#gopnik au (bromance)

[magistralucis]

18 for soft gop bromance, please! The usual (^_^;) Thank you, love you!!

18: Drinks on the patio/deck of your fave place // Gopnik AU Bromance (Soft ver.)

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Louis was at his happiest in the evenings.

After sunset was when he worked at the restaurant. It was the last artifact of their previous life, now made safe through his efforts: he loved to cook, oversee the kitchen, weave gently through the conversations of the night. He had never felt more alive as when he was there, meeting and helping people. The restaurant healed him from the years he'd spent neglecting the goodness of human beings, and afterwards, healed his lover too. On summer evenings, when Mike was on break from university, they would step out the back and share drinks together. The nights were warm, and now and then a cat would come along, nudging insistently against his hand. Life was good.

Tonight, however, was special. Tonight they were awaiting not only customers, but precious guests. A table was prepared for them in the part of the patio usually sectioned off for reservations. The guests were coming straight from their travels, so presumably, they'd want to be - no, it was the polite thing to serve them right away. It was for that reason Mike and Louis were kept busy from early afternoon; Louis sank into a chair, and took a deep breath, as the hour of their arrival drew near.

It had been years since they'd last met.

Louis was elated this reunion was happening at last, though he was mildly nervous as to whether Vincent and Sebastian would be like he remembered. Whatever he felt, though, he knew Mike would be feeling in spades. Amidst table settings and special menus he refused to forget his lover, and the moment he caught sight of him, he called out: "A drink for you, Misha?"

Mike turned around. “A... pardon?”

He was dressed casually but handsomely, befitting his reputation as the best-looking man in Krasnodar (when he was around - as well as in Kaliningrad, of course, when he was around). Louis was enamoured. “Shall we have a drink before they get here? Just the two of us.”

Then, more softly: “It’s all right. You know no one can see us here.”

No one else was to be seated in this area that night. Only the two loving couples, if all went as intended. Mike smiled. His expression was still uncertain, but he took Louis’s offer and sat down opposite him. Two beers, chosen for their chill more than the flavour. They were silent for a while, sipping from tall glasses, ice clinking against the sides. Louis watched the foam subside in his glass for a moment before he spoke up again. “How are you feeling?”

Mike laughed slightly. “Nervous.”

He wouldn’t even have admitted to that, once upon a time. Louis was surprisingly relieved. In their old city, Mike had grown to see Sebastian and Vincent in a near paternal light, and he still felt that way most of the time: he was struggling with the impulse to seek their approval, to really show them he had improved as a human being. “Is that weird, Lyova?”

“Not at all. It’d be more unsettling if you weren’t nervous.” Louis shook his head. Condensation dripped down his hand and the summer breeze soon dried it away. “I feel the same, too. It’s the anticipation that kills, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed.” Then much to Louis’s surprise, Mike suddenly began speaking of the past. “I’ve been waiting for this moment since we settled in Krasnodar. Even when I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again, when all I had were my staff and my pigeons trailing behind me... I was always thinking of how I could thank them for all they’ve done. For being there for us before we left. We must have put them through so much, when we disappeared...”

He faltered, paused, then resumed again. His cool fingers laced between Louis’s own. “I feel I haven’t even paid back a hundredth of what they did for me. Letters and gifts only go so far from this distance. It feels as if I’ve been waiting for about fifty years to see them again - and now they actually are nearby, and I actually know how to show my gratitude - I’m, I’m so tense. I’m so excited I can hardly breathe. But I’m also equally worried I’m messing this up somehow.”

“Believe me, you’re doing incredible.” Louis was amazed: Mike very seldom talked about their past unless prompted, and even then, it was mostly in apologetic terms. This was the first time Louis had heard him actually analyze his feelings across a timeline, and admit to something that wasn’t guilt for once. “If you messed up at any point, which you didn’t, I did also. I mean, look at me: it’s not just you who’s got the tremors.”

He pointed below the table, where unnoticed by Mike, he’d been bouncing his leg restlessly throughout the entire conversation. A wry little smile returned to his lover’s face. “Besides, it’s not just the plan (whispered with a wink) that expresses our thanks. I think they’d be extremely proud of you if they heard what you said.”

“Do you think so?”

“Mm.” Louis clinked his glass against Mike’s own. It was already dark. Across the surface of their glasses darted pinprick reds and greens of the traffic across the road. “They helped give you back a life of excitement and you took it. Imagine returning to your garden after a long absence, and finding that a sprout you’d left behind had grown into a tree and was flowering.”

A quiet light entered Mike’s eyes. He did not comment more upon this, nor did he obviously take this as a sign of approval, but he didn’t need to. That look told Louis everything there was to know. A creak sounded several steps away. Someone was walking across the patio. Louis and Mike stood up in a hurry, just in time to see the figures of two men led by a cheerful young waiter. They turned the corner, entered the section - saw - and stopped.

One had vivid silver hair, star-bright beneath the restaurant’s lamps. The years had been kind to him; his brown eyes softened in laughter as soon as he saw the couple, and it was ever so familiar, the warmth in his expression. Beside him stood dark-haired Sebastian, his face exactly as piercing and pale as it had been when Mike had first met him. His first reaction was much like Mike’s own, disbelief followed by relentless joy - so relieved, and so overwhelming, that he literally didn’t know what to do with himself as they rushed to meet in the middle.

Louis felt his heart swell with warmth. That was pride, all right.

“Welcome, my friends!” He cried, laughing as Sebastian and Vincent nigh tackled the two of them into an embrace. “So many summers, so many winters! - Oh, I’ve missed you both so much!”

[magistralucis]

soft gop bromance, 7?😳😳😳

07: Garden work // Gopnik AU Bromance (Soft ver.)

