and Steve, who was trailing behind, over to them. "Max is it," Will piped up.

"Ok, I'm counting to 65," Max said warningly, turning to lean against a tree. "1,2..."

Everyone dispersed quickly, running to find a worthy hiding spot. Dustin grabbed your wrist, pulling you along with him. You hissed as he pressed on your fresh cuts, pulling back slightly. "Woah, you ok?" he asked, glancing over your shoulder to Steve.

Seeing Dustin's distressed expression, Steve ushered you over to his hiding spot, which Dustin nudged you towards. "What's going on?" Steve whispered, glancing between you and the boy.

"Nothing," you answered quickly. Pulling your sleeves over your hands again. "Hey, Dustin? I think me and Y/N are gonna go distract Max- you'll be ok?"

He waited until Dustin nodded before grinning. "Great." You contained a gasp as he took your much smaller hand in his, pulling you towards the house. You crept back down the stairs behind him, mumbling protests as he lead the way.

He pulled you inside the tent Mike kept up and sat across from you, still holding your hands. "What is it, Steve?" you asked incredulously. "Why don't you tell me?"

"There's nothing to tell." "Obviously there is- please, Y/N, what's going on?" he pressed. You looked down at your joint hands, seeing Steve's thumbs gently massaging your knuckles.

"The kids will worry," you tried, glancing between Steve and the staircase. "Let them." His eyes were alit with concern as he pulled your hands closer to his chest. "I know you're not ok. Please, let me help you," he urged.

"I'm sorry," you whimpered as tears gathered in your waterline. "Can I look at your wrists?" he asked. Your eyes flickered up to his, your blood cold. "Steve," you began, stuttering over your pleading words. "N-no- Steve," you continued.

You tried to pull back from his grasp, but found his comfortable grip secure. "Y/N, you know that I would never do anything to hurt you, right?" he assured upon noting your

near-hysterical state.

"I care about you a lot, and i need to make sure you're alright,"he continued. You let out a hushed whine as an armada of tears threatened to fall. "I'm going to look, and it's going to be ok."

You screwed your eyes shut he slowly raised your left sleeve up to your elbow. He audibly gasped as he revealed your multitude of scars in various stages of healing. "Fuck," he breathed slowly.

Despite your humiliation, you pried  your eyes open to watch as Steve's raked over you. "I'm sorry," you sighed quietly.  He shook his head quickly, still keeping his head down.

His fingers drifted over the raised lines that littered your forearm. "Oh, Y/N," he muttered, feeling tears form in his own eyes. "How long?" he asked , his chocolate eyes meeting yours. "A few months after.." you trailed off.

"You didn't tell me?" he asked, feeling rather small. You looked down, feeling shame crawling underneath your skin. "I couldn't," you admitted. Steve sighed.

"Y/N, Please Look at me," he asked quietly, moving his fingers to rest under your quivering chin. You did as asked, finding his gaze comforting.

"I want to be there for you, please let me. I can't stand to see you suffer like this,let me help," he pleaded. He moved his hand to cup your cheek, wiping away stray tears with the pad of his thumb. "Everything just hurts so bad," you sighed, blinking away the remainder of your tears: you could have a meltdown another day.

"What hurts?" Steve asked, tilting his head slightly. "Everything," you mumbled. "When those demogorgons were there, it didn't compare to what you guys told me. They were- they were so real, so .. hungry. They didn't understand, you couldn't talk them down," you explained, avoiding Steve's inviting eyes.

"And when they were in the junkyard." Your breath hitched at the memory. "What about the junkyard?" he pressed. "You just threw yourself at them!" you cried, throwing your hands in the air.

"Y/N-" he started, but you continued. "Something could have happened to you, you could have died, Steve. Those kids need you. I need you!"

Your eyes widened at your confession, finding Steve's eyes the same size. "I need you," you echoed just above a whisper. "Y/N," he muttered,leaning his forehead against yours.

"I love you, ok? I love you so much. You can take that how you will, but I need you to know for a damn fact that I do. I think you're beautiful." He pulled back just enough to lean down and kiss every scar he could manage. "These," he began between pecks, "are beautiful."

He sat back up, keeping your hands in his. "I love you. I'm in love with you," he confessed.

"And I need you to stop hurting yourself. I can't stand to see something so perfect in pain." You blushed at his words, finding his cheeks equally as rosy. "Steve?" you began,

leaning towards him.

"Hm?" he responded as heat crept across the back of his neck. "I love you, too." He sighed in relief before pulling you into him, running his hands up and down your spine as you buried your face in his shoulder. "It's going to be ok, I promise," he murmured. Something about his tone made you believe him.

[rogerblackwolf]

The Fall of the Saharan Empire

Excavation Site 22

Libya, North Africa

-2017-

The sun was unbearable, even in the shadow of the mountain it was barely below a hundred degrees. Even the wind didn’t help as it blew sand and dry wind that made you sweat bullets as soon as you moved. The worst part was that it was only 11am, and it was only getting hotter. Set up around an ancient tomb-like structure, buried under sand and stones from the mountain, was a camp of nearly twenty tents although their occupants were hard at work digging up the ruin. Workers dug deep into the sand, shoveling, and taking sand out by the bucket full, yet there was little progress.

