#writing sloth

[lilacella]

IT'S MY BIRTHDAY AND I'M TREATING YOU ALL TO A NEW PRONGSFOOT FIC 😇

A totally normal one that doesn't have a lot of angsty tags of course! Sirius has no issues in this AT ALL, DO YOU HEAR ME

Anyways, here it is 😊

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64910299

[kinardsevan]

who am i (to know)?

had this drabble in my head for a hot second. enjoy. post-s8 shenanigans.

-

"I owe you an apology."

Tommy looks up from his coffee with wide eyes. Maddie is standing across the kitchen from him, her own fresh cup in her hands. She'd come out from getting baby Bobby down, having fallen asleep in the rocking chair in the nursery while he'd been left in the house with Jee-Yun when the girl had wrangled him into a very convoluted pretend play of princesses and dragons. Evan was outside with Howie, working on a landscaping project that Tommy was supposed to join him on before his attention had been taken over by Jee.

"You really don't," he tells her, glancing out into the other room. Jee had fallen asleep on him—literally—about ten minutes before Maddie had come out, and he'd been so heartened by the fact that he hadn't wanted to move her. Maddie had shifted her over once she came out and offered him coffee.

"I do, though, "she states, stirring a spoon inside her coffee cup to mix the flavored creamer in. Her indulgences with the drink aren't very different from Tommy's, always seeking the sweetness instead of the caffeine.

She takes a deep breath, sips rom her drink before setting it on the counter.

"I wasn't very nice to you during round one of your and Evan's relationship, much less during the…off season," she comments.

Tommy lets out the slightest chuckle, the corner of his mouth pulling up as he acquiesces a nod before taking a sip of his own coffee.

"I'll give you that one," he responds. "But he's your brother. And as I understand it, maybe even more than that, given the situation with your parents," he comments as he sets his own coffee on the counter and leans back against it, wrapping his fingers over the ledge.

Maddie nods. "I recognize that he's an adult, and that end of the day, we're siblings-.."

"But for all intents and purposes, he's still your baby in some contexts," Tommy finishes for her. Maddie nods at the statement.

He's never said much on the subject, but he's always seen the way that Maddie has looked at Evan when they were in group situations. He still remembers the way she had kept watch over him at her own wedding reception—both the impromptu one thrown at the hospital, and the one that Bobby and Athen had held for them weeks later when schedules finally lined up and they were able to do something small at their condo. Maddie had been cordial, at the very least, but she had always kept a watchful eye on him, always waiting for…something. She never commented on whatever it was that she was waiting to see take place, but it seemed obvious once the breakup took place—she was waiting on him to end things.

"The thing is, for as complex as Evan's trauma is, he doesn't know it the same way we do," Maddie states. Tommy inhales sharply, staring down into his coffee mug.

It's not that he's ever expected Evan to not tell other people about the things he's shared about his own life—he knows that keeping secrets isn't healthy, and it directly affected the downfall of their relationship in the first go around. It wasn't at all that Tommy didn't want Evan to know him, either, or that he didn't want to know Evan in deeper ways. But when they had finally taken the time to sit down and really talk about the dark stuff that they'd avoided during the first year, it was more than clear that the trauma they both held wasn't light or easy. He fully understood Evan's urge to cling with a life filled with abandonment, including an entire quarter of his life in which he didn't speak to a single member of his family—and none of them had bothered to reach out to him. Adding to that he fact that he was 29 before he knew about his dead brother, and the fact that his entire life existed because he'd been intended as a savior sibling—so much about the younger man had come into focus for Tommy. He had no problem assuming that the same could also be said for Evan in relation to him.

"I think he's got a bit of a better grasp on it now," Tommy answers, still staring down into his coffee cup. He can't actually be entirely sure that the younger man really does understand the urge to bolt, but in the face of Bobby's death, while he urged to cling and stay close, Tommy needed time alone to process. It wasn't even that he didn't appreciate the comfort of being with Evan—he very much so did—but in the same breadth, he had only ever known a life where processing loss came hand-in-hand with loneliness. He needed the silence to figure out his own thoughts. But it was also that need for separation—short as it may have been—that ultimately led to the fighting that brought them back together.

"I imagine he does," Maddie states softly. She stares at Tommy for a time, and when he looks back up at her, the expression on her face is one he's only ever seen in his direction as a young child. It's the way that his mom used to look at him before she died. A layer of emotions, usually some mixed level of both pride and annoyance, but always covered in love. It makes a wave of something unfamiliar rush through his chest.

Well, maybe not unfamiliar so much as so distantly memorable that it doesn't feel right at first.

"Anyway, my point was…" Maddie trails off after a moment, and Tommy glances over at her again. There's something familiar in their shared gaze, but whether her statement is too loaded to put into words, or she doesn't fully have a grasp on it, she's not sure. He lets out another soft breath of a chuckle and nods.

"You didn't think I was going to change my mind," he states, not questioning. "Come back."

"I wasn't entirely sure," she admits. "I just knew that I recognized something in you, and I didn't like it. It took me a while, when you came back around to really grasp what it was that I was ambivalent about, but when you showed up and helped with saving Howie, a-and stuck around for Evan…" She glances back down at her coffee, touching the cup anxiously while also trying to keep her emotions together. "Well, anyway, I've seen Evan's life be a revolving door, in the kind of way where people come and go. They don't really come back. And I knew he loved you, but I wasn't sure if you loved him. Before then, I mean."

"Figured I was just along for the good times with the hot sibling," Tommy comments, just a hint of his bitchy tone and a smile on his face. Maddie scoffs.

"He is not the hot sibling."

"He kind of is," Tommy answers with a slight tilt of his head, and then they're both laughing, and it feels good. It feels warm and safe, and he has just the slightest pang of anxiety about letting himself really sink into it. No matter how much Evan tells him that there isn't anyone else and he doesn't want someone else, the fear of letting himself believe in another future that he won't actually get is still terrifying.

"The important thing is that you believe that," Maddie states, still laughing a little. As she finishes talking, though, just a smile remains on her face, and Tommy knows she means it.

Tommy glances out toward the back patio as Evan and Howie work on moving a bag of mulch into large pots, and his expression softens.

"He still scares me, if I'm honest," he tells her. "I've put faith into relationships in the past that didn't work out, and that hurt. But falling in love with him, and then telling myself that I couldn't have him…" His eyes get that overly dry feeling as he feels the edge of them brim with moisture. He glances back over at Maddie briefly, and she has that look on her face again, and it makes his heart twist. His gaze falls to her hands wrapped around her coffee mug as he drags his teeth against themselves, bites the side of his cheek. "He feels like a home I haven't known since…and I couldn't let go of him the way I should have. S-so even though he tells me otherwise, I still wake up every day convinced just a little bit that he will actually destroy me."

Maddie sets her cup down and Tommy looks away, suddenly feeling as though he needs to pull himself together in the right way. He forces a breath out and pushes a smile across his face as she walks over to him, wraps her small hands around his bicep, leaning into his side a little. The height difference is a little ridiculous, but he finds he doesn't mind it.

"I think you've figured this out, but Evan loves big, and in grand gestures. He has a penchant for missteps and overcorrection, but he means only the best with all of it. And in the midst of all of that, I have never seen him love the way he loves you, even if it took him a while to piece all of that together."

Tommy glances down at Maddie, his gaze narrowed just slightly.

"You don't think he's going to change his mind one day?" He tries to make it sound like a joke, but the trembling in his voice gives him away, and Maddie squeezes his bicep.

"Believe me when I tell you, Evan doesn't see anyone else," Maddie tells him. "Also, if you tell him that I've told you this, I'll deny it because of how disgusted I was when he said it to begin with. But I have heard him make the statement that if it was humanly possible, he'd have your children." Maddie narrows her eyes at Tommy. "Truth be told, I wouldn't be surprised if he did a deep dive to see if it is possible."

Tommy blushes at her statement, lets out a laugh, and it makes Maddie laugh too. For a solid two minutes, they lean against each other and the counter, laughing until it hurts to keep doing so, at which point the patio doors open and Evan and Howie come walking in, pink and each covered in a sheen of sweat. The center of Evan's tank clings to his chest, and it makes Tommy feral just looking at him.

"Might have to do a google search of my own," he mutters toward Maddie. She slaps his arm and steps away as Evan and Howie both mutter some version of 'what?' Maddie walks over to her husband and wraps an arm around him, pulling him away as Evan approaches Tommy. The pilot watches his boyfriend as Evan drapes an arm over his shoulder, fingers grazing at his hairline as he smirks at him.

"You are so dirty right now," Tommy tells him. "And sweaty."

Evan nods. "We were going to shower. The master bedroom has its own. And besides, you like me all sweaty and worked up." He trails a finger down the center of Tommy's chest, slipping it in past the button the fastened button in the center of Tommy's chest. The pilot glances down at what he's doing, can't fight the smirk pulling on his face. Evan leans into him, tilts up toward his ear. "Shower with me."

"There are children here," Tommy murmurs back to him, glancing toward the hall. He hears the bedroom door shut down the hall, and Evan presses his heated, sweaty cheek into Tommy's. "And I didn't plan for this."

"I did," Evan whispers, turning his head more and biting down into the space below Tommy's ear as he leans closer to him. Tommy gulps. Evan's free hand slides down his torso before his fingers curl into the waist of the pilot's jeans. "I have clothes for you. Shower with me."