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Summers in Krasnodar breathe so sweetly. In early afternoon the heat drifts along the river banks, rubs its back along the windowpanes, then curls about each tangled street to fall asleep. A good time to bring out the sunhats and fruity drinks and lay back - providing, of course, that there are no pressing matters at hand.

The latter is the case for the two lovers. They have sunhats and drinks, yes, but they’re also renovating their garden. There’s a member of the family who’s insisted on going out more often recently, and they’re catering to those needs. It’s a two-way teamwork: between Louis, who’s hauling stone for the edges, and Mike, who’s preventing the cat from getting in Louis’s way, they’ve got it sorted. Mike turns the page and clears his throat anew.

“And so, we move onto what we mean when we speak of art. Section 43: ‘art is distinguished from Nature, as doing is distinguished from acting or working generally, and as the product or result of the former is distinguished as work from the working of the latter‘.” He underlines the last phrase with a soft pencil. His singular audience quirks his ears at the sound. “To put it simply, Kant means that ‘art’ is conscious human action, unlike that which occurs in nature.”

His listener scratches at the base of his sunchair. He’s not a very good listener, but then, neither are Mike’s undergraduates. Mike shakes his head, smiling, and reaches down to scratch him between the ears.

“’By right we ought only to describe as Art, production through freedom, i.e. through a will that places Reason at the basis of its actions. For although we like to call the product of bees’ - that is to say, beehives - ‘a work of art, this is only by way of analogy: as soon as we feel that this work of theirs is based on no proper rational deliberation, we say that it is a product of Nature, and as Art only ascribe it to their Creator’.” He circles a phrase. “Now I’ve plenty to say about the rational capacity of bees, but what do you think, Pyotr Mikhailovich? I’d rather you didn’t actually meet the bees in order to form your opinion, but does a beehive have no artistic merit? Kant would have had a field day with the concept of found art, no?”

His cat rolls over on his back. Mike smiles. “No more?”

Pyotr Mikhailovich mewls in assent.

He’s not the most expressive cat, but even he looks mighty glad when Mike puts the book away at last. Mike leaves the sunchair to sit beside him. With a trill, he pounces on Mike’s lap and digs his claws into the other’s shirt. Laughing, Mike looks up; Louis’s strong back is visible in the distance, and he admires the view. The sun will soon be overhead, and then it’ll be time for a late lunch. but until then it looks like Louis will need a hand. He stands up, Pyotr still purring in his arms, and adjusts his sunhat as he starts walking.

This is Pyotr Mikhailovich’s third summer. For two years he was content to keep a window between himself and the outside, and then he got brave. It was the worry that he might get into something poisonous, or end up entangled, that sparked this renovation. Louis has new shelving for his tulips and succulents. The daffodils and lilies in the garden have been replaced with safer options. Mike bought some shrubs and planted them out back, and now the task is to line the flowerbeds, smooth black-and-white quartz replacing the wires that were there before. Louis tips back his sunhat and beams as he sees his lover approaching, and takes off his gloves, his tanned hand touching Mike’s shoulder first and then the cat.

“I see you’ve been revising your curriculum. Any feedback?”

Mike shakes his head, his face half buried in Pyotr Mikhailovich’s fur. “He is no Kantian, alas. But few people are, let alone cats. Is it safe to let him play?”

Louis kisses the top of their cat’s head. “Yes, I’ve removed the weeds. There were some bulbs I dug up too, I don’t know what they are, but they’re out of the way.” He quirks a thumb towards a large plastic bag, filled with soil and bulbs and knotted at the top. “He should be fine to run around now. Would you like some gloves?”

“Please. Would you like some kompot?”

“Wouldn’t complain.”

It’s apple-and-pear, served with ice. Louis downs the whole glass in one go; Mike grins, brings him another, and gets his own glassful. They work in pleasant silence. Thankfully, Pyotr Mikhailovich keeps to the upper left corner of the garden, which is the only area fully renovated for his safety so far. In that corner lies a bed of houseleeks and three new camellia shrubs, which Pyotr likes to climb and nibble to his heart’s content. As they arrange the pebbles, Louis steals frequent glances to the side, making no secret of his admiration.

Mike has such a reverent posture whenever he’s gardening. He doesn’t just bend down, but fully kneels in place, his movements slow but precise. Louis’s heart twinges to see the other’s hands, which have started to roughen over the past weeks of labour. Mike doesn’t actually mind, but Louis feels guilty whenever he feels he’s making Mike’s life harder; maybe if they finished the renovation quickly, his lover can spend more of the summer relaxing.

He’ll never say it out loud, though, and logically he knows they can’t hurry this. The garden will be finished when they both agree it’s finished. So he puts the guilt out of his mind and slots the last stone into place, and when his Misha slumps down from exhaustion, he pours him an entire jug of kompot and lays him down in the shade.

“But this is the opposite direction to where we’re going?” Mike says with a little smile, but doesn’t question it any further. Louis just lies down with him, splayed out at a right angle, his head resting on the other’s stomach. It is a long while before he speaks again. “Lyova.”

“Yes.”

”It’s a shame Petrunyushka can’t have tea.”

Then, seeing the puzzled look in Louis’s eyes: “The tea plant is a relative of the camellia. I found that out when I was ordering those shrubs. Sometimes I see him adjacent to something sublime in this world, like sweet tea with salted black bread, and I’m sad he can’t quite get at it.”

Mike often talks like this. Maybe it’s because he’s a Kantian, and he likes to reflect on moments of startling unintentioned beauty as much as he does the deliberate. “True, that camellia is the closest thing to tea he’ll get.” He says, resting a warm hand on Mike’s stomach. “But his life is rich in ways we can’t quite understand, like he’ll discover when the catnip I just planted starts growing.”