One man was overlooking the dig; he was middle-aged and in great physical shape dressed in desert camouflage pants, boots, a short sleeve shirt, and a tactical chest harness that had a canteen and several magazines for a rifle among other gear. A second man who was taller, but skinnier in build, dressed in tan cargo shorts, a sweat drenched tank top, and he had a sun hat that did squat against the heat. The skinny man took out a canteen, drank several gulps before wiping the sweat from his brow then returned to help shovel sand. The fit man slung his AK-47 over his shoulder before checking on the man.

“Any luck Prof. Winslow?” He asked

“Well Mr. McCormick, I think we can safely assume that this indeed is a Garamantian tomb, you can tell by the simple fact that we are near their ancient capital Garama.” The skinny man responded with a British accent.

“But can you be certain that this is the right one?” McCormick asked.

“Won’t know until we get inside. But the Lidar scans showed a hollow spot in this section. And you know what they say ‘twenty two times the charm.’.” Winslow said, continuing his work. 

It was nearly evening by the time Winslow and the team managed to find the entrance, though they were all tired, the prospect of opening the tomb filled everyone with newfound vigor. Once the entrance was unearthed, Winslow was the first inside with McCormick right behind him, both men had flashlights which helped illuminate the corridor. The two men followed the corridor downwards for about thirty feet before entering a more open chamber which had little in terms of artifacts with some pottery and remnants of textiles. They paled in comparison to the true treasure in the tomb. In the center of the few artifacts, partially buried under the sand, was a complete humanoid skeleton, while Prof. Winslow was used to seeing ancient skeletons; he had never seen one so unaged and altogether, almost as if it were placed there this morning.

The two men gingerly stepped around the skeleton, Winslow took out a camera and started taking pictures as he made a circle around the remains ensuring he got every detail. He halted his photography to take out a tape measure, he drew a line in the sand at the top of the skeleton and a second at the feet before measuring the approximate height.

"Fuckin Hell." Winslow exclaimed.

"What?!" McCormick responded with a hand on his AK-47.

"Whoever this person was, they were roughly 6ft 3' tall." Winslow said in astonishment before taking a picture of the measurement.

"I'm guessing that's above average?" McCormick asked, kneeling next to the skeleton.

"Way above average. Most men of the time were lucky to be above 5ft 6'." Winslow said.

"Damn." McCormick said placing his hand next to the skeleton's hand which made his own look a bit shorter. It was then he noticed that the knuckles were fractured, the other bones in the hand had cracks in them as well. He looked over the skeleton noticing multitudes of other injuries like fractures and breaks, the skull especially had its fair share of impacts mostly around the face and jaw. McCormick also noted that the left clavicle as well as ribs 1-4 were crushed inward, the thought of whatever did such damage made him wince. The most gruesome injury was that the sternum was split in half, leaving a gap wide enough to stick his hand through. 

This surprised Winslow as he didn't know of any weapon that would cause such a clean break. Once Winslow was done with his pictures he turned to a couple of workers and told them in Arabic;

"Get the brushes, the lights, plastor, and the crates. We are moving the body and the artifacts tonight."

With that the worker nodded before rushing to the others, who quickly went to get the equipment. McCormick looked to Winslow before asking;

“Taking this back to London?” 

“I can only do so much here, if I’m to investigate more I’ll need a sterile environment, plus the Order will want to know what we’ve found.” Winslow said.

“I’ll call in the plane.” McCormick says, leaving the chamber. He passes by the workers as they head to the now open chamber. 

Several hours passed before the rumbling of aircraft engines broke the nighttime silence, McCormick had seen to having a makeshift landing strip carved up and lit up for the transport. The single C-130J landed easily, kicking up enough sand for a small sandstorm in the process, but at least the skeleton was nearly prepared for transport. All that was left was to wait for the plaster encased bones to set so they could meticulously place them in a sterile container that looked like a steel coffin. Within minutes of the plaster setting, the remains had been placed in their respective containers and sealed; the containers were taken from the chamber to be loaded but as Winslow turned to follow he noticed something. In the sand next to where the remains were previously, he found a crystal just big enough to fit in his palm. He didn’t think much of it at first but remembered that not everything is as cut and dry as they seem, especially in this line of work, he bagged it and, as he caught up to the containers, stopped to add it to the last container before it was loaded aboard by the team. The pilot came to meet with Winslow and McCormick, telling them, 

“Weather is holding for now but I’d like to get out of here before that changes. You guys coming?” He asked.

“I better deliver the remains myself, The Director probably would want to hear it from me personally.” Winslow said. 

“Yeah right, you just want a free ride back to HQ.” McCormick said with a smirk.

“That is a coincidence entirely, but I won't deny that I miss being in my air conditioned office.” Winslow replied in a bit of a huff.

McCormick simply chuckled before the pilot prepped the plane and Winslow packed up the equipment in his tent. He thanked the workers for their help and wished them well as they likely will be heading back home, and he thanked Mr. McCormick for all his help and security of the camp.

“Oh I’ll be back before you know it. See you back at HQ Professor.” McCormick said, patting him on the back. Winslow took his seat as the ramp closed and the engines spun up, he held on tight to his seat as the plane lunged forward before taking to the air in what felt like seconds. Either way, Prof. Winslow was glad he was heading home.