Tommy opens his mouth to respond, but Evan's fingers dip lower, and the pilot gasps as the tips of Evan's fingers brush against him.

"Quickie in the shower," he whispers, his throat tight with need. "Quiet like a mouse."

Evan grins against his neck, and he can feel it.

"Sure," he answers gruffly. When he pulls away, the grin is still plastered on his face as he tugs Tommy forward by the hand still in his jeans. "Bag's already in the bathroom."

Yeah. Tommy definitely needs to get on that Google search.

[unnatural-happenings]

Got an idea for a Batfam x Reader x Avengers (+ Loki cause it's my fantasy and I can do what I want) fic that I haven't been able to get out of my head, so I'm throwing it to the ether.

(I actually wrote something for this here!)

You are a member of the Batfam—a blood child of Bruce Wayne's, and makes him a bit more overprotective of you then others. After a while the protectiveness bleeds into the rest of the family, doesn't matter if you're a vigilante or not, and it annoys you greatly. Though since it comes from a place of care you let it go for the most part.

Even though they grow more protective as time goes on, on the odd occasion they'll let you leave without one of them acting as your bodyguard (You bargained with Tim to let you leave without surveillance, as long as he got to call whenever he wanted). They still understood that you needed your own space.

By chance, during one of the few trips you had out of Gotham you run into Loki. To your surprise you hit it off pretty well. Now every time you have the chance to leave Gotham you meet up with Loki, which eventually leads to you meeting Thor, then the rest of the Avengers. Within time, you've basically made them your second home, and they've unofficially attached to the group. Like a favourite distant relative they wish would come by for more than just holidays.

They're far less suffocating then the Bats, and come with far less expectations. They don't treat you like a damsel in distress like you're family or act like you're only a pretty face for the Wayne's like the public. You can be yourself without feeling like a hindrance.

You get along well with everyone, but especially Tony and Loki. Tony occasionally prods you for WayneTech secrets, and he never lets you in the lab, but he's always there for you. Loki is a bit of the opposite. He isn't always at the compound, but when he is he drags you to wherever he's going. He also brings you into all of his schemes, but for putting up with him, he willingly goes along with yours.

For a while, you think this is as good as it's going to get. You stay with your family for a while and spend as much time as you can with them, but when the stress of galas, their vigilante careers, and the suffocation of their overprotectiveness becomes to much, on a free day you visit the Avengers. You're content with how things are.

That is, until Damian comes into the picture.

Despite being younger than you, he's not babied nearly as much as you are. You understand it probably has to do with his assassin background, but it still feels completely unfair and you can't take it anymore.

When you go to confront Bruce, it leads to a full blown argument. It only gets more and more heated when other family members get roped in until everyone's picked a side. Bruce realizes this is no way to have a proper discussion and wants to put a pause on it to come back to it later with a level head, but he expresses himself so terribly that you think he's just being dismissive.

You storm off to your room, quickly putting into motion plans to leave undetected. The manor starts to feel extremely confining—like it was becoming a gilded cage, so you want to escape to the only place you've carved for yourself completely separated from the Bats. The Avengers.

Once everyone is has either gone home, is out on patrol, or fast asleep, do you leave the manor. The only thing you leave behind announcing your departure, are the letters you left in the rooms of those that sided with you.

You leave behind everything easily traceable, and take the necessary precautions to keep yourself off the radar. Even if you aren't a vigilante, you've been taught how to conceal your tracks. Due to their protectiveness, everyone in the family has taken the time to further teach you stealth and ways to evade/escape confrontation in general.

You arrive at the compound in the dead of night and FRIDAY let's you without contest. You expect to be sitting alone until morning, but are pleasantly surprised when Tony shows up. He's covered in grime, clearly having just left the lab, but makes fun of you for looking like shit.

He doesn't ask what's wrong, he doesn't need to, and instead takes your mind off of it by filling it with mindless chatter. Soon he pushes you into his lab to help him also ignore his sleep schedule. The next day when the rest of the Avengers are made aware of your arrival, you're happily welcomed and allowed to stay for as long as you want. A few constantly ask if you'd stay permanently, and it's gone on for so long you can't tell if it's a joke anymore.

Meanwhile the Batfam is a mess.

They didn't find out you were gone until they come back from patrol. One of the siblings that got a letter finds it while pacing in their room. Then they start looking everywhere for you and realizes you're actually gone. The rest of the family gets involved, but those that have a letter don't inform anyone about it. One, because you told them not to and two, because they respect your sense of agency even if they hate it.

Then the rest of the fic flips between how you're doing with the Avengers and how the Batfam are handling the situation. You have so much fun with the Avengers, but your mind obviously keeps wandering back to your family. Every time it does you're left a mess of emotions until you push it all aside to deal with another day. The Bats are a mix between waiting impatiently for you to come back, trying to come to terms with their protectiveness, and arguing over if they should be looking for you or not.

[verridaiya]

—The Here, and Now // Dream Blooms

"I see you here, now."

The long-awaited (at least, for me) comfort ending to my mini series! My first ever multi-fic work and my longest fic to date, finally finished. This was way longer than I anticipated it to be. Since it's meant to be a continuation, I would highly recommend reading either parts 1 and 2 (or either one, technically) before this one. I hope you all enjoy <3

Synopsis: Something hangs heavy in the air ever since that night, unspoken and weighty. Determined to change that, you give Sylus a gift.

Contains: Sylus x MC/reader, gender neutral MC/reader, comfort, current timeline Sylus & MC

Word Count: 5.6k

< Part 2 | end >

There’s nothing quite like driving on an open road in the countryside.

Colors blur through the window. The road is an endless stretch ahead, a black arrow cleaving through an expanse of verdant green and loamy brown, loping hills and flat ranges under an infinite blinding blue. Metal flashes under a late summer sun, the only signs of civilization zooming by as they make their way towards the city you left. The world passes by and there is only one thing that remains steadfast beside you—a stroke of alabaster, a touch of shadow, a stain of red. A striking palette that comprises the masterpiece sitting beside you, ever by your side.

And he is driving you mad.

“Is it a theatre?”

There is a permanent scowl etched on your face, your hands a vice around the smooth leather of the wheel. You turn to glare at the headache lounging in the passenger seat next to you, before returning your gaze to the road ahead. His eyes are still dutifully shut at least, hiding those gorgeous, infuriating carmine eyes, his arms crossed with a finger tapping a rhythmless beat.

“Sylus, are you still trying to guess where we’re going right now?”

“And if I am?” He sounds amused, as he always does when he knows he’s getting a rise out of you. He hasn’t bothered turning to you, instead speaking to the windshield of his car. “Will you tell me if I’m right?”

“Wha- no, Sylus!” You cannot stop the exasperation from leaking into your voice. “What part of surprise isn’t clicking?”

The audacity of this fiend of a man. Behind your mild vexation, the anxiousness inside you thrums and grows. Here is one of the many parts of your plan that you have no control over: that Sylus keeps his eyes and curiosity to himself on the drive over. It was a variable you hoped would resolve itself; there were already so many things to worry yourself over.

You bite your lip, run the plan through your head again. Examine the crossed-out ideas, the things you ran out of time for, the what-ifs. There are little blemishes here and there, glaringly obvious in your eyes. They are scabs waiting to be picked at, a scratch you can’t itch without making it worse. It’s too late now to change anything, now that the plan is finally in motion, but it doesn’t stop you from turning it over and over again in your head, unsatisfied with the finished product.

Maybe you should have found a different way to bring Sylus to where you wanted him to go. Maybe you should have been clearer about what you wanted, when you told him to close his eyes. But there is no telling the whims of this man, and you have all but given up trying to read his intentions, mercurial and incomprehensible as they were.

Then again, you were more than a little bewildered when he got into the passenger side of his car obediently after you told him you had a surprise to show him. It’s struck you sometime at the start of the drive that you’ve successfully kidnapped the leader of Onychinus. Well, he came very willingly and without complaint, but still. You had expected more questions and teasing, but he simply smiled and did as he was told. You see now that he was just biding his time, now that you’re trapped with him in this tiny space, luxurious as it was.

“Not a theatre, then.” He hums thoughtfully. You see him rubbing his chin thoughtfully from the corner of your eye. “The new aquarium, maybe?”

“That wasn’t an affirmation or denial, Sylus.” You say flatly. “And stop trying to figure out where we’re going. I’m not going to tell you.”

“An outdoor activity, perhaps.” He muses to himself, throwing one last guess out there. Your heart rate skyrockets. Thankfully, he doesn’t hazard another one and changes the subject. “You’ve robbed me of my sight, kitten. Am I not allowed to speak as well?”

You sigh, feeling the beginnings of an actual headache at your temples. “Of course, you’re allowed to. But you can’t guess where we’re going. Please, Sy.”

A chuckle rumbles through his chest. “You’re the only one bold enough to tell me what I can and can’t do.”

He says that a lot, that you’re the only one. The only one who can drag him out during daylight hours, the only one who can make him wear silly plushies on his head, the only one he brings to those fancy galas, the only one he worries about. You wonder at how many things you are an exception to when it comes to the man beside you and how you came to have such an exclusive pleasure.

Who could ever do anything to me except you?

And it’s true. Because you’re also the only one who’s managed to make him look as pained as he did on that night.

You think about it a lot, that hazy, fever-driven night of warm dreams and unspoken sorrows. Though nearly a month ago now, it still remained fresh on your mind. The sweetness of the dream and that night has long since dissolved, like the candy coating of medicine; now the memory of it only tasted bitter against your tongue. You don’t understand what you said that made him look that way, bereft and grieving. You’re not sure you ever will.