“Did you really.”

“Yes, in the flowerbed we just lined.” They share sly looks; Pyotr Mikhailovich goes crazy on catnip, there will be nothing else that can grow there. “And when we go back in, we’ll share our teatime with him as we always do. So let’s do that, Misha. Catnip treats for him and mint tea for us, as sweet as you like it.”

Mike gazes at him. “With little marshmallows?”

“With little marshmallows.” Louis smiles, and kisses him, pillowed softly against the grass. Pyotr Mikhailovich has come to loaf by their feet, his stripes bright beneath the sun. Lunch is waiting, and so is their tea. But for now, they stay a while.

[magistralucis]

In the shower, life and death // Gopnik AU Bromance (Hard ver.)

(@novosonic​ this was originally posted as a reply to ask, but the HTML got effed up and the cut was applied to your ask somehow??? Reposted as text for your convenience)

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He should have left this life behind years ago, he laments, as he turns on the water and stuffs his unconscious superior into the bath. Better still, he shouldn’t have started at all: the only way to win in the criminal world is not to play at all. He has had these regrets many times since he started, but today takes the cake.

“Misha, Misha, don’t die on me. Don’t you dare!”

No response. Louis Brodinski curses and tugs at the shower curtain, flecking water everywhere. There’s no time to mess with buttons, so he draws a knife and cuts Mike Gesaffelstein’s shirt off his body. The running water has cleansed his skin of blood and debris, but there’s more of the former coming from somewhere. Louis heaves him to a sitting position, examining him back and forth, and finds blood pooling against the side of the tub from a graze on Gesaffelstein’s arm.

It drains easily, the wound is not deep. He’s been scraped up elsewhere, but shallowly. None of them are bad wounds, they don’t explain why he’s not awake. But then Louis lifts his hand from the other’s thigh, and his palm comes off watery red, hidden previously by dark fabric; a low moan escapes Louis’s lips, and he suddenly feels as if he’s been icepicked in the forehead.

Should have left a long time ago.

But realistically, he knows he wouldn’t have made it. He doesn’t remember a time where people’s hearts weren’t the same as their stomachs - I want this, I want that! - and he’s never seen a hard limit on what people wouldn’t do to survive. And now he’s here, fresh from a rival gang attack, stripping his superior in the bathtub - and that’s just his life. The thigh wound is deeper, but there are no projectiles embedded in it. Louis’s confusion over where this wound came from is solved as he shakes the discarded trousers over the sink and a large shard of wet glass splatters onto the surface. He wipes it away with a damp towel, trying to ignore its red-stained edge; at least that seems to be the only one. A quick rinse with the showerhead and the bathtub is clean once more. He shuts the water off.

Louis then pats Gesaffelstein dry, still propped up in the tub, and splashes antiseptic on his wounds. This ought to be painful, but it doesn’t seem to rouse him at all. Louis takes a deep breath and wipes his forehead.

“This is how it is, Misha.” He says. “There’s a limit to what our boys can do to patch you up. You do not run a legal operation. Taking you to hospital might mean running into the authorities, and I would like it very much if we didn’t sit in jail and eat shit. If you are at all conscious, I need you to tell me now.”

Gesaffelstein’s chest heaves evenly. Otherwise, nothing.

“Misha.”

Complete silence. Louis covers his face with his hands. In this world a man can’t convince another man of anything without obscenities. “God mother fucking damnit.”

And Mike Gesaffelstein, sadly, is not just any man. Louis takes another deep breath and leans in, stroking the side of his face gently.

”Please, Misha… please don’t die…”

His voice wavers. Really, Louis shouldn’t be this affected, because this kind of thing happens all the time in this world; he’s heard about it, seen it a dozen times before, they’re all people who live for today around here. It’s just different when it’s his boss, also his lover as of not too long ago, who might not get to carpe diem after this. They had less than a year together. It wasn’t long enough. It’s not fair. And because Louis is still young, the injustice done to him is more important to him than the hierarchy he's meant to follow. Out of something between desperation and tears, he leans forwards and kisses his lover full on the lips, torn between sharing breaths and wanting to engrave something of his upon a fading light.

All sounds seem to stop after that. Nothing else seems to matter.

This is one of those moments that only gain significance after the fact, and only because the outcome is a good one. Louis isn’t thinking about anything while he kisses him, only focused on the other’s warmth and his even breathing. He’s certainly not expecting Gesaffelstein to wake up and bid him hello, or even open his eyes as if by magic, just because he got kissed. Which makes it extra startling, when - well - all of that does happen. Not exactly how he envisioned it, but better. Louis’s eyes snap open as he feels two arms snaking around his waist; before he can say anything, a hand falls over his eyes and he is dragged into his lover’s arms. Gesaffelstein wastes no time in reciprocating, his grip astonishingly tight on the other’s head, his other hand clawing into Louis’s back as his teeth nip against lips; he must be aware of his nakedness, but he seems delighted about it if anything, actually attempting to wrap his unhurt leg around Louis’s hips and panting as they finally break apart.

Louis stares at him. Gesaffelstein’s eyes are glazed with dizzy pleasure.

“Dear, dear Lyovushka, you fucking turn me on.”

At the sound of his voice, reality warps back around him and he springs right back. “Chto za khuynya?!”

Gesaffelstein grins lazily at him. “Oh why can’t you be polite.”

“You nearly died on me and you’re worried about being polite?” He repeats incredulously. But already the relief is greater, he’s pulling himself back into the tub, hurriedly touching the other’s face and his shoulders and his back to see he’s alive. “What did you want me to say, praise be to God for returning my Mishulya to earth? Don’t you realize you’re a mess, I thought you were dead - are you - are you all right?!”