Back at Headquarters after a day of rest, Prof. Winslow was now able to study the skeleton in greater detail. He determined that the individual was male, most likely in his late forties, although with the normal methods he couldn’t accurately tell. One thing he could tell was that this man got into quite the fight before his ultimate demise. The individual had comminuted fractures to both of his hands, a flail chest fracture in his left 1-4 ribs, a broken left clavicle, multiple fractures to the face and skull, even a couple of teeth were missing, but what really drew his attention was the killing blow. The sternum fracture was conclusive with a stabbing, which he now saw went through the spine, plus given the angle of penetration he further concluded that whoever ended the man was standing over him when the blow was struck.

Winslow took a break as he stood alone in the lab, the others having checked out for the night, just staring at the skeleton. He was a combat medic with the Royal Marines for six years, he could remember every man he treated, everything from blisters to shrapnel wounds and burns. He remembered the first life he was unable to save, and the many others after, Winslow simply couldn’t comprehend how much pain this man was in when he died. How long he suffered before the end came. Winslow let out a deep sigh before returning to work, he took a sample of bone for the mass spectrometer to get an idea of how far back he lived. Winslow knew the machine would likely take all night so he decided to check out. He ensured the skeleton was locked in it’s locker before locking up the lab. 

The next morning he greeted the rest of the team as they went about their duties, the first thing he wanted to see was the results of the test, which he decided to read in his office. 

“Holy Shite!” Winslow shouted in surprise.

The test results had come back but he ran them again just to be sure only for it to come back the same. He took them to the Director’s office who was surprised by the sudden intrusion.

“Director Ambrose, you have to see this.” Winslow said, extending the file out towards him.

Ambrose was an older man with a slender build, dressed in a dark blue suit and glasses. His face was angular, clean shaven, and always had this serious no nonsense look that made him almost unapproachable. He adjusted his glasses so his dull grey eyes could focus on the paper in front of him, his expression turned from serious to questioning and finally disbelief before he looked at Winslow.

“Nigel…are you absolutely certain?” Ambrose asked.

“Yes George, I ran through the machine twice and it hasn’t changed. This skeleton is over 1 million years old.” Winslow replied in excitement.

"Bloody Hell." Ambrose said under his breath.

There was a moment of silence before Ambrose sat the folder down and spoke once more.

“And what of the crystal you found?” 

“My team in Sector 9 theorize it is some sort of memory bank but we're unable to reveal any secrets it may have at this time.” Winslow said.

“I see, well keep me in the loop Nigel. We both have been waiting a long time for answers.” Ambrose said as his face settled back to it’s normal no nonsense look.

“Of course, Director Ambrose.” Winslow responded before taking his leave.

-Two years later, OMC Headquarters, London-

A pair of women walked down the halls passing multiple cells containing objects of great power, while the Order considered them safe to be around, safety above all was still enforced. One of the women, a younger lass dressed in normal office attire with her hair in a bun, stopped for a moment at one cell looking at a sword lodged in a stone.

“Is that-“ she started to ask excitedly, only to be cut off by the second’s more serious tone.

“Yes it is, now come along.” She said, continuing down the hallway.

The younger woman caught up with her mentor as she rounded a corner. The younger woman looked at her mentor who was staring forward in silence. She was also dressed in office attire but no blazer, her hair was long and stopped in the middle of her back. She was a little older than her in terms of age but her experience definitely showed as she was an excellent scientist, though she always had a stern look, she rarely attended social events, and as far as she could tell probably hasn’t smiled in a long time. The younger woman spoke to break the silence;

“For the record, it was an honor being your assistant Dr. Garrett.” She said with her normal pep.

“You're not moving to a new facility Dr. Greene, just to a new office.” Dr. Garrett said.

“I know, I was just saying I’ll miss working with you. Plus you rarely eat in the cafeteria so…” Dr. Greene said but trailed off.

“Dr. Winslow is brilliant in his own right, and Director Ambrose only looks scary, just do your job and you’ll do fine.” Dr. Garrett replied.

“Right.” Dr. Greene said in a little defeated tone. Dr. Garrett looked at her assistant as she lost some of that excitement she had this morning. They finally arrived at Prof. Winslow’s office, which had a sign that read “Be back shortly” so the two women took a seat on the bench beside the door. As they sat, Dr. Garrett glanced at Dr. Greene before sighing.

“I eat lunch in the cafeteria at 2 every day, if you want to join me I would not be opposed to your company.” She said with a rare smirk.

“Thank you Dr. Garrett, I will be there!” Greene squealed in excitement.

“Don’t make me regret it.” Dr. Garrett said.

After a few minutes Prof. Winslow finally returned.

“Oh Morgan, sorry if you had to wait long.” He said in a friendly tone.

“It’s good to see you too, Prof. Winslow.” Dr. Garrett greeted.

“Oh come now, we’ve been colleagues for quite a while, I don’t see any reason to be so formal.” Winslow said.

“Oh alright Nigel, anyway this is my former assistant, Director Ambrose just approved her promotion to being part of your team.” Morgan said, introducing her now former assistant.

“Dr. Elizabeth Greene at your service sir. I hope I learn a lot.” Greene said in slight embarrassment.

“Pleasure to meet you, and you definitely will.” Nigel says, shaking her hand.

Morgan took her leave as Nigel and Elizabeth got introduced, Nigel then had Elizabeth step into his office where they took their seats to chat further.

“So I assume you know what we do here in Sector 9?” Nigel asks

“Yes, you and your team study the ancient remains of magic creatures and artifacts.” Elizabeth replies.