Sylus was something of a legendary figure in your eyes. He didn’t bleed, he couldn’t die. Hell, you’ve fired a bullet directly into his heart and watched the blood fade away like the remnants of a bad dream. He had the unwavering confidence of someone who controlled fate in his very palms and the unyielding power to match it.

And yet there he was, laid bare before you, looking lost and splintered.

You made no attempts to talk about that night after you recovered. To be honest, you weren’t quite sure where to begin, or what to even ask. Maybe you were afraid of the answer. These were uncharted waters for you both, after all—nothing like this had ever happened before in the year and odd months that you’ve known him.

And Sylus, for his part, made no mentions of it either. Instead, he carried himself as he normally would: teasing you, rankling you, endlessly smug, all the while remaining an unwavering presence by your side through missions and holidays alike. Anchoring you, though it feels like you’ve somehow let him slip and sink into dark, suffocating waters.

Ever since that night, something had shifted. You’d catch him, sometimes, staring at you with a far off look in his eyes and something akin to sadness lining his features. When he comes to his senses, realizes you’ve been staring, all he does is flash you a smile and say something teasing, something that distracts you from the question perched on your lips.

There was something separating you from him, something as incorporeal as your dreams but still tangible nonetheless. It was a gauzy curtain hung between you both, a veil you can vaguely see him through, the shape of him blurred and distant. You can feel the weight of it whenever you reach out to him, its texture abstract between your fingers and its heft wrapping around his shoulders like a burden.

You want more than anything to tear it to shreds.

And, hopefully, today will be the first step to doing so.

“I may be the only person who tries to tell you what to do,” you say lightly, unwilling to let your heavy thoughts spoil the atmosphere, “but it’s another thing to get you to actually do it.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Sylus gestures at himself. “Sitting here with my eyes closed like the obedient, benevolent man that I am. Depriving myself of the one thing I adore the most.”

His theatrics draws out a laugh from you. Sylus and obedient are two words that would never find themselves in the same sentence together. “And what am I so rudely depriving you of?”

“You.” Your heart skips a beat. “And the adorable expressions I can get you to make. Like the cute little scrunched up face you’re making now.”

You fight to unwrinkle your nose, smooth your expression. Even if he couldn’t see it, you won’t give him the satisfaction of eliciting a response from you. “Sometimes I think you have eyes in the back of your head or something. It’s creepy, Sylus.”

Amusement colors his voice in warm hues. “I just know you well, sweetie.”

You can offer no retort at that; he really does know you well. Probably the best too, out of all of your friends. You remain begrudgingly silent as you navigate the car through a bend in the road. You flick the sun visor up as the sunlight shifts, arcing its way to land on Sylus instead.

Sylus once told you that he prefers the dark and the cold, belongs there even. There was no place for him in the bright light of the day. But looking at him now, his side profile illuminated, full lips and proud nose kissed by the stray daylight filtering into the dark of the car, you’d be inclined to argue differently. He’d look gorgeous in the sunlight, you think.

A yawn escapes you, the sound of it audible in the quiet of the car. You had a shorter, fitful sleep last night, having been too busy worrying over today. When Luke and Kieran told you that they had managed to cleared their boss’s schedule, you had to scramble to make sure everything was in place.

Sylus tilts his head, his sensitive ears picking up the sound. “Am I boring you, sweetheart?” he says, sounding almost offended.

You start to shake your head, but remember he can’t see the movement.

“I didn’t sleep too well yesterday.”

“Bad dreams?” he asks quietly, casually.

You’re glad he can’t see you wince. “No, I just have a lot on my mind.” You pause, then continue hesitantly. “I haven’t had any dreams recently.”

“Is that so?” he murmurs, voice inscrutable.

The car returns to a silence, stagnant and stilted and charged with the energy of unsaid things. The veil hangs heavy in the air between you, unmoved.

You shift in your seat, your hand gripping the wheel, grimacing. You had to open your big mouth. This happens too often now—you, ruining the mood by bringing up the night that you’re both skirting around. Why is it the right words never find their way out of you?

You think about your plan again, not out of worry, but out of comfort. Remind yourself what this whole trip was for. Where the words die in your throat, your actions will speak for you.

You open your mouth to say something to break the silence, but Sylus beats you to it.

“You know, we’ve been driving north for quite a while now. We must be past Linkon by now. And since we turned east about 17 minutes ago-”

“Sylus!” You screech, your train of thought derailed as panic overtakes you. You want to whack him but manage to keep your hands on the wheel. Instead, you turn to glare at him as he smiles, all sharp teeth and mischief. “You- no! You’re can’t keep track of where we’re going!”

He shrugs innocently. “I can’t help it, sweetheart. Instincts of a trained criminal, I’m afraid.”

The smug bastard. You fight the urge to get off the road to do a few donuts to throw him off track. It’d likely just make you dizzy instead. Besides, you’re feeling kindhearted and charitable, unlike someone.

“I should’ve brought a fidget toy for you,” you grumble. Or that coin you always see him play with.

He just laughs. Low, rich, and heavy—a sweet song, the only melody his voice can carry.

“No need kitten,” he purrs. “I have everything I could ever need right here, entertainment and all.”

His hand unerringly finds your own, resting on the center console. Warmth envelops you as his hand dwarfs yours, rough and calloused, gentle in the way you’ve come to expect from him. It never fails to make you feel safe, soothed. You resist the urge to flip your palm up, intertwine your fingers together.

He plays with your hand, thumbs over your pulse. Your erratic heart, tense with worry, has since calmed during your banter. You wonder if he can feel it. You think he enjoys feeling its slow and steady rhythm, one that his own hummingbird’s heart fails to beat.

You miss the way he subtly relaxes, untensing as you calm.

The silence that settles in is pleasant, companionable as you continue to drive, your hand in his. The sounds of cars rushing by fades as you leave them behind, turning away from the main road. Asphalt becomes dirt under your tires, narrowing into a single unpaved lane. You steer Sylus’ car through the meandering forks in the trail, recalling the directions Luke and Kieran gave you the other day. Eventually, you find what you’re looking for.

“We’re here,” you announce, pulling the car to a stop. The nervousness slowly trickling back in. This is it.

You get out of the car, taking the time to collect yourself. You’re a seasoned Hunter, part of the best of the best—you’ve fought Wanderers the size of trucks before, infiltrated the ranks of notorious criminals, handled heckling reporters at the scene of metaflux instabilities. You can handle giving a little surprise gift to Sylus.

You round the car and open the passenger door, taking the time to examine him. He’s humming a little tunelessly, body relaxed as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. He cocks his head at the sound of the door opening, eyes still shut. Hm, you didn’t anticipate this to be a problem. After a moment of deliberation, you speak.

“Sylus, do you trust me?”

“Sweetheart, I would lay down my life for you in a heartbeat,” he answers with a gravity unbefitting of the circumstances.

You roll your eyes, used to his antics by now, his flair for theatrics. “Okay, mister dramatic. I’ll settle for just your hands.”

He sniffs, almost like he was offended, but remains pliant as you slip your hands under both of his to hold them. Indulge yourself with the feel of his hands in yours as he returns the favor, holding them gently. With your help, he gets out of the car.

This inverse of this scene has played out plenty of times before; Sylus has always so gentlemanly helped you from his car whenever you’re out with him. It feels nice to be on the giving end rather than the receiving, for once.

“We’re almost there, just follow me and then you can open your eyes.”

You angle yourself to look over your shoulder as you walk, leading him onwards. There’s a small trail nestled between the dense brush, under the shadows of viridian trees. You make your way over, an occasional murmured apology leaving your lips when your feet bump into Sylus’s. It’s such an awkward way of walking, sort of sideways and backwards, all the while staying close enough to hold both his hands. You don’t want to let either of his hands go, though. And he doesn’t seem to mind, indulgently docile as you find your tempo eventually.

For all he looks lax and nonchalant, you know Sylus is on alert and attentive, gleaning whatever he can of his surroundings from his other senses. Another perk of being a ‘trained criminal’, you suppose. You can practically see him cataloguing the scent of the cool fresh air, the hush of the trees swaying and the decidedly un-urban sounds of birdcall and silence on the wind. There’s not much you can do about that besides escort him faster.

When you almost trip on a tree root jutting out into the trail, you automatically start to adjust your stance to avoid falling, reflexes courtesy of your Hunter’s training. But there was no need; Sylus’s hands grip yours, strong and sure, steadying you as you find your balance.

You brace yourself, knowing what’s coming.

“Be careful kitten,”—and there it is, that teasing lilt, mirth in his voice— “If you get injured, I can’t carry you without opening my eyes. Wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise for me, would we?”

“I was distracted, my eyes were on you,” you bite back without missing a beat, mimicking the quip he always says when you’re in a firefight together. If he was going to use your own words against you, you’re not above doing the same.

His lips quirk upwards at the familiar words leaving your mouth. “As they should be.”

You huff a laugh at his self-satisfied reply but hold onto his hands tightly, as he does with yours. You can’t tell who is supporting who, as you continue on.

Eventually the gravelly dirt underfoot gives way to grass. You catch a glimpse of your final destination through the underbrush: a peek of open sky, a hint of something that shone like jewels nestled in verdure. Excitement prickles at your senses, your breath quickening with each step as your strides grow longer, and it’s not before long before you’re all but tugging him along.