“I’ve been better.” From his demeanor, one wouldn’t even think he’d been injured: Gesaffelstein leans back with his hand propping up the side of his face, his gaze dark and sharp once more. “Thought I was rather damp when I woke up, as if I were drifting on the sunlit sea, near Azov. Then I heard you care for me and I was curious, how far you’d go. A kiss to remember you by, hmm? - Well, I’ve a long way to go before I forget you.”

“You are a fool.” Louis says flatly. (He can get away with it, this one time.) “Tell me honestly. Can you move?”

He can’t. The thigh wound is the culprit; with a little fuss, Louis manages to lift him out of the bath and carry him to the sofa. He brings him a bathrobe and new underwear for modesty’s sake, and tries not to meet the other’s sly gaze as he changes. “I’m going to get the boys to stitch you up,” he says when Gesaffelstein is done. Tenderness overtakes him briefly and he presses a kiss on his forehead. “Please, for the love of God, stay put.”

“I will. Bring back some vodka while you’re out, please, with a side of sprats perhaps. We ought to celebrate my earthly return.”

Louis could bang his head against the wall. This whole day owes him a blunt. Nevertheless, when he comes back, he finds Gesaffelstein has not forgotten to be grateful. He’s draped gracefully on the sofa with his men already tending to him, sipping a glass of rich ruby wine - high-minded, dignified, the very picture of a tsar - but the moment he sees Louis, his eyes light up, and he pats the spot next to him. “Come sit, Lyova. See what I prepared for you.”

Louis looks. A glass of the same red, a velvet box with a brand new watch - the same as Gesaffelstein’s - and a single perfect joint, rolled exactly the way he likes to end his evenings with. “Oh you didn’t have to.”

“I did. I have licked it personally for your enjoyment. Please, savour at your leisure.”

He makes a face, resigned to the tyranny of hellcat druglords to smoke another day. But as Gesaffelstein’s laugh rings out beside him, he finds he doesn’t really mind: his lover’s been patched up, no one has died, and he’s very relieved that things are back to normal. Life is kind of cool sometimes.

Hopefully he won’t need to replace Gesaffelstein’s shirt, either. Even his new watch might not cover that one.

[magistralucis]

In the snow! Missing the other! Soft gop bromance, please :D

In the snow, missing the other // Gopnik AU Bromance (Soft ver.)

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“Oh, how I’ve missed you all!”

So Mike calls as he abandons his valise in the kitchen, rushing out into the garden. Since moving to Krasnodar this is the longest he’s been away; Louis laughs, fondness swelling in his heart, as he switches on the kitchen light and leans against the door to watch him. Outside it is fast getting dark, but Mike insists on bidding his doves hello, his breath streaming behind him as he wades out into the snowy garden and into the aviary.

“You came in time, they’re still awake, but only just. Should I prepare something?”

“Tea would be nice!” Yes, tea, and a full course of dinner. Louis takes note but does little with it for the time being, breathing out carefully as he enters the garden as well. Thank God for the memory of columbidae: the doves are absolutely delighted to see him, cooing and preening him as soon as he’s inside, trying to land on his arm. “How many are here? One, two, three... not a single one gone, thank God! How have you been, Lyova? Masha, Vanya, Ksyusha? And you, Immanuel? I’ve been studying at your namesake!” Lyubochka, the ever-beautiful cocoa and white one, settles on his shoulder. “Sweet ones… my darling girls… Milaya ty moya!”

Inside the house are the king pigeons Mike still needs to say hello to. But right now, he’s absolutely covered by living beings that love him and he looks so happy - well, there��s no hurry, he’ll have as much love later indoors. Lyubochka comes to say hello to Louis as well. He pets her crest, the snow-white feathers so soft they seem to be of another world. Her aesthetic also makes Louis grin uncontrollably because it reminds him of something that happened on their way home. Mike had come straight to the cafe from the airport, and they were hurrying back home, when they stopped at a traffic light and Mike said, off-handedly: “Give me konfeta.”

“W-what?”

“I saw you grab a handful from the kitchen!” Mike had laughed then, his eyes shining in the sunset; Louis blushed, the glossy red Moskvichki caramels burning a hole in his pocket. “I haven’t eaten half the day, I need some sugar. Just one, please.”

So he got konfeta. As this was the same reason Louis took the caramels in the first place, they both had one. The chocolate shell was crunchy and the snow was soft and the whole thing felt like something out of a novel, and Mike was back home with him, and it was good.

That’s the reality of it sinking in, that Mike is home. They were both very matter-of-fact about his going, but actually feeling the length between his presence and absence is different. When Mike bids the doves goodnight and steps out of the aviary, he takes his beloved by the waist and embraces him warmly, kissing his hair and along his neck. “Feels good to be back?”

“Goodness, yes!” They spin around and fall down to lie together in the snow. It was untouched before Mike returned, so there’s a nice thick cushion which built up last night. “Thanks for taking care of everything while I was away. I can’t wait to caress you and curl up in our bed.”

Well then, why wait? Louis says as much, before he pulls Mike close and kisses him. The soft down of his coat covers them both. They love to kiss slow, because they didn't get to their first time. Mike is boyishly receptive, shy to begin but soon eagerly reaching for more, wrapping one arm around Louis's shoulders while his other hand strokes down his back. The darkness makes him bold and he kisses Louis again and again: small pecks against his cheeks, his eyes, his forehead, all before he sinks into the snow and surrenders to the other's lips once more. He tastes like caramel liqueur. Louis's fingers tease through the sweet dark curls of his hair. Mouth on smiling mouth, silent and content, only their doves cooing softly in the dark.