“That is the majority of what we do, yes but for the past ten years we have been pooling our resources to find and study a specific subject. Only two years ago did we find what we were looking for and today we finally have the whole story. Tell me Elizabeth, what do you know about the Garamantes?” Nigel asked, donning a serious look.

“I know they were an ancient tribe in what is now Libya, but I don’t know much about them.” She answered honestly.

Nigel’s face softened before he explained.

“They were much more than an ancient tribe, by the mid-second century AD they were a major regional superpower that established a kingdom that spanned 70,000 sq miles. They built complex underground aqueducts that supported their agricultural economy and population, even building their capital city in the middle of the desert without needing to be near a major water source. The Garamantes were by all means the most advanced civilization of their time. At their height they regularly traded with the Romans and Greeks, even traveled to Rome and Greece to sell their merchandise. Then in the fifth century, they vanished. Most history books or professors will tell you that as the water diminished the Garamantes were annexed or absorbed by the surrounding tribes. However we now have the real story of what really happened.”

Nigel paused to reach into his desk, retrieving a folder, then handed it to Elizabeth. Only then did he continue.

“You can read these in greater detail when you have more time, but I’ll give you the short version. In 2009 we discovered several tablets that spoke of a disaster that struck the Empire. The survivor, who we now know as Aya, spoke of a being that descended from the heavens and wiped out the Empire and all its people in the span of only a few days. Interestingly this being also spared her, her husband was not so lucky.”

“Her husband?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yes, according to her writings her husband wasn’t just a normal human, she described him fighting this destructive being in a valiant last stand that ended in his death. Two years ago we found his resting place and studied his remains here in Sector 9, along with a crystal that stored his memories. Thanks to it, we even know his name. And the name of his killer.” Nigel answered before getting up and having her follow him. Nigel escorted her to another room where the other team members were tending to the crystal, which now had a faint glow that pulsed every few seconds. Nigel first introduced Elizabeth to the other members then asked them to prepare a memory projection.

“Memory projection?” Elizabeth asked.

“This crystal, which we dubbed the Soul crystal, was inactive when I discovered it. But thanks to exposure to another magic crystal we have in storage, it came back to life. We were then able to use special filters and lenses to display the memories contained within much like a projector. What you are about to see are the memories, including the last moments, of Aya’s husband, the angel known as Ramiel.” Nigel explained, as a strange device with a number of lenses was set up facing the far wall, which was smoothed out to act as a projector screen. The Soul crystal was then gently removed from it’s protective glass box and placed in the device, it then came to life as the lenses were set and the projection was focused to the far wall. 

They first saw a land of green with farmers tending their fields, children at play, and a thriving village. The next scene was a man dressed in light robes, his head devoid of hair, and tall in stature with his wife in front of their home looking at a large city in the distance. They seemed genuinely happy until the next memory appeared showing dark clouds blotting out the sun, followed by rampant balls of fire falling that burned fields, decimated buildings, and sent people running for their lives. The next memories showed the city defenders, a vast army of mounted soldiers, amassed in front of the city walls, their opponent was a relatively short distance away. The opponent had wings coated in ash and embers, armor wreathed in flames as a storm of blackened clouds of smoke and fire followed behind them advancing slowly as they walked towards the citadel. 

The leader of the city defenders raised their sword then shouted a command leading the army at full charge, a storm of hooves and spears closed the distance in seconds but it was all for naught. Fireballs shot out from the clouds sending scores of men and horses into fiery heaps, if they weren’t incinerated immediately, across the sandy field. The being then flapped its wings gaining some height before descending like a meteorite onto the army, the survivors were cut down before many of them were able to fight back. Balls of flame then rained upon the city, the people’s cries of desperation and terror filled the streets as their destroyer entered their final refuge. Finally the last memories played, the city was aflame, the cries of the people were silent, their corpses littered the streets, and the one who brought it all upon them stood before the man and his wife, who now had a child in her arms. Their eyes like burning coals looked upon the trio before the man spoke a language they couldn’t understand, one of the researchers rewound the memory then pressed a button that translated the language to English.

“Why? WHY?! Tell me Apollyon! Why have you done this?!” He demanded.

“You forget Ramiel, in the grand scheme of things these insects mean nothing. It’s our job to ensure they know where they stand.” The dark one spoke.

“When did the Council allow for the slaughter of entire civilizations?!” Ramiel exclaimed.

“They only allowed me to destroy one. One limb sacrificed so the tree can flourish. Course there is one condition.” Apollyon answered indifferently.

“And what was that?” Ramiel asked.

“I only leave two survivors. And since there are none left in this “empire”, the choice falls to you Ramiel. Which among you will die?” Apollyon asked, summoning a battle axe and longsword to his hands.

Ramiel turned to his wife and the child she saved from it's dying mother, she stared at him fearfully, her hazel eyes dimmed by the desolation that surrounded them.

He smiled warmly before holding her close, his own tears streamed down his face.

"When I let go...you run. Run as far as possible. And don't look back. Please don't look back." He begged.

She nodded before saying

"I love you."

"Always." Ramiel replied.

He broke from the hug and she did as was asked running down the empty streets towards the gates.

Ramiel turned to Apollyon, his choice made.