“You know sweetheart,” Sylus begins, as you pull him to the final stretch, his long legs effortlessly keeping up with your pace, “for all the undercover work you do as a Hunter and with me, it might do you well to practice your stealth a little more. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you plotting with Luke and Kieran behind my back. And you forget, Mephisto is always watching.”

You refuse to take his bait, not when he’s finally here. Your scheming had to have worked, there was no other way. “Shush, you definitely didn’t figure it out! Come on, come on, you can open your eyes now!”

Of course, your words don’t stop his attempts to provoke you. “If you say so. But if you wanted to unwind and go fishing with me you could have just-” he cuts himself short as he opens his eyes.

“Surprise!” you flourish your hands, albeit a little awkwardly, as if presenting a gift.

Sylus stands there, frozen. Breathes out your name. “Kitten, what is this?”

“It’s uh, my gift to you.” You turn around to also examine the view.

Flowers. Flowers all around you, blooming under the golden light of an almost setting sun. They flood the open field in a riot of colors, stopping only at the edges of the surrounding forest. Brilliant oranges, deep blues, and luscious purples dot the meadow, strokes of vibrancy amid lush green, a palette of brilliance upturned towards a blushing sky. The air is filled with its sweet scent.

It had taken Luke and Kieran weeks to find this place, what with going behind their boss’s back and finding a spot to your liking. You couldn’t quite explain it, but you wanted to find a place similar to the one in your dreams. You were lucky that this beauty of a place was within a decent driving distance of Linkon.

But still, looking around the small meadow, you wonder if it’s enough.

You wander a little further in, your steps cushioned by the plush grass. You speak to the open sky and the birds that dart through the air, your back still to him.

“I found this place a while ago- Well, Luke and Kieran found this place, but I asked them to look for something like this for me. I wanted to take you here as soon as they showed it to me. But I had to wait for the both of us to be free and it took so long, especially since you’re such a nocturnal creature. There wasn’t a good time to take you here in the past weeks.” You’re rambling now, but you can’t seem to stop yourself. “The influx of Wanderer sightings I told you about last week didn’t help either, since Alpha Team had to be on standby. And then when all that was done I had to figure out how to surprise you and you’re so hard to surprise and-”

You pause only to take a breath. You need to calm down, before you ramble the rest of the daylight away.

You think of Sylus. His gentleness as he places a towel on your fevered forehead, as he coaxes you to eat soup. His hand wrapped around yours, steady and safe. “Anyway, I wanted to do all this to thank you. For taking care of me when I was sick. And being there, always.”

Silence. You turn around.

He’s staring at you, eyes wider than you’ve ever seen them before, plush lips slightly parted. A marble statue standing stock-still against the vividness around him. This is the first time you’ve ever seen him so speechless.

Though it isn’t his usual bored poker face, you still can’t read his expression. Your heart rate picks up nervously. Does he hate it? Perhaps this was a bad idea, a terrible approach to thanking him and apologizing for that night. Maybe it was awkward timing, or that this gesture was given too late.

“Sylus? Are-”

Sylus launches himself at you.

You barely have any time to react. With a gasp you jerk backwards in surprise, but he catches you around the waist, wraps his strong arms around you. The world tilts as his momentum has you both falling. You don’t know how, but he manages to twist himself over to take the brunt of the fall. The world is a kaleidoscope of color as you both roll into the meadow, coming to a stop amidst a patch of lilac.

Everything is still spinning as you reorient yourself. You’re still nestled in Sylus’s arms, on top of him as he lays in the grass and the blooms. You didn’t realize that you were laughing breathlessly until Sylus joins in, a rumbling chuckle reverberating in his chest, under your cheek. You wriggle your arms from his hold, brace them on the ground in an attempt to unplaster yourself from him, but his arms tighten around you and has you collapsing back into his hold. It was only at a mirthful “Sylus!” and a light pinch to his side does he release you.

You sit up and find yourself straddling his torso, hands splayed to steady yourself, muscles rippling under your touch. The rat-a-tat-tat of his heartbeat echoes beneath your fingers. Your chest rises and falls with his, breaths intermingling as you both recover from your tumble. His eyes meet yours, rubies glittering in the sun.

“Does this mean you like it?” you ask, though you think you know the answer.

“I do, sweetheart. Of course.” Sylus doesn’t take his eyes off of you. They’re soft, softer than they have ever been before. “This is the best gift you’ve given me.”

There’s something in the way he looks at you, as if you were the gift given and not the delicate blossoms around him, framing his body in pale purple. His eyes are a lit match, the way it ignites your body, warms your heart. The shadows of anxiety and nervousness flee under the heat of his gaze. In its place is a spark of excitement, the feeling of being pleased that he is pleased. You can’t help the smile slowly taking its permanent residence on your lips.

“You have twigs in your hair,” you say with laughter in your voice, and reach up to pick them off.

They fall away easy enough at your deft hands. Two in particular are stubborn, small and branching enough to have somehow intertwined into his hair. You stop when Sylus lifts his own hand up towards you—to brush your cheek?—no, to wind it into your hair, tugging at it gently. After a moment his hand comes back into your view, revealing his prize.

“You have some as well. We match."

Your hand flies up, landing on a leaf that has made its home in your nest of a hair. “It looks like we’re part of this meadow now too. But a little warning next time, Sylus? Getting tackled by you wasn’t exactly the reaction I was expecting.”

Sylus raises an eyebrow. “And what were you expecting, kitten?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I thought you��d burst into tears of joy or something? I brought tissues and everything.”

Sylus laughs, something loud and raucous, the sound of it brighter than the sunlight enveloping the meadow. “I’ll keep that in mind for the next time you surprise me, kitten. I’ll be sure to act accordingly,” he says, taking a deep breath of fresh air as if he can breathe freely for the first time.

Sylus has yet to move or try to remove you from on top of him, though you had expected him to already. He seems content in this position, lounging in the grass. “So, Luke and Kieran assisted you in finding this place? And kept it hidden from me all this time. I assume the fishing trip discussion was a red herring?”

A quick enthusiastic nod of your head answered his question.

“Mephisto was also in on the plan,” you grin.

It had taken a lot of coaxing and bribing to convince the ornery bird to film the fake interactions of you and the twins talking about fishing and send it to Sylus, in addition to not sending the real recordings. You had a small suspicion that Mephisto was also actively trying to catch you and the twins plotting in order to blackmail some more treats from you. Damned bird. So much thought and careful planning had to be done in order to make sure Sylus was properly surprised. It still makes your head dizzy thinking about it.

Sylus shakes his head in amusement, his hair glinting a shining silver. He looks ethereal underneath you, in this lighting. All hard planes and sharp edges, melting at your touch. “Turning my own subordinates against me, kidnapping me and whisking me away into the woods. You’ve grown quite bold, kitten,” he says, the pride in his voice apparent.

“I didn’t think I’d be able to pull it off,” you say, blooming under his praise. “Taking the legendary leader of Onychinus by surprise? Unheard of.”

“My one true equal,” he murmurs affectionately. “Only you could surprise me like this.”

Only you, only you.

There it is again. Like clouds blowing in to block the sun, the warmth fades. You’re reminded of fever dreams and a careless mouth, saying things it shouldn’t have. You think of pain where there should never be pain, especially when brought on by you. You think of a curtain swaying in the wind, of a lonely figure just on the other side of it. You think of the real reason why you brought him here in the first place.

Sylus must see something change on your face. He parts his lips to speak, but you beat him to it.

“You know Sylus,” you start slowly, softly. Your eyes cut to the lilacs around him, the swaying grass. Look at anything other than the man under you. “It’s okay if you don’t tell me what’s bothering you. You never have to tell me anything.”

You know without looking that he knows exactly what you’re talking about. Sylus is perceptive, as sharp as Xavier’s light blade as it sings through the air.

In truth, you ached to know though of what could possibly hurt Sylus, if only so you can ensure it never happens again. But just as he is ever indulgent of your whims, you would let this want remain unfulfilled and festering inside you if he had no desire to talk about it.

“But that night, seeing that look on your face…it never sat right with me, seeing you that way. I don’t know how I hurt you and I don’t want to ever again. But whatever it was I said, I just needed to say that I’m so-”

“Don’t,” Sylus cuts through your apology softly. You feel the whispers of his fingers at your cheek, his hand a breath away from caressing your face. “Look at me.”

There was no refusing him, when he was so gentle with you. You turn back to those twin hearths, glowing warmly up towards you. There was no hiding from them—you’ve always been an open book. And he knew you best, after all. Your sadness, your pain that mirrors his own from that night, it was all there for him to see.

But, returning his gaze, he couldn’t hide from you either. There was an openness in his words as he spoke, an honesty to the way he lays himself bare before you, under you.

“You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. You have no fault in things you have no control over, nor can I ever blame you.” He pauses, clearly picking his words carefully. “There are things in my past that I have safeguarded with my life. Memories that I cherish deeply, that not a single other living soul in this world knows.” His eyes are burning into yours. “Your…dream reminded me of one such memory. That night, I was caught off guard by it. And it…weighs upon me still. One day, when the time is right, I’ll tell you the whole truth behind my words.”

Sylus searches your eyes as you absorb what he said. You want to say something, anything in response to his vulnerability and sincerity. But the words are lodged in your throat, stuck under the lump and the tears that you refuse to let fall. Instead, you just nod and hope he understands your silent acknowledgement.