No matter what goes on outside, the world is gentle here.

Eventually they have to break apart for breath. Louis obviously thinks this is a real shame, and if anything, pulls Mike even closer to him in the anxiety they've been exposed too long to the cold. Though he need not worry; they're both breathing a little heavily, their cheeks flushed. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too.” Mike's fingers are delicate against his stubble. He cups Louis's cheek and presses one last kiss on the corner of his lips, his catlike mouth soft and warm. He tucks himself happily into the other's arms and they sit together for a while, gazing back into the house. The garden brims with gratitude and pleasure, only the dim golden light from the kitchen tickling their feet, a silken twilight of love. Yes, this is good. “Kaliningrad was beautiful, but here everything is vibrant, more alive. I rather believe it has something to do with you. What have you done with the colours of my life?”

“Added some, I hope.” Louis laughs, then stands up, lifting Mike easily out of the snow. He tries for a playful squeeze of the backside as he carries him back into the house, and receives blushing protests in return. “There, see? From pale to healthy pink, all because of me.” He kisses Mike's cheek. “Truly I am a miracle worker.”

"You're very strange, is what you are.”

“But not so strange I can't love you like you deserve.” Louis counters as he sets him down, chuckling as Mike nuzzles lazily against his shoulder. “Come then, Misha. I'll get the dinner started.”

[magistralucis]

67 for soft gop bromance please :3 Sorry if i'm late, was distracted making bliny!

67: “Have you seen my contacts?”

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“Lyu… have you seen my contacts?”

Louis looks up from the newspaper. Mike is standing uneasily at the doorway. There are only two applications for that nickname, unbearable endearment and a plaintive call for help; both of them require Louis’s full and immediate attention, which he is only too happy to give. “No, but we will find them.” He says, and abandons the paper, taking his beloved by the hand. “Lead the way, Misha, where did you see them last?”

It’s been a fortnight since Mike adopted contacts. He’s not fully switched over and perhaps never will be, as he has long since known he looks appropriately bookish with his silver-rimmed glasses: good for academia, long bouts of reading, and sealing business deals. But glasses are external accessories - very separate, even from the individual - and one would be justified in wanting a change after over ten years of wearing one. So they went and got him some contacts, and while they were there they had even better glasses made, the case of which Mike is clutching in one hand at the moment.

It is still what is more familiar to him. Habit is a persistent creature.

“I could have sworn I left them by the bedside table, but I was very tired.”

Louis looks closely into his eyes. The same shade of dark, luscious brown as always. “You’re sure you didn’t sleep with them on?”

Mike looks affronted. “I think I should be in more pain if I had. And pain is a reliable narrator.”

“And we don’t want that.” Louis shudders even thinking about it. He’s already not into the idea of putting anything on his eyes, an added pain factor would be his personal hell. He puts an arm around his lover. “Bedroom first, I suppose.”

That’s the other thing about those contacts. They provide the only negative context in which either of them can use that phrase.

Not that that’s a relevant mood right now.

The contact lenses are not in the bedroom. After a thorough sweep (Mike puts on his glasses for the search) they find the bottle of lens cleaning solution and an emergency tab of disposable lenses, but not the actual case. Louis wonders if it’s under the cat, and goes to investigate; Pyotr Mikhailovich, it turns out, is enjoying a nap on the living room sofa, and when poked and moved he protests very loudly. “Izvini.” Louis laughs, petting the tabby on the head and tucking a catnip toy between his paws as an apology. “I was wondering if you were sitting on something very important; you’ve better things to sit on, is all.”

No luck is had in the living room otherwise. Nor the bathroom, or the guest room, nor between intricate arrangements of Louis’s potted plants. About half an hour has passed by the time Mike gives up, sighing loudly as he sinks into a chair. “You know, Lyova, I do wonder why I bother. This isn’t even the first time I’ve misplaced the contacts; I’m getting old, and every day it’s harder for me to hold onto the small things.”

“I’ll buy you a bigger case.” He may not be a fan of contacts, but let no one say Louis isn’t supportive. He gestures to Mike’s new glasses. “I’ve seen one that was a similar size to your glasses case. It was even roughly the same colour and shape, just with compartments for the cleaning fluid and whatnot inside ”

“That’s all very well, but we’re going to need a radically different colour. Having two cases that look the same is introducing more sources of confusion in my life.”

“I’ll try, but I can’t promise the different colour. I can, however, stick a pair of googly eyes on top of it so you can tell them apart.”

Mike looks at him bemusedly. Tries very hard not to laugh, but fails.Louis is pleased. That’s cheered him right up. “Besides, if you do decide the experiment wasn’t worth it… you know I love seeing you with glasses on, regardless.” He gently tucks a stray strand of Mike’s hair back and kisses his forehead, then his nose, nuzzling gently. “Especially before bed, when you’re reading, or when you come to visit me in the kitchen. I can’t resist you like that.”

“Oh, I don’t know about the kitchen. They steam up in there.”

“And I get to wipe them clean for you. Look on the bright side of life.” Louis moves in closer, gently easing the other’s chin upwards. “If you were ever worried these don’t do anything for you aesthetically… that was never the case, and you’re gorgeous, and I’d like to show my appreciation.”

Some mumbling. Rolled eyes and a veiled protest. But Mike lets him appreciate him soon enough, as he always does: they kiss twice, first briefly and the second with more depth, arms winding around each other’s shoulders. In fact, things have started to heat up by the time they pull away. Literally. “I am very flattered,” Mike says through fogged lenses and a boyish smile. “But I think we also prefer it when those don’t get in the way of our passions… and there ought to be a compromise somewhere.”