"You're a monster Apollyon...it's time you were put down." He challenged as repressed energy surged through his body. Wings sprouted from his back as armor enveloped his body, lightning filling his eyes as his rage boiled, and with an outstretched hand summoned a spear of grand design. 

"I damned Atlantis to the depths, buried Pompeii in ashes, and you think you stand a chance against me, The Angel of Destruction? We shall see." Apollyon said unsummoning his weapons, before the two charged each other, their clash sent shockwaves powerful enough to flatten the buildings around them. Their duel took to the skies and though Ramiel was strong, with every blow he landed sounding like thunderclaps, Apollyon was overwhelming. Even unarmed Apollyon drew blood with every punch and kick.

Finally Apollyon grabbed Ramiel by his wings and threw him so hard he went through the palace and out the city wall before rolling to a stop among the ash fields. He barely got to his knees before Apollyon snatched him up by his throat, carrying him above the clouds, so far up the curve of the earth could be seen. He then descended like a falling star, throwing Ramiel into the earth with such force he left a crater several hundred feet wide. Apollyon landed seconds later and summoned his longsword. Ramiel's wings were scorched of nearly all their feathers, his face was bloody and swollen, one eye was barely open as his mouth was oozing blood, his breaths were shallow and gargled, and he had no strength to resist as Apollyon's boot planted itself on his chest.

"Such a disgrace of one of the original Watchers. Ending your miserable existence is an act of mercy." He hissed as he heard the crunch and snap of Ramiel's bones under his boot. Ramiel let out a groan of pain before Apollyon's sword impaled his chest, his breath no longer heard. Apollyon then took his leave, a flash of flame into the eye of the storm dispersed the clouds and the sun shined down on the ruined land. Ramiel's last memory was the sight of his wife before his eye closed for the final time. When the projection ended, a few of the team were in tears or drying their eyes, even Elizabeth felt unsteady before she sat in a seat.

"I think...that will be all for today. Secure the soul crystal...and consider the rest of the day yours. I know what we just saw was terrible, but we must move forward. For there is no reason to dwell on that which we cannot change." Prof. Winslow said, drying his own tears.

[sinkingorswimming]

My Boy Builds Coffins (3/? aka Mortician Yuuri and Goth Victor)

“Victor glides into his office thirteen minutes late, Wayfarers on, velvet lapels billowing, and “Friday I’m In Love” sung in a low whisper.

“It’s Wednesday,” calls the bitter and world-weary child intern Yuri Plisetsky. “Also I’m revoking your Goth card.”

“The Cure is technically Goth,” calls his CFO/CPA Chris Giacometti. Chris has a blond undercut and leans more towards jewel tones as he’s firmly a winter. “Though I mean, maybe not that specific song.”

Victor smiles at him as he opens the door to his office. The space is industrial and minimalist save for the decor choices---velvet sofas with sleek lines and an aubergine chandelier commissioned by a hipster artist Victor saw on display in SoHo. 

If Yuri hadn’t interviewed in a suit, Victor wouldn’t have hired him because the lemon-yellow leopard print he sports upends the curated aesthetic.

Georgi, who depending on how well his partnership with ladylove Anya is going, matches or not. When they’re well, he’s more in bright colors and Halsey. When they are having strife, he’s in grays and Lana del Ray. Right now there’s murmurings of Anya wanting to explore romantic anarchy so he’s kind of somewhere in between.

Victor fell into a google and r/relationships hole for two hours to make heads or tails of “romantic anarchy” before he gave up and contemplated suggesting Georgi put them on a break. Call him old fashioned but being an Elder Goth with a lifelong partner and their herd of fabulous poodles sounds much preferable.

The lifelong partner in this fantasy now represented by a stunningly beautiful man with coal-black hair, glasses, and warm eyes the color of a fine piece of cherry wood. Victor wakes up his iMac and blares baroque styled love songs by long-gone cult artists.

“Oh my God,” cries Mila as she comes into the room in all her lipstick-lesbian glory. She’s the rare redhead that works the hell out of pink, choosing to do so today in a dress she got from Mod Cloth on sale and a pair of gold heels. “What did you do? Who is he?”

“He’s named Yuuri,” Victor says with a grin. “He wears mostly black, drives a hearse, and likes Dragon Frappucinos.” His eyes twinkle at her. “Annnnd he’s meeting me for lunnnnchhhhhh. Pookkeeeee bowlllllssss!”

Mila laughs and grins. “Sounds like you should be playing ‘At Last’ instead of...” she trails off as she walks around the desk to look at his Spotify. “’You Are the One’ by Shiny Toy Guns.”

“I contain multitudes,” Victor huffs. “And he is perfect. I want six.”

“Six what?” Mila asks as she unlocks the company iPhone.

Victor gives her a blank look. “Six...Yuuris? One for every day and one for the weekend? Duh.”

Mila sighs and laughs at once. “God. Young love.”

Victor pouts as she exits his office with a chirp of congratulations.

He wants to Postmates bagels and cream cheese or maybe fancy doughnuts because he’s in such high spirits when Chris knocks on his open door. “Got a few?” he asks. He’s wearing his glasses today, round metal frames akin to John Lennon that are both chic and outdated, a warm emerald shirt showing off his wushu and pilates toned chest, and a pair of dark jeans. 

It’s fairly casual at Living Legend Enterprises. Victor is only so formally attired because of the chance to see Yuuri again. Generally he lets them wear whatever, he doesn’t care as long as they aren’t unwashed or overly sloppy. 