Sylus smiles softly and nods his head slightly. He releases you from his gaze and turns his head to examine the flowers around him, alighting on them like the sunlight that nourishes them.

“But this gift you have granted me, being with you here. How could I ever bring myself to be burdened by these heavy memories in such a place, given to me with such generosity and benevolence?”

“Is it enough?” you ask, voice small.

“Sweetheart, it is everything I could ever ask for.”

This time it’s your turn to launch yourself at him. Sylus welcomes you with open arms, embracing you just as tightly. Core muscles flex under you as he lifts himself to sit upright, taking you with him.

There are no more words spoken between you. There was no need; the way he holds you and doesn’t let go tells you everything you need to know, and you hope he knows too from the way you return it just as fiercely.

The warm musk of him mixes with the fresh air and the scent of wildflowers. Birdsong and the sound of wild things accompany the rapid-fire song of his heartbeat. The world around you ceases to exist outside of this meadow and Sylus.

You don’t know how long you sat there with him. Eventually, you pull away just enough to stare at him. Contentment colors his eyes, affection lining his features. The setting sun had brought a gentle flush to his face. A small breeze ruffles his hair, some of it falling onto his face.

The curtain had lifted and you glimpse the full majesty of the masterpiece before you.

You were right. He does look gorgeous in the sunlight.

You speak into the serene silence between you. “There’s supposed to be more wildflowers here, you know. But it hadn’t rained in a while and I spent too much time planning and waiting for the right time. And then summer arrived earlier than expected and- yeah, there were supposed to be so much more than this, if we came earlier.”

Sylus reaches to cup your cheek, a promise in his eyes. “Then we’ll come back next spring, together.”

Butterflies dance in your stomach at his words. You have never adored anyone else more. You cover the hand holding your cheek with your own. “Together.”

You turn your gaze to the scenery around you again.

It wasn’t exactly what you envisioned. The dappled wildflowers aren’t the vibrant shade of red you desired. The meadow is flat and surrounded by forest, not towering snowy peaks and rolling hills. The breeze is faint and carries the scent of damp grass, instead of the crisp mountainous air it should be.

Things aren’t perfect.

But they don’t have to be.

Because he is here beside you, in your arms. And that is all that matters. His happiness is a chalice overflowing, sloshing and filling your heart with warmth and contentment. Something inside you relaxes with a quiet sigh, finally at ease. A coil of tension that unwound itself, a restlessness you didn’t know existed because it has always been there.

The shadows of the forest elongate on the earthen ground as the sun dips below the tree line. Your shadow and his are there too, complete with the twigs adorning both your hair, recognizable and unfamiliar all the same.

From a certain angle, one could envision the shadows as that of a dragon holding their beloved, their crown of twigs two pairs of horns, nearly touching as their heads bent towards each other, together at last.

And perhaps one day, when you think back on this day, you will see a double vision of the Sylus you know and the Sylus of your dreams, a Sylus you’ve forgotten, and come to a realization.

But that is an echo of the past and a moment in the future.

Right now, there is no worry, no hesitation, no past or future. Here in this remote, secluded meadow it is just you and him, enjoying the gift that is the present.

[bangpop91writing]

The happiest of birthdays to @kinardsevan the supreme overlord of all things angst and tears!

I hope you enjoy this bucktommy mpreg microfic that comes with a healthy dose of angst

You can read the story below the cut or on AO3

Buck's been feeling the cramping low in his belly ever since he'd come off the repel line. It was webbing and glowing in waves and Buck kept telling himself it was fine. It wasn't that bad. According to Google some cramping and spotting is normal, implantation bleeding or something.

He willfully ignores the fact that if his dates are right he's past the window of implantation bleeding being normal.

Anyways, it's fine. He will go home, wherever that is now, and will drink lots of water and relax. It's not that bad. Saving Athena, Chimney, and Grant had been more important. And the cramping wasn't even bad enough to prevent him from doing his job. But now the adrenaline of the call is wearing off, it's just him and Ravi left in the showers, and a cramping so bad it brings Buck to his knees rips through his lower half. Only the pain doesn't stop this time and Buck feels like he cant catch his breath.

"Buck, what's going on? What hurts?" Ravi asks dropping to his knees by Buck's side with zero regard for the fact they are both ass naked and dripping wet.  Something is very wrong. But Buck can't get the words out. He's in so much pain he can barely breath. "I'm getting Hen." Ravi says scrambling to his feet. Buck feels a small wet gush between his legs. He reaches down between them and when he pulls his hand back there's blood. To much blood.

"Chim- Chimney." Buck stutters out, gasping through the pain, "Get Chimney." He pleads, clenching his eyes shut, trying to just breathe through the pain.

This can't be happening. It can't be. He barely knew he was having a baby and now he's losing them. He should have eaten better. He should have cut back on caffeine, gotten better sleep. He should have opened his mouth and told Gerrard, light duty be dawned. He should have grown some balls and told Tommy the second he found out he was pregnant two weeks ago.

He thought he had more time to tell Tommy. Buck had just needed time to come to terms with being pregnant in and amongst all the grief. He'd needed time to decide what he was going to do. All Buck had needed was time. And now he's losing the last piece of Tommy he'd had left. 

The water pouring over him is turned off. Ravi is back with Chimney who is kneeling on the wet tiles without concern for the clean jeans he'd changed into.

"Buck, what's going on?" Chim asks and all buck can give him is a pained whimper. "Come on buddy." Chim says softly rubbing a hand down Buck's back. He doesn't know if it's to soothe him or start giving him an exam. "I can't fix it if you don't tell me what's wrong, Buckaroo." Chimney's voice is low and soothing, it's not like how he talks to patients in the field. It's how he talks to Jee when she's hurt. Buck does his best to focus on Chimney's hand, his voice.

"Baby. Loosing the baby." He whimpers doing his best to explain, but everything hurts. Ravi is sent to grab Buck's gym clothes while Chimney helps him dry off and get dressed. He's practically carried into Chimney's car by his brother-in-law as Chimney snaps at everyone to mind their buisness when they ask what's wrong.

Buck doesn't remember the drive to the hospital, he feels like he can't breathe and like his entire body is on fire. Logically he knows he's been in worse pain, that having his leg crushed by a ladder truck objectively hurts worse than this. But his brain isn't getting that memo. Buck doesn't remember losing consciousness in the passenger seat of Chimney's car, or the way his brother in law broke all sorts of traffic laws, driving his SUV like it was a ambulance. 

Things are pretty hazy. He remembers coming too voices of someone saying they are worried about his oxygen levels. 

"... not the father... uncle... work together..." Buck thinks he hears Chimney explain.

When he finally wakes back up, really wakes up, not just drifting in and out of consciousness he's been changed into a hospital gown and is laying in a hospital bed. He's got an air canola in his nose, and a big ass doppler strapped onto his midsection. He's alone in the room, but he can hear Chimney's voice filtering in through the open door.

"Don't be to hard on him. I don't think he's known that long. None of us even knew."

"He should have told me." Tommy's not wrong, Buck should have told him. He was going to, he was. He just... he needed a minute. Tommy was going to be- would have been a really great dad.

Buck rolls over onto his side as best he can, his body still aches all over, and pushes the call button on his hospital bed. It doesn't take long for a pair of nurses to come rushing in, with Chimney and Tommy following behind them. Buck let's the nurses check his vitals and try to explain what had happened.

Stress, dehydration, over exertion, adrenaline high and subsequent crash, exhaustion. 

Buck doesn't look at Tommy or the nurses, instead focusing on the small hole in the toe of his socks as he took in all the ways he failed their baby. He's to scared to ask how much longer they've got left.

"And the baby?" Tommy asks from the far side of the room with his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw tightly clenched.

"Should be just fine." The nurse says looking over the results of doppler strapped to his belly monitoring their little heart beat. "Good strong heart beat, maybe a little fast. He was brought in justbin time." The nurse continues. "But now that Daddy is awake and alert were going to want to do an ultrasound." She says with a kind smile, patting his leg. "Make sure everything is looking good and get a gestational age." 

"I wasn't sure when you two had, um," Chimney flushed uncomfortable, "intecorse last." Buck rolled his eyes shifting trying to get comfortable.

"Four weeks ago." Tommy grunted once the three were alone in the room.

"So that puts Buckaroo at about six weeks." Chimney said with a nod before leaning in patting Buck's shoulder and kissing the top of his head. "I'm gonna go catch Maddie, she'll be here any second, let her know you and the baby are going to be okay." Buck nodded still looking at the hole in his sock instead of at Tommy even as Chimney turns to leave pausing in front of Tommy.

"Be nice. Neither Buck or the baby need your fat head right now. I called you so that you can be in Buck corner when I let Maddie unleash nine months of pregnancy induced, mama bear rage on Buck." Tommy doesn't say anything. Neither of them do for a long minute after Chimney leaves the room.

"How long have you known?" Tommy asks remaining on the opposite side of the hospital room.

"Two weeks." Buck whispers, "I found out right after the funeral." He swallowed thickly gathering up all his courage and looks at Tommy. "I was going to tell you. I was. I- I just-"

"You needed a minute to process." Tommy finished for him, he nodded blinking back tears. Thats when Tommy broke, crossing the room and dropping into the chair next to Buck's bed. Tommy took Buck's face between his hands whiping away the tears slowly running down his cheeks.