“…”

He tugs playfully at Louis’s collar. “I want to see you, too.”

Louis gulps, dazed and delighted. “Let’s see if we really can’t find your contacts.”

***

They find them eventually. Louis’s suspicions were right the first time, but the location was wrong. After Pyotr Mikhailovich vacates the sofa, he makes his slow and regal way to the cat bed, cosy and roofed and out of the way in the corner. Kicking around in it are more catnip toys, a treat ball, a felt mouse - and the contact lens case. Mike’s expression is priceless when Louis finally extracts the case, its edges now considerably battered and the safety of its contents questionable. “I’m glad it didn’t leak, I guess.” He says weakly. “But if… if I might take you up on your offer.”

“What, googly eyes included?”

“Nngh.”

(He takes that as a yes.)

[magistralucis]

38 for soft gopnik bromance, but in a sad-sad-sad version, please (^_^;)

(w h y do you enjoy suffering ;_; )

[…because they’re running out of time.] / Gopnik AU!Bromance (Sad ver.)

Somewhere not too far from here the sun is rising, but Brodinski doesn’t think he’ll be able to see it.

“So you see, Louis Brodinski.”

In fact, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to see much of anything, ever again.

“Feelings are one thing, and work another.”

A boot crashes into his rib. It’s the third attempt, and it’s hit home this time. Brodinski coughs blood on top of blood but doesn’t cry out, doesn’t scream, doesn’t give them the satisfaction. All that remains is stony silence.

“We don’t appreciate you not understanding this distinction.”

Good. He could have died being jeered at instead. 

Too undignified, even for him and his short sinful life. Brodinski might have made a lot of mistakes, but he likes to think he has done right by somebody, and he is proud of what little he has achieved. Even as his fellow officers torture him, nothing will change the fact that Gesaffelstein is slipping further and further from their grasp; he’s been here long enough to know that his once-employer must now be well beyond jurisdictions or identity checks. They’ll never catch him. It is exactly as Brodinski wanted, and even as a baton shatters his right shoulder and a choked moan escapes his teeth, his heart laughs at their frustration. If Gesaffelstein’s happiness could only be bought with his life-

I don’t want any other guard… I want you, Louis…

- then it needed to be bought. Brodinski smiles quietly, and yet another limb splinters for his insolence. 

He knows what’s about to happen to him. Currently, he’s being beaten almost to the point of death; if they are kind, they will execute him with a bullet to the head, and if they feel like being less kind, he may well be thrown into the Volga. If they feel like being especially sadistic, they will turn out the lights, lock the door, and let his last minutes seep away into the dirt, leaving him to die alone in the cold and dark - never to be found again. Whatever happens, if mercy isn’t in the cards, they will certainly let him die slow and cold, draining him of everything he had to give until his faithful heart gives out and his lifeblood runs still. 

What they don’t know is that Brodinski went beyond needing warmth long ago. No matter how they break him, they cannot erase the taste of Gesaffelstein from his lips. His arms, now limp, still remember how it was to hold the younger man just so, pulling him flush against his chest as they kissed for the first time. Brodinski was too kind to tell him it was the last, but he thinks the other knew anyway. That’s why he must have cried, his tears falling hot against Brodinski’s cheeks and staining his throat as he was torn away towards freedom: Louis, he’d cried again and again, Louis, please don’t let me go. And again and again, Brodinski had silenced those words with his lips. Sweetness dissolved into salt. 

Gesaffelstein will never know what happened to him, but it’s all right, he thinks, eyes finally sliding shut from the pain. In a happier world, the two of them would have parted for a brief time before reuniting in joy; this was not such a world, and Brodinski let him go so that Gesaffelstein would not suffer. Letting go didn’t just mean letting Gesaffelstein leave. Letting go meant taking all the good Gesaffelstein had to offer him - memories and goodwill and that final kiss - and enfolding it into himself, so that Gesaffelstein could leave him behind in the pages of his memory. Wherever Gesaffelstein is now, he’s sure to be despairing, rightly afraid that he will never see Brodinski again - but he will never feel that he never got to kiss him, hold him, tell him how much he loved him. Their true feelings reached one another, if only for a short while. 

“All right, that’s enough. Step back. Louis Brodinski, can you hear me?”

For Brodinski, letting go meant letting himself be forgotten. It will be enough. Cold steel presses against his forehead, and the man standing in front of him leans down. 

“I’d be surprised to hear it, but: any last words?”

So there is to be one final crumb of kindness, after all. Thank you lingers in his mouth, but deeper down inside, he thinks of the last thing Gesaffelstein cried out as they were parted: Louis, the name they’d never had the chance to adopt and adore fully, a name which Brodinski never got to voice its counterpart Misha for. They were too afraid to admit for the longest time that they could be that close, and now the chance has been lost to them forever. So in the end, it is his beloved Brodinski addresses in the faintest whisper between his lips - his regret, his love, his eternal legacy - as his eyes slide shut for the last time and the man pulls the trigger.

Even the name was as sweet as the kiss.

[magistralucis]

📞 + soft gopnik bromance, please!

📞 - Long Distance / Gopnik AU!Bromance (Soft ver.)

It’s hard, being apart for too long; perhaps Louis is a needier man than he thought he was, but whatever the truth, this is his reality to make do or improve upon as he sees fit. And it’s just their luck, his and his lover’s both, that he’s always been the one to fix things head on. The holiday’s been put in; end-of-month bonuses have been arranged for the employees; Kaliningrad gets the warm weather before the mainland, which Louis greatly enjoys with closed eyes and a dreamy smile as he strolls out of the airport -

“Lyova!”

- and straight towards the sweetest voice he’s ever heard. 