Yuri mentioned possibly dying streaks in his hair, and Victor cheerfully said for him to go for it. He only cares if it’s ugly.

“Yes, Chris,” Victor says. He lowers the volume of his music.

“Well,” Chris says. “I’m reviewing our budget, end of the fiscal year thing. And...I think it’s okay to bring one another full timer on board. That deal with the wineries in Napa is gonna help us out for a long time, and we can handle the overhead without much risk.”

Victor smiles. “Amazing! Get with Mila for the ad.”

“Of course,” Chris replies. He winks, his glasses making it cute but also roguish. “We’ll run the finer points by you for qualifications.”

“Since they’re a second Georgi, just follow his,” Victor says. “It’s neater.”

“Makes sense,” Chris says with a nod.

“Let me know when we have viable applicants, so the three of us can kvetch over who to interview,” Victor says. “No LinkedIns without photos. I mean it.”

Chris gives him a saucy face as he exits.

Victor gets approximately 100% jack shit accomplished. He’s too busy mooning over Yuuri’s beautiful face, his slighty soft round cheeks, the flecks of amber in his brown eyes, the careful messiness of his hair. He’s so cute and perfect. Victor can’t wait for lunch.

Fortunately, at 1:09 Yuri comes in unannounced. “Ugh, there’s some square here in a suit with my name, says he’s picking you up for some kind of dorky bs.”

“It’s lunch, Yuri,” Victor says as he rockets out of his seat. He fixes himself in the full length black framed mirror. Ah yes. 10/10 would date, heckin’ handsome.

“Whatever,” Yuri grumbles. “The guy is a pocket protector and a math book short of being shaken down for his lunch money.”

“Does that still happen?” Victor wonders.

“Nah, it’s a lot worse and meaner, too,” Yuri responds. “Regardless, that geek you ordered from Amazon Now has arrived.”

Victor rolls his eyes. When he enters the lounge, he sees Yuuri perched on the midnight blue velvet chaise thumbing through Nylon on the iPad. His suit jacket rests over the arm, and his dress shirt’s sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. His forearms are nicely toned. His light blue tie is horrendous. “Hiii,” Victor coos.

Yuuri looks up and adjusts his glasses. He’s cute, rosy cheeked and with a bashful smile. “Hi, Victor. Ready?”

“Born ready,” Victor says. 

Yuuri flushes deeper and clears his throat. “Walk or drive?”

Victor spots that Yuuri managed to get rock star parking. The cafe is a half a block. “Walk,” he says though he longs to ride in that fabulous hearse. It’s not fair for Yuuri to lose prime parking real estate. Victor takes the jacket and hangs it in their black wardrobe. He reaches out and takes Yuuri’s hand in his. 

“Come with me,” he says with a bright smile.

Yuuri hesitates but lets Victor escort him down the sidewalk to The Ramen Bar. It’s crowded but not so bad they can’t manage the wait, and when they get a  table, Victor orders a Boozy Boba for himself. Yuuri gets a Lychee Oolong tea with rosewater jelly. 

“Do you not drink?” Victor asks. He’s curious, not picking.

“Not during the work day,” Yuuri replies as he sips his tea. He swirls the straw around clockwise five times. “I don’t want to risk forfeiture or suspension of my license.”

“License,” Victor muses. His index finger touches his lips. “Sales? Insurance? Cosmetology?”

Yuuri bites his lip, and Victor wants to do the same, tug on the plush pink skin  with his teeth while he wrecks Yuuri’s hair and shirt collar. “Um, well...my family has a funeral home. It’s been ours since my grandparents immigrated here. My father owns it now that they’ve passed, and my sister and I will be the joint owners when he retires with our mom.”

Oh. Oh wow. Victor’s more in love than he has been his entire life ignoring the first moment NorCal Poodle Rescue introduced him to a puffy brown puppy he now calls Makkachin. 

Makka gets his ears dyed pink or purple every time Victor has him groomed.

“That’s so amazing!” Victor exclaims. “What a cool line of work. I’m so intrigued.”

Yuuri stares at Victor as if he’s never been told anything like that in his life. Actually, it’s more like he’s staring as if Victor just informed him he’s suffering from upside-down face disorder. 

“Really?” Yuuri squeaks.

They order their food---Victor gets the poke trio bowl, Yuuri the octopus by itself. It’s far too warm for ramen or anything hot to eat. 

“Yes! I’ve always found funerals calming. There’s something soothing about them, especially the religious ones. Like Catholic funerals with all the Latin rites. I don’t know. I don’t want people to die---” Victor is careful to clarify. “But the actual ritual of grief and letting go...I find it quite lovely.”

Yuuri keeps staring, eyes wide and bright like a startled cat. He cracks the knuckles on his index fingers. Yuuri fidgets a lot, Victor notes. He also looks at Victor when he thinks he won’t notice, and turns his eyes away when he’s caught. It’s cute, like he’s a schoolboy with his first crush. At least, Victor hopes.

Victor rests his chin on his right hand. He unabashedly stares at Yuuri, his eyes focused on him intently to catch every movement. Yuuri avoids his gaze as he licks his lips, his cheeks staining like someone brushed a wash of red watercolors over his skin. Victor watches him run his hand through his hair, though it just falls back how it was, and he swallows as he meets Victor’s eyes.