"Evan, hey, hey, it's okay. It's okay. Everything is going to be okay. You're okay, our baby is okay, everything is okay." Tommy promised, but Tommy had tests in his own eyes that he was fighting a loosing battle too. Buck thinks that they both needed this, needed to cry together to find catharsis after today's events.

A couple hours later, Tommy and Buck are leaving the hospital for Tommy's house whete Buck will be living for the rest of his high risk pregnancy. It's going to the place where they bring the twins home.

[arielluva]

slothful jeremiah hollyberry

[rwbypro]

Sloth's profile in the guidebook

The first 4 or so are the same as Kuro so I'll start the list from the first different one.

Job - Demon

Favorite food - meat and potatoes

Favorite drink - cola

Favorite snack - ice cream and potato chips

Hates - Being left behind

Hobby - talking to people

Motto - what's important is invisible to the eye

Respects - Mahiru

Fav animal - Lion

Fav Type - Someone who takes him everywhere

Fav place - where you can see dazzling lights

Routine - thinking/ruminating on memories

Convenience store - Ice cream

Holidays - looking at the sky

Happy to hear - I'm counting on you!

Dream - Stay inside and nap!

[can-of-slorgs]

*japanese funky nightcore cover music in the background*

[lilacella]

I am onto a new fic and want to yap about it so I am starting a wip tag game!

✨️🦥show (sloth) your snippets🦥✨️

Here's mine, from the new prongsfoot fic I'll start posting soon 😊😊😊😊:

"One Frappuccino with oat milk, a hot chocolate with extra sprinkles and a large black coffee please." Sirius' lips twitched. "You drink your coffe black?" "How do you know that one's for me?" Sirius' service smile had now completely turned into a mocking smirk. "Athlete lifestyle." James felt himself blush. Why was he blushing?! This wasn't something to be embarrassed about! "I just don't want extra calories." "That sounds... healthy." James scoffed. "You're the one to talk. When was the last time you had a proper meal while sitting down, huh?" Sirius mouth opened and closed, then he glared at James. It was a bit terrifying but it also made James' skin tingle pleasantly. "You don't have to answer," James offered galantly. "I wasn't going to." Sirius turned towards the coffee machine behind him and began assembling the drinks.

(This may look like a coffeshop au but it really is not hahaha)

Boldly (NP) tagging: @plecotusauritus @neege @werewolfenthusiast @lynxindisguise @mycupofrum @lovelymasks @caslyra 😇 @neverenoughmarauders @albi-bumblebee @goldenlionprince

[kinardsevan]

houston, we got a problem

Tommy is mildly panicked when he walks into their home. He’s just come off his first day back at work after the shooting and is excited for him and Evan to have their first ninety-six off living in the same home. It wasn’t supposed to actually work out that way—he was supposed to have gone back to work earlier in the week—but his doctors had held him off for a little longer, and then with the process of Evan repacking all of his things and moving out of Eddie’s house, the time between of availability for them had dwindled away during his final recovery days. But now they have this, and he expects it to be great. As it is, it’s the first time they’ll really get to enjoy each other’s company fully since getting back together, since Tommy is considered officially healed. At least…

“Babe?” He calls out through the house as he slips his shoes off. “Did you hear me about the movie? I think we can still get those reservations, too.” 

The house is silent, but he knows Evan’s truck is in the driveway, and briefly he wonders if he younger man decided to take a nap after getting home from his shift. A smile drifts across Tommy’s face at the idea of crawling in next to Evan in their bed. They’ve certainly had their share of post-shift naps together, both at the loft and in this house—but this would be the first one in their bed, their home. The context of that is just as exciting as dinner and a movie. 

He walks through the house, little more noise than the sound of his socks on shag carpetting and the rustle of his jeans as they brush together, until he comes around the corner of the kitchen into the bedroom and his eyes fall on a familiar, small velvet box sitting on top of the dresser. His jaw drops open slightly as panic floods through him. He isn’t sure at all how to approach this topic, but as his gaze drifts over to Evan sitting on the end of the bed, the panic flooding the middle of his chest widens and deepens. The younger man does not look excited or even nervous, but instead upset. 

It takes everything inside Tommy to reel himself in—to remind himself that when he made the choice to break up with Evan a few months back, that choice hadn’t ended well—rather it had ended with Evan at his bedside in a hospital, telling him that there wasn’t another person out there who he wanted to be his last, and that he was head over heels in love with the pilot. Given the moves they’ve made forward in their relationship since, even though his own past trauma would like to suggest that maybe Evan has changed his mind, he knows that, logically, that’s very unlikely. 

“Baby?” 

Evan’s gaze doesn’t lift, and he doesn’t move, and after a moment, Tommy hears him sniffle, and his heart sinks. He picks up the box where it’s been left on the dresser and drops it back into the sock drawer before walking across the space between the door and the bed and kneeling down in front of his boyfriend. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Evan stammers. Tommy lifts a hand to his cheek, tilts the younger man’s face up more so he can see him clearly, and Evan looks so defeated that it twists a knife in his chest. 

“No, baby, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he answers, brushing his thumb back and forth on Evan’s cheekbone. “What’s going on?” 

Evan shakes his head, tears falling down his face, and it’s the first time that Tommy realizes the younger man has been crying. And as much as he’s trying to choose logic over emotions, he knows that whatever Evan is about to tell him has been weighing on him for more than just a few hours. 

“I-…” He inhales shakily, blinking and sending more tears down his face, over the back of Tommy’s hands as the pilot stares up at him wide-eyed, full of concern. “S-should be happy.” 

“You’re not?” Tommy says carefully, still forcing himself to toe the line. Evan turns his head, leaning into the pilot’s touch, and it’s mildly calming. He wouldn’t turn into him if he wanted to break up, right? 

“W-wanna be,” Evan answers, his voice shaking. “Feels- feels like I should- I should be. Everything has- …it’s good now. Everyone is- a-and we’re-..” 

Understanding sinks down over Tommy like the start of a midmorning drizzle, dripping into him one tiny drop at a time. He’s been here before, and he knows exactly what Evan means. 

“Okay, look at me,” he answers, his tone much firmer with the realization of what’s going on. Evan’s gaze lifts, but he doesn’t look any more settled or out of pain. 

“It’s been a tough fucking year for you,” he tells the younger man. “Lightning strike, changes in sexuality, Eddie left and came back, Maddie got kidnapped, we broke up, and I almost died. Even one or two of those events is a lot.” 

Evan sniffles and tries to look away, but Tommy turns his head back toward the pilot and forces his boyfriend to keep holding his gaze. 

“Y-you bought a ring, a-and I sho-should be ecstatic-..” 

Tommy scrunches his face in response, baffled at Evan’s determination to believe he should just suck it all up and give the expected response. 

“Did you hear anything I just said,” the pilot asks. 

“I’m needy and make everything about myself,” Evan tells him. “T-the break-up, Eddie leaving, w-when I called you while Maddie was- was gone. Fuck, Tommy, the- the shooting-..” 

“You were hurting,” his boyfriend reminds him, his tone almost angry. “Needing support doesn’t mean that you’re selfish. You deserve to have people there for you when you’re struggling.” 

Evan inhales and exhales wordlessly, more tears coming down his face. There’s a mountain of a statement not being made about how Tommy has been the only person to ever tell him that, to show up for him in the dark times and bring some light along with it, to love him through his ridiculousness. 

“They- they had more important things-..” 

“And that doesn’t mean that you don’t get to hurt too,” Tommy counters. “This is not the trauma olympics.” His gaze trails over Evan, taking in his demeanor. The way he seemed to curl in on himself, almost rejecting of what Tommy was telling him. And the thing was, for all the conversations they’d had about the places they’d lacked love and support in their lives, had struggled being on their own, he’d always held some degree of faith that the family his boyfriend had created around the 118 did something to show up and support him. 

And yet. 

“I’m exhausting,” Evan mutters, and it breaks something inside Tommy. 

“You are anything but that,” Tommy tells him, his tone bordering on argumentative. “You deserve love and support. You get that, right?” When Evan doesn’t look up at him, Tommy’s hand grips just a little bit tighter against his cheek, and he bobs his head forward to drive the point home. “Right?” 

“Sure,” Evan whispers. 

Tommy shakes his head, tilting Evan’s chin up toward him again. 

“Listen to me. You deserve all of those things,” he insists. “And if everything is too much right now, then we’ll figure it out. We’ll make some phone calls, you can take some time off work-..” 

“I’ve already been out since the shooting too much-..” 

“And that’s what paid time off is for,” Tommy counters. “I know you well enough to know that you haven’t used it all. And I know Bobby well enough that he’ll make you take the time to ensure you’re taking care of yourself more than just physically.” 

Evan opens his mouth to respond, his expression letting on that he’s about to try and counter Tommy, but the older man won’t be dismissed so easily. 

“Evan.” 

His boyfriend meets his gaze, his eyes brimming with more tears. “What?” 

“We’re going to figure it out,” Tommy says softly to him. “You can rest, and put yourself first. Let the people who love you put your first.” 

Evan sniffles again, the tears in his eyes coming down his face. It takes more than a few seconds, but eventually, he nods. Tommy stands and moves into the spot next to him, still keeping one hand on his face as Evan turns his head toward him. 

“What do you want to do,” he asks softly. “Not in the grand scheme, but right this second? What can I do for you?” 

Evan gulps, his gaze low. “I’m just so tired.” 

Tommy nods. “Okay. Do you want to lay down? Can I hold you? Would that help?” 