[magistralucis]

what would a hard gopnik justice be like?

lmao

In full seriousness: probably better than things go for like 90% of the cast.I think the Justice pair are on the sidelines as they tend to be for Gopnik AU proper. (Aksug-wise, I think I may play out their story in short little narratives in between subplots, rather than full-blown subplots like Franck’s and Gesa/Brodi’s, because their story is just as ongoing as Seb and Vinco’s are.) Funnily enough, this is probably what makes their relationship the healthiest one in hard Gopnik AU - both of them definitely survive and definitely live a happy life together, which is more than what I can say for most players of hard Gopnik AU.

I had an idea that they are middlemen ranked beneath the likes of Seb and Gesa. Gaspard belongs to the former, Xavier to the latter. They were childhood friends that went different paths in life before meeting up again, but in different cities and in different factions. Thankfully, Seb’s area and Gesa’s area don’t really overlap, and as far as violent crime AUs go, there’s no conflict between those factions either. What Seb does with Vinco Kavinsky suka and what Gesa does with his kinky boss tendencies are none of each other’s businesses, but further down the food chain, the Justice pair serve as the middle link who meet up occasionally to trade products and help draw lines on the sand. Professional criminals, in other words, but not so involved in the hunting down traitors or active drug dealing or shootouts or forcing people to walk on glass kind of thing.They like to snark at each other and ask each other out for drinks, though the other always declines out of wariness. I like to think they eventually get together and enjoy discreet meet-ups, and when shit goes south on Seb’s side, Gaspard will just bail and join Xavier without too much trouble. Gaspard was not so well-known among Seb’s people that there could be any kind of call to take him down personally, and even if Gesa knew about him, Gesa’s benevolence can be... ahem... magnanimous. As Brodi found out, of course.

Too bad it doesn’t extend to Franck. They’ve a lot in common, but unfortunately Gesa happens to be approximately a billion times stronger than them so RIP

[magistralucis]

it’s coming...

[magistralucis]

Hey it's me Satan can I get a gopnik bromance with mourn

Mourn - one character mourning the death of the other(538 words)

“… Louis Brodinski. Are you there?

…

I still remember the night we walked by the river. Nothing made the world right like you did then, holding me amid water, the ripples stilling all around us. You were mine then to talk of happiness with; things weren’t fine, but I had you. Your eyes were always the colour of sadness, and before that night I hadn’t really understood - in fact… maybe… I still don’t understand. You have the exact same sadness in your eyes when you’re disgusted by my existence as when you hold me back, telling me you want to save me… I don’t get it… like… I really don’t.

… Never tried to call you much on here. I already regret it. Now I… guh… now I just want to… take this phone and… toss it somewhere… the river, the ocean, into the vastness of the universe… and although I called you I don’t… uhh… I don’t even want to hear your voice. Fuck the concept of voicemails… and I… I hate it… I want it to die. Nothing has worked out the way it ought to have been. This bar, the cafe… the tables and all the wretched people around them, laughing and smiling, like it’s some kind of fucking joke or something… this phone, this one picture of you I have for your contacts… hnnnh… I want it… I want it all to die. Because what’s the point in carrying on, when you’re… the you I knew… when that you is already dead and rotten. I don’t care that you’re right next door sleeping; you’re dead to me. Maybe I deserve this. Maybe I deserve to die too because… I’m so evil… because good intentions never actually meant a thing. I was wrong… Kant was wrong… I told my father yes and it was the wrong yes and I ruined my life.

…

Everything’s been laid out on the table. Passport, passbook, all my accounts. Keys to the casino. Details of the contracts I made with the truckers and the suppliers and whatever dirty details you want of me. Everything, but the details of one account, not in my name… someone’s got to look after my doves when I’ve drowned myself. If you have even a milligram of decency you will mention nothing of this to your friends - you will let our neighbours live their lives… leave them alone; leave me alone. I’m going to ruin your plans for once… Forget saving me from anything. I don’t need saving, I don’t believe you. I want you to go away. I already gave you everything. If I fuck up and get taken to custody, just… tell them to be quick and generous about it. 

…

It’ll be a release. I’m sick of this anyway. I struggled to keep my head above water when I lived and I’m sure I’ll be struggling to do it beneath concrete. Suppose that makes you happy. You’re out for blood, not justice; take it. Do svidaniya, you evil son of a bitch. Louis. Damn it. I adored you so much. Goodbye. I shan’t see you again.

Feed the birds for me. Tell the neighbours thanks.

…

Yes.

Goodbye.”

[magistralucis]

Kissing Prompts Masterpost [24th - 28th May]

This is a reference post for the people who sent in prompts according to this list! Thank you very much for indulging me, and I hope my fics were satisfactory to read. There are four drabbles here; I had (and wrote) a hard limit of five, of which one was kept private by request. So it’s a small collection, but don’t worry... requests are opening again soon ;)

24th - In the shower, life and death [Gopnik AU, Hard ver.; Pairings: Bromance]

25th - In the snow, missing the other [Gopnik AU, Soft ver.; Pairings: Bromance]

26th - By the river, out of longing [Liberté Canon; Pairings: Franckenstein]

27th - At a party, celebrating [Potential Liberté AU; Pairings: Sebinsky]

28th - Privately posted; not available

Off I go now to update the actual fanfic blog. 💖

[magistralucis]

Drabble Asks Masterpost [8th - 18th Dec]

For the past ten days, I’ve been fulfilling drabble prompts sent according to this post. As some people sent more than one, I couldn’t fill every single one, but I think I’ve filled one from every individual at least. Below is the list of prompts I received in numeral order, as well as pairings/AU and the link for each:

01: “Is that what you’re doing? Trying to make me hate you?” [Votez AU; Pairings: Sebinsky, Justice]