Their food arrives and before Victor can break the silence, Yuuri breaks apart his chopsticks and digs in. He’s elegant and careful when he eats, Victor notes. Almost meticulous, but then his occupation requires attention to a lot of fine detail. Why should his eating habits be different? 

Victor can’t help but wonder if it extends to sex. He really wants to know, he thinks as he breaks apart his own chopsticks and selects a piece of tuna for his first bite. 

Yuuri washes down his food with a sip of the tea. “Um---” he starts. “Well. No one’s ever...people tend to not care for my work.”

“Narrow minded simpletons,” Victor responds without looking up. He can feel Yuuri’s eyes on his face as he combs through his bowl for the next morsel.

“And...you’re right,” Yuuri says. “Funerals are supposed to reassure the ones you leave behind. They’re supposed to enable you to say goodbye, let go, and move on. Sometimes when someone comes to us, like a wife grieving a husband of fifty years, they have a really hard time. They can’t make choices or even fully grasp the situation. It’s my job to help them make sense of it and voice their love out loud one last time.”

Victor looks at him. “That’s beautiful,” he replies.

Yuuri smiles, though his lips are closed. It’s sweet without being sickening, and Victor gives him an expression that amounts to a heart eyes emoji.

They finish their food, and with a refill in a to-go cup for Yuuri and a new non-boozy drink for Victor, he pays their bill. They stroll back to the office, and Victor halfway reaches down and entwines their fingers.

Yuuri chokes on his drink, stumbling, and almost taking them both down hard on the pavement. Victor manages to save the day as he tugs him back, but Yuuri lands half clutching Victor’s blazer. He blinks up at him and Victor’s blue eyes widen a bit in awe as they stare at each other. 

Yuuri blushes again and Victor can’t stop, won’t stop, as he kisses him just a centimeter away from his lips. Yuuri gasps. “Oh.”

Victor pulls away. “Please,” he says. “May I have dinner with you soon? Somewhere with white tablecloths and----”

“Yes!” Yuuri blurts. He coughs. “Um. Yes.”

Victor is pleased. Victor is so pleased that right outside his office he pulls Yuuri close a second time and after wrapping his hands in his hair, he kisses him for at least ten minutes by his estimation. Yuuri kisses back with skill and equal amounts of affection, his hands clinging tight to Victor’s biceps like he thinks he’ll become a bat and fly away.

God Victor loves bats.

What Victor does not love is his entire staff cat-calling them and pounding on the glass windows of their office front. He actually didn’t even know Mila’s voice could pitch that high, and of particular note in terms of obnoxiousness is Georgi blaring “Young and Beautiful” from Yuri’s desk.

Yuuri breaks the kiss and hides as best he can behind the recycling bin a few feet away. Victor glares at his staff, sending them scurrying away like roaches. He pulls Yuuri out of the not-subtle hiding place and walks him inside to get his blazer. He puts it on him, Yuuri holding out his arms after a moment’s confusion, and Victor may or may not get a bit frisky with his (strong, corpse-lifting) shoulders.

Yuuri faces him and he hands Victor a white business card with an austere typeset. “Here.”

It’s his card with his information, like Victor gave the day before.

Yuuri runs his hand through his hair. “Um...call me. Whenever. I’ll go to dinner.”

He bites his bottom lip and exits, though when he pushes the door open he turns, opens his mouth, and closes it. Victor watches him go to the point where he sees the hearse disappear into the rest of the FiDi.

He looks at the card and grins.

[streetkings-yusa]

Yusa 3/?

Response to this

*****

“Why the fuck do you have the damn Mad Dog’s shirt on for? He do something to you?” Hayato spat. Yusa knew he hated Majima’s guts. She knew the guy had been in love with her since they were in high school, hell, she knew he joined her gang because of that fact. He earned his position of second-in-command, and he was an impressive fighter, to boot. Yusa, though, always felt fucking horrible for the night she ran into Hayato’s arms and into his bed ten years ago. Word about Majima resurfaced as she was rising through the ranks, and she had seen a picture of him, but no, he hadn’t even mentioned her by name. It was like she didn’t even exist to him. She’d heard a rumor that he was even married at some point. She didn’t know if it was true or not, but she felt so hurt and so fucking lonely. Of course, she apologized to Hayato for that night the very next morning, and she even admitted that she wasn’t interested in returning his feelings. “I know,” was his reply, and nothing was said after that. Sure, they hooked up a few times out of pure convenience, but it was mutual, and no strings attached. Still, she always felt bad the morning after because Hayato still looked hopeful.

“He didn’t do a damn thing to me,” Yusa replied as she peeled the shirt off and slung it over her shoulder. “I messed up my shirt fighting his boys, so I took his. Fair’s fair.”

“…it was one of his gang that took your bike? Look, I think Majima’s up to something—“

“Hayato, shut it,” she interrupted. Yusa watched Hayato’s face turn red with growing rage as the topic of Majima continued. “Look, one of his boys fucked up. Hell, Majima didn’t even know it was me until I got into his face. I don’t think I’ve ever seen his eye grow as wide as it did.” Before Hayato could say any more, as she knew he was ready to do, Yusa glared at him until he stood down. Hayato just shook his head and focused his attention to the juniors in the corner, sorting piles of loose sheets on a table. “I’m gonna go change,” Yusa threw over her shoulder as she disappeared into the lounge. Hayato merely grunted “Yeah, yeah,” in response as she closed the door behind her and clicked the lock.