Evan nods, and then Tommy moves them up the bed. The younger man curls up tightly against him, but it’s not like how they normally are. Instead of Evan laying half on top of him, his body is rigid at Tommy’s side, like being tightly wound is all he can do to hold himself together. 

The pilot reaches over and combs a hand through Evan’s hair, brushing his thumb against Evan’s jaw when his hand settles. He feels the wetness against his t-shirt as they lie there. 

“‘m sorry,” Evan mutters softly, tucking his face into his hand against Tommy’s chest. 

“No, baby,” the pilot answers just as quietly. “Rest, Evan. Just let go. I’m right here.” 

There’s a period of roughly two or three minutes, where the only sounds in the room is their breathing, and the occasional sniffle. And then, like a wave cresting, it makes landfall and he feels the change against his chest as the tears come fast, the sniffles turn to sobs, and the walls come down. And for all the ways he’s had to let Evan in over the past few months, this might be the first time he’s really seen the younger man break. 

Selfishly, he wants to know who ever told his boyfriend that he was selfish or exhausting for being in pain. He wants to knock their lights out. But for now, he’ll settle for being the comfort. When Evan finally gives in to uncurling, letting the weight of all of his emotions settle over them and the urge that that brings to cling tighter to Tommy, the pilot holds him tighter, speaks softer affirmations to him. 

And then eventually, after a little while, the younger man seems to settle, if for no other reason than exhaustion. Tommy loosens his grip as Evan does, but he doesn’t let go. He feels the way Evan’s breathing deepens against him, and lays quietly next to him, making a mental checklist of what they’ll need to get done over the next few days. 

The younger man doesn’t doze long. After about twenty minutes, he rouses and lifts his head, looking up at Tommy. The pilot stares back at him quietly, observing him. He practically see the way Evan wants to apologize again brimming just beneath the surface, but he doesn’t say it. And then before long, the younger man is settling against him once more, his head on the pillow right beside Tommy’s. 

“You wanted to ask me to marry you,” Evan whispers. 

Tommy inhales a deep breath. He still wasn’t entirely prepared for that conversation today. 

“I still do,” the pilot answers, looking over at him. “But—and I’m not saying this in a bad way—I’d like to table that for when you’re feeling better. For when we’re both in a better headspace to dive into all that that means.” He’s quiet briefly, letting Evan consider his words. “Is that okay?” 

He sees the way Evan’s chin trembles and the way he tries to stuff down his feelings, sniffling instead of giving in to the tears. He nods and then tilts his head against Tommy’s shoulder, and the way he exhales feels a lot to Tommy like a sigh of relief, driving his entire point home that they’ll wait until he’s in a better place. 

“I’ve got you, Evan,” he whispers before pressing a kiss to the younger man’s forehead. “We’re going to be okay. I’ve got you.” 

[jackednephi]

Hey who else here thinks sloth is a dumb sin and just sounds like mental illness raise your hands

[lilacella]

IT IS DONE!!

I have managed to finish the first part of M is for Murder, a Choose Your Own Adventure post prank fanfic where Snape dies and the Marauders have to cover up the murder - or, should I say, the unfortunate manslaughter?!

This has been an INSANE amount of work. Only posting the chapters took me almost 90 minutes 🙃

I hope all the chapter refrences are correct but if you notice anything please let me know!!

[kinardsevan]

if the world was ending (would you drive to me to cry with me)

8x15 coda scene

Tommy spends an indeterminate period of time standing in front of the monitors watching Evan. His throat hurts just as badly as the knots in his stomach that have kept him rooted to the spot, torn between going inside to find the younger man and continuing to watch him. 

It hurt him in a way that he couldn’t quantify into words, to see the younger man hurt the way he currently was. It fed into this continuous loop of trying to shove down his true feelings while also feeling them bubble up at what felt like the most inopportune times. 

If there was one thing he was clear on, though, it was that his feelings toward Evan weren’t gone in the slightest, let alone something sophomoric that he could just push away. 

He wanted someone to tell him the right answer. He wanted to go inside and fold Evan into his arms, be there for him. He wanted to stuff the boiling-over feelings in his chest so far down that he could go home and try to continue on without the younger firefighter in his life the same way he’s been trying—and mostly failing—since that night he walked out of the loft months ago. 

Except, nobody is coming, because Howie is in isolation, and so is Hen. Ravi and he are on decent terms, but he doesn’t exactly expect the kid to come and tell him how to deal with his own feelings when the kid is clearly dealing with far more in the face of losing Bobby.

And sure, Tommy was losing Bobby too, but not in the way everyone else was. Not in the way that Hen and Howie were, when they had stayed at the 118 during Bobby’s entire tenure. Not in the way that Ravi had only ever known Bobby as a captain, because he’d never faced a 118 A shift without him. Not like Evan…

Something snaps in him at that thought, and he swipes at the tears on his face, turns on his heel and walks out of the tent.

There are people still milling in and out of the facility when he makes it inside. If anyone of them has anything to say about the fact that he’s not suited up to be inside the building, they don’t say anything. He passes by swathes of people, ultimately joining a group in the elevator where only one button is pushed. He can feel the way eyes shoot in his direction but no one actually speaks and he’s glad for it. He’d be inclined to snap at the moment if anyone actually did. 

When the elevator docks on the floor, people exit, heading in different directions. He passes by all of them, moving deeper into the facility until he finally comes to one of the doors that leads to the locked area. A man in fatigues eyes him up quickly—Tommy vaguely recognizes him from before they all went inside—and then swipes a card at the reader before moving aside. 

Tommy brushes past him, walking faster and faster the closer he gets. When he finally reaches the last locked door, he meets the Colonel in charge, and the man swipes his card without saying anything before Tommy even reaches him. 

He hears Evan’s sobs as soon as the door opens, and it feels like drowning. His feet move under him in a way where it feels like they almost never touch the ground, because in one second he’s passing through the door and the next, he’s down on the floor, water soaking through he legs of his flight suit as he pulls the younger man in and holds him. 

Evan’s hands claw at the back of his suit with desperation, as if he can’t get close enough to the pilot. 

“Shh, I know,” he murmurs, holding on to the younger man just as tightly. “I know, baby.” 

The word slips out, and whatever version of him feels like he shouldn’t have said it is stomped to death by sob that Evan lets out as his fingers dig into Tommy’s trapezius muscles. The pilot closes his eyes and buries his own face in Evan’s collarbone, inhaling him and feeling so fucking selfish for the fact that he gets to, when feet away, Athena Grant still stands at the barrier between herself and the lab where Captain Bobby Nash is dying. 

He loses time again, doesn’t give any inclination to it passing, even with the watch on his wrist working perfectly fine. Evan cries, and so does he, and they just exist. 

Eventually, after an extremely long time, he feels Evan sag entirely against him, and when Tommy pulls back, he knows. 

It takes him a few seconds to configure their movements, but he gets his arms underneath Evan, shifts on a knee, and then pushes off the ground with the younger man in his arms. He heads back up the hall, passes through doors freely, and when they approach the outside, he sees people he recognizes as being from the medical examiner’s office. Somewhere inside of him, he feels the slightest bit of relief, knowing Evan isn’t awake to see them. He’s not sure the younger man could handle that realization at the moment. 

He’s surprised when he gets outside and finds Weston leaning against Tommy’s truck, keys in hand. When they’re close enough, Weston opens the passenger side of Tommy’s truck, and Tommy gets Evan settled, buckles him in, and then closes the door quietly before turning to his captain. 

“How?” He asks as Weston hands over Tommy’s keys. 

Weston shrugs. “Donato and a few of the others offered to do some shuffling around after shift. My car is across the lot.” The man looks past him toward the building. “Saw the coroner arrived.” 

Tommy nods, gulping past the knot in his throat. Weston reaches a hand out and squeezes his shoulder. 

“Take an extra day. Hell, Kinard, take two. We’ll figure it out. Just take care of yourself,” his captain states. He jerks his head toward the passenger door. “And him.” 

Tommy nods, turning his head away as a tear slips out and down his cheek. Weston squeezes his shoulder once more before stepping past him, patting it gently before walking away. Tommy takes enough time to take another breath before he rounds his truck and gets into the driver’s seat, starts the vehicle. 

He glances over at Evan, still passed out and still in his turnouts, reaches over and cups his cheek as he swallows down against the knot still in his throat. Evan lets out a breath, sniffling in his sleep. Tommy pulls his hand back after a few seconds and backs out of the parking spot. As he turns back around from checking out his back window for clearance, his hand falls against Evan’s palm on his thigh as naturally as it ever has, and the younger man curls his fingers in. Any part of Tommy that feels like he could pull away before sinks away.

He spends far too long trying to figure out whose house to take them to, before ultimately taking Evan back to his place. The younger man’s truck is bound to be at the 118, and he can’t be sure if he has his keys on him. It’s a longer drive, but it also gives Evan a longer time to rest. 

He pulls the truck all the way into his garage, grateful that his most recent project vehicle is finished, so he’s able to park the truck in the middle so he can get Evan out and into the house without having to wake him. 

He gets the younger man in the house, through the kitchen into the bedroom, settles him on the bench at the end of the king-sized bed before he starts removing his turnouts. The jacket goes easiest, and then he lets Evan sag back against the mattress after he gets the suspenders down before removing his boots and pants. They smell of smoke and ash—as they always do, given their job—and he walks out into the kitchen long enough to set them on a couple of chairs before he returns to the bedroom. Evan is still stretched half across the bottom of the bed, sagging down just slightly where his body presses the mattress down while his hips and legs are tilted higher by the bench. 