The lounge was a simply laid out room, with a coffee table and two couches, and toward the back sat a counter with an array of kitchen appliances and instant drinks, ranging from import teas to powdered coffee. Beside the new hot-water dispenser she had just bought sat a tray of snacks, sans said snacks. Hayato must’ve eaten the damn cookies again, fatass. Sighing, Yusa made her way to the far back end of the room, separated by an antique wooden folded divider. Behind this stood her wardrobe, again another antique. It was filled with spare ensembles, had she ever the need to slip into attire appropriate for any occasion.

*beep beep*

Her phone chimed in her pocket, alerting her of an incoming text message. Yusa flipped open her phone and peered down at the screen. “The hell?”

            Yusaaaaaa, hiiiiii ( / ^_^)/ ♡♡♡

She stared hard at the screen. Who the hell was messaging her, and who knew her by name?

            Who’s this?

She waited. Then blip! Several messages flooded through in response.

            my feelings kinda hurt ~ 。・゜・(ノД`)・゜・。             ya even gave me yer card, too             (＾ｰ^)ノ

There was only one person who could’ve sent her those messages. Yusa was internally pinching herself, everything was coming back again. She wanted to flood the messenger with her rage and her tears, the tears that threatened to spill over again. She wanted to tell him that she didn’t mean to kiss him, wanted to know where the hell he was—her heart raced as her mind overloaded itself with a multitude of emotions. Leaning against the wardrobe, she held her hand to her face and stifled a sob. After several long minutes, Yusa took a deep breath and slowly typed away.

            …Goro-chan.              Hi. ＿φ(￣ー￣ )

It didn’t take long for his reply to come through, yet it felt like an eternity because here she was, talking to him again.

            when’s the next time we can play?             hehehehehe ψ(｀∇´)ψ

Yusa shook her head, moreso to comprehend that he was still replying to her. “He could’ve done that over twenty years ago, that motherfucker,” she mumbled under her breath. Despite the flirtatious nature of the messages (it was so totally him), he wanted to see her again. Yusa waited so long for this fucking moment. She bit her lip to suppress another sob and scoffed. “You wanna play, huh?” It took her several agonizing minutes of contemplation before she typed her reply, thumbs trembling as she did so.

            (♯｀∧´)             Meet me at Pronto in a few and we’ll talk.

Yusa waited in baited breath after she hit SEND. She was extremely nervous, thank fuck the boys can’t see me like this. The minutes felt like hours as she waited for a reply. Shitshitshitshit. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all. Her mind, again, overloaded itself with “what ifs” and “maybes” as she mentally went over how their conversation would go, all of them usually resulting in her crying. After what felt like hours, the chime pulled her back into reality.

             “it’s a date ♡”

Holy. Shit.

Never did Yusa slip on a dress as quickly as she did that moment. She discarded the high-waisted shorts and heeled boots she had been previously wearing. Yusa peeled off the torn black stockings that had been damaged in the parking lot fight and tossed them into the trashcan nearby, replacing them with a fresh new pair. The dress chosen for the meeting (or a date?) was a black leopard-print halter dress with a completely exposed back and a mid-thigh hem. For the sake of the dress, she ditched her bra. She had had enough with dealing with street punks for the day, so Jigoku Dayu was making a special appearance while she was out. Her tattoos were in full view for the world to see. Good. Yusa hurriedly brushed her milk tea hair and pulled it into a high ponytail, the waves regaining their bounce and curl after a bit of TLC. She retouched her makeup, grabbed a shiny gold purse, slipped into a pair of velvet wedges with black leopard spots and golden cat motifs—both new items at her boutique—and took one final look in the mirror. She looked decent enough, she surmised, and stepped out of the lounge, Majima’s shirt in hand.

Upon entering the main office, Yusa was pleased to see that the mess had been cleaned up and files restored, and there was Hayato at her desk on his laptop dealing with delivery forms. On top of the desk were little plastic containers filled with food, unopened. Oh yeah, I had Akagi get me food… “Hayato-kun, go ahead and eat the takeout next to you. I’ve got a last-minute meeting to go to.” She watched Hayato look up from his work, glare at Majima’s shirt, purse his lips, and sigh in defeat. “All right. Be careful. Don’t let your bike get taken again.”

“I’m taking your brass knuckles with me.”

“Wait, what?”

*****

Yusa sat at the bar, nursing her third glass of Kahlua & Milk while she picked at her Tomato and Mozzarella salad. She naturally arrived before Majima did, and her heart was pounding as she waited. What the fuck was she going to say to him? “Hey, honey! How was your life for twenty-two years? I became a gang leader to find you, isn’t that great?” She had no fucking clue. Yusa downed her glass and ordered a fourth. She was turning into a nervous wreck, and not even Hayato’s brass knuckles in her purse would calm her nerves. Right next to her purse on the counter was Majima’s shirt, folded up nicely. It kept her occupied while she waited for her food, but of course it didn’t take long.

And there it was. The bells jingled as they signaled the door opening behind her, his footsteps growing closer to hers. His voice called out to her as he approached the counter. Take a deep breath, Yusa. Say hello, don’t cry, don’t yell—

She turned around and slapped him across the cheek.