He questions himself for a time, wondering if it’s right or even okay for him to remove the rest of Evan’s clothes. He knows that the younger man loathes sleeping in pants, and more often than not, he doesn’t wear a shirt to bed either. Still, he isn’t sure that it’s his place anymore. 

Evan snuffles and rubs a hand across his face before resettling, trying to shift his hips and failing. 

“‘mmy,” he mutters, barely audible, and it’s enough to make the decision for the pilot.

He crosses the space between them and unbuttons and zips Evan’s jeans. 

“I’m right here, baby,” he answers softly, reaching up to squeeze his hand before pulling the jeans off Evan’s hips, down his legs. He folds them and sets them on the dresser before moving around to the side of the bed and lifting Evan. He moves the blankets around and then slips the younger man beneath them. All the movement is enough to rouse Evan at least a little bit. Tommy sits on the edge of the bed beside him, helping him out of the t-shirt and letting it fall on the floor. When it’s gone, Evan’s hand runs down Tommy’s arm until it wraps around his forearm, holding on. Tommy glances back at him as Evan’s eyes meet his, defeated and heartbroken. 

“Bobby’s gone,” he rasps. It isn’t a question. 

Tommy gulps, strokes his thumb along the inside of Evan’s elbow. 

“Yeah, baby.” 

Evan keeps staring up at him as tears well up. Tommy remembers, only too easily, how only a year ago they had sat in the kitchen of the loft and Evan had told him how he’d feared losing the captain then, and how Bobby was the father he’d never had. 

Except, now Bobby is gone, and he’s not coming back. And the same way Tommy will never talk to his mom again, Evan will never talk to Bobby again. This was not a matching scar he wanted them to share. 

Wordlessly, Tommy reaches up and wipes away Evan’s tears with his free hand, and they exist together in space again for a time. After a few minutes, Evan reaches for the snaps on Tommy’s uniform and starts pulling them apart. He works them open all the way down to Tommy’s stomach, never asking, but both of them knowing. 

When Tommy stands, their hands slide down, fingers intertwined as he pulls his free arm out of the uniform and then turns, letting Evan take that hand as he slides his other arm out and then slips out of his shoes and kicks away the uniform before using his toes to get his socks off. 

Down to his undershirt and boxers, he lets Evan pull on his hand, and rather than cycling around the bed, he slots a leg over Evan and then leans over him to get to the other side. Evan stops him for the briefest moment as Tommy passes over top of him, their gaze meeting, but once the pilot is settled into the space beside him, Evan lets his hand go and rests it on Tommy’s leg as the pilot removes his t-shirt, tosses it down by Evan’s before laying down with him. 

Evan rearranges himself, curls up against the pilot’s chest as Tommy’s arms loop around him. 

“He said he loved me,” Evan whispers, his voice wet with phlegm. “That I’d be okay without him, and everyone was going to need me.” 

Tommy’s fingers stroke up and down his back as he listens, the other curled up in Evan’s free hand, the younger man holding on to his index and middle fingers. 

“I don’t know where he gets that. I’m not…” He huffs and sniffles, shakes his head minutely. Tommy feels wetness on his chest. “Everyone leaves. Or dies.” 

His statement twists something inside of Tommy’s chest. A callback to their breakup, something that makes him want to argue about who said what and when, but in the face of the current moment, it doesn’t feel like it means anything. And really, does it? Does arguing that Evan said he doesn’t feel anything for him—when they both still clearly do—and Tommy thinking the younger man would choose someone else eventually really matter if, in the face of death, they just want each other? 

“I have to be okay for them,” he continues. “Athena. Hen, Chim. Someone has to hold it together for all of them.” 

Tommy nods his head against his pillow as he keeps his eyes on the younger man. Whether intentional or not, Evan tightens against his side, and Tommy’s hand moves to the back of his head, his thumb stroking down against it. 

“Maybe,” he murmurs softly. “But you don’t have to for me.” 

Evan inhales a deep breath audibly, and when he lets it out, Tommy feels another tear fall onto his chest. They lay together quietly, the only sounds being their breathing and the occasional sniffle from Evan. Tommy doesn’t fight his own tears, but breathes in and out of his mouth, not wanting Evan to feel like he can’t have a place to let his walls down. 

And then, some time later, a breath catches in Tommy’s chest at a memory. Evan tilts his head up, his own tears still coming slowly and quietly. Tommy’s head is tilted higher on his pillow, clearly trying to keep the focus on Evan, but the younger man reaches up with Tommy’s fingers still wrapped in his hand, and he uses his thumb to pull at the pilot’s chin until Tommy looks down at him. Gaze to gaze, there’s nothing but naked vulnerability between them. 

“You’re not allowed to die,” Evan tells him. 

Tommy lets out a mirthless laugh as another tear slips out, rests on his eye socket. “Neither are you.” 

Evan stares up at him, a mix of something happening in his expression. It causes that swell in Tommy’s chest again, more than boiling at this point as he watches Evan open his mouth at the same time as more tears fall. His gaze slips to Tommy’s lips and then back up at him. 

“I…” 

“I know,” Tommy answers him, squeezing his fist around where Evan still has his fingers in a haphazard handhold. “I do too.” 

Evan’s gaze softens at him, and for the briefest moment, things hurt just a little less. Evan reaches up and pulls Tommy’s head toward him, and the pilot lifts, meets him in the middle in a kiss that they’re both too tired to let turn into anything else. When they part, Evan rests his head on Tommy’s shoulder and his hand over the pilot’s heart, feeling the thump thump thump beneath his palm. Neither of them speaks, and neither closes their eyes, all too aware of what they’ll see if they do. 

Bobby Nash was a man who had saved both of them—for Evan, on more than one occasion, and for Tommy, when he needed it most. He’d kept them both alive so that they could find each other, and even though they might only have to figure out out one minute a time, Tommy wasn’t sure of how he was going to get Evan through losing the captain, let alone himself. 

But he knew that he would. He had to. He’d promised. 

“Hey!” 

Tommy glances up, a smile crossing his face as he looks up at Bobby. 

“Hey, Bobby. Good to see you again,” he comments, extending a hand to his former captain. The other man takes it, grips firmly as he shakes Tommy’s hand. 

“Glad to see you joining in on the team get-togethers,” he answers, clapping his hand on Tommy’s shoulder again. Tommy’s gaze shifts back across the yard at where Evan is swinging Jee-Yun around, and his eyes soften as his heart swells. The younger man was supposed to be getting them new refreshments, but he’d clearly gotten distracted, and Tommy wasn’t about to complain. 

“Happy to be invited,” he responds, a little softer. Evan stops as Maddie walks up to him and says something, and the younger man laughs at her, setting Jee-Yun on the ground. She tears off in a different direction towards the other kids. 

“It’s a good thing,” Bobby states, and Tommy glances up at him, raising an eyebrow. Bobby nods at him. “I know how you can get. But you’re good for each other. And if you let him, he’ll protect your heart just as much as his own.” 

Tommy inhales a deep breath and gulps, nods minutely. 

“Well, maybe just don’t go having anything happen like that fire anytime again soon,” Tommy states when he manages to feel like he hasn’t swallowed lava again. 

“I’ll do my best,” Bobby tells him. A moment later, he glances over at Tommy. “But something tells me that even if something did happen, he’d be taken care of.” 

Tommy looks back at him again, that lava feeling welling in his chest once more. Bobby nods at him, as though he’s decided on something neither of them had voiced. Tommy opens his mouth to say something, but then Athena is calling the man’s name, and he pats Tommy on the shoulder before walking away. Shortly thereafter, Evan walks up to him with two fresh beers, passing one to Tommy before slipping an arm around his waist. 

“Everything okay,” he asks, curling into Tommy’s side. The pilot glances back in Bobby’s direction, his mind still on their exchange as the captain looks back at him, a smile still on his face. 

“Yeah,” Tommy answers, fully aware of what causes that lava feeling as it swirls around in his chest again. He turns towards Evan and nuzzles an eskimo kiss. “Yeah, everything’s great.” 

[spiderscribe]

For day 11 of TF Rare Pairing Fest, I present to you “Island Time” ft. TFP Ratchet/Soundwave, because Primus knows both of them deserve a nice relaxing island vacation with each other <3

@tfrarepairing

“No,” says Ratchet.

Soundwave’s head slowly tilts to one side. Ratchet was never as good at reading Soundwave’s nonverbal cues as Megatron and Optimus, but he’s pretty sure that’s either an invitation to elaborate or a physical challenge. Actually, knowing Soundwave, it’s most likely both.

���No,” repeats Ratchet. “I’ve already reserved this island. I even cleared all the details with Agent Fowler, specifically so that no one bothers me during my well-deserved vacation. You’re going to have to find your own island.”

«You’re going to have to find your own island,» is thrown right back in his face.

Ratchet scoffs. “Puh-lease. That may work on your Decepticon troops, but you’ll have to try harder than that if you want to intimidate me. I got here first. Get off my island and find your own.”

Soundwave stares at him, head still tilted consideringly, and then he starts trudging closer towards him. Each step he makes is swallowed up by the soft sand and makes little sound, but Ratchet still senses the deliberate weight he’s putting into every one of his pedesteps. He crosses his arms over his chestplates and glares up into Soundwave’s visor as the other bot comes to a stop right in front of him.

(read the rest on ao3!)