01: “Is that what you’re doing? Trying to make me hate you?” [Gopnik AU; Pairings: Justice]

16: “H-How long have you been standing there?” [Gopnik AU; Pairings: Sebinsky]

35: “Here, let me see.” [Potential Liberté AU; Pairings: Sanck]

39: “I hate you.” - “No, you don’t.” [Liberté Canon; Gesa and Oizo friendship]

45: “You look amazing tonight.” [Liberté Canon; Pairings: Sebinsky]

54: “Dance with me.” [Potential Liberté AU; Pairings: Captain/Franck]

64: “You need sleep.” [Denial AU; Pairings: Sanck]

67: “Have you seen my contacts?” [Gopnik AU; Pairings: Bromance]

68: “Why do you only kiss me when I’m sleeping?” [Liberté Canon; Pairings: Sebinsky]

I had a lot of fun, folks. Now I’ll go back to update the actual fanfic blog 😂

[magistralucis]

ah, i was typing it out and sending right away, i'll try to summarize: so i just wanted to say that i've recently stumbled upon aksug when in "gesa content starvation mode" (lol) and while i was never a fan of slash fanfiction in particular, the way you write characters is absolutely amazing and it really helps me to get through these stressful and anxiety-inducing times. i'm really fond of gopnik au in particular bc i live in a post-soviet country (although sometimes its 2cute4me)

...  guess my point here is, thank you for keeping me sane. i noticed in some of your posts (although old, i still figured i might write this for you and it's up to you if you decide to respond to this or not) you seemed to think that no one reads this stuff - maybe i'm late to the party, but i care a lot. also, certain parts of bromance storyline within the gopnik au made me cry like a lil bitch, and that only ever happened with like...lord of the rings maybe (?) ok i am rambling at this point so i'll just wrap it up: thank you and please know that there are people who genuinely feel better mentally when they read your fics.

It’s interesting you found me through the Gesa content because it’s been aaaaaaggggees since I wrote a proper Gesa anything on aksug akhdhdhghf

I believe I’ve been receiving your messages for quite some days now. Now I have the backstory as what you’re reading of my work, and how/when. Seriously speaking: thank you ever so much. It is indeed true that I think nobody reads my work (although I do know this is not the case), and that I regularly tear myself up over this. Sometimes the fear that nobody cares really does make me just want to delete everything and disappear. I have some terrible sadbrains sometimes and I can’t say creating has been fun and dandy 100% of the time. But it is fun most of the time, and it is worth it 100% of the time, which is what keeps me coming back.

And persevering eventually leads me to discover readers like you. I’m very grateful for that. I hope I can provide excellent writing for you for a long time to come. I’m really happy you like the Gopnik AU. It’s got to be super sweet because it’s the counterpart to the insanity hellgate that is ‘Liberté’, although there is a more hardcore version of the Gopnik AU I vaguely talk about now and then 😂 I hope my writing continues to help, and in the meanwhile, I’ll treasure your messages dearly.

[magistralucis]

what are the sad versions of the gopnik au(s)?

Aw geez

Gopnik AU (Sebinsky) // sad ver.: Based off a dream I had last year where Vincent... did something and Sebastian left him. I don’t remember if it was cheating or something else fundamentally awful but basically, something like that happens, and Sebastian struggles for about two weeks before he decides that he’s the one who has to go. He works out new living arrangements and quietly moves out his minor belongings for a period of several weeks before he spends one final very loving weekend with Vincent. Then after he’s seen him off for work, Sebastian packs up, leaves one final meal in the fridge, and writes a farewell note. Then he silently slides off his rings and places both of them on the note before he walks out of their shared life forever. 

He doesn’t go far away, but Russia is a huge landmass and he goes completely incommunicado for months, making it near impossible to track him down. Vincent searches frantically for him, but he’s not successful. Sebastian carries on with his daily life without feeling, but he devotes nights to recalling the years he spent with Vincent. As the months and years go by, he withdraws deeper into the past until it’s almost all that he can think of.By the time his isolation has grown equal in length to the relationship he had with Vincent, he thinks of Vincent as if Vincent died that night, long ago, when he betrayed Sebastian’s trust and departed from his life forever - and that he himself must not be far behind, because he’s so tired of his life that he doesn’t want to try anymore.

I don’t know whether they meet again. If you want full-on sad ver., then... then I guess Sebastian would probably give up on life before they could.

Gopnik AU (Bromance) // sad ver.: I have actually written about this because it was a request. Requests and having weird intrusive thoughts (and rarely, actual plot requirements) are probably the only reason I would ever write a Gopnik AU sad ver. anything. But. Anyway.

Gesa dies. He gives into despair and drowns himself in the Volga.Brodi would find out too late to save him. The river dredgers would find him before he ever could.

I’m not sure what happens to Brodi, but I don’t think it’d be good.

Gopnik AU (Justice) // sad ver.: Trying not to spoil too much because I haven’t formed their backstory 100% just yet, but, roughly: Two men in transit. They keep meeting and then saying goodbye, over and over again. There’s plenty of traveling together, leaving in a huff after an argument, then making up again. Passion is there. Love probably is, too. In the sad version, one of them one day fails to live up to a promise to meet. Probably Xavier. If that’s the case, Gaspard would probably embark on a pilgrimage of sorts, searching for a man whom he barely knows but can never let go of the memory of. By the time he’s toured the entire mainland and the republics around it, he’s become a seasoned traveler - and have found very little of Xavier’s memory anywhere, though he has found plenty of reasons to just abandon the search and grow up and enter the real world again. This he does, nearly thirty and very disillusioned with life, but at least he can tell himself that he tried his best. All his photos, mementos, the few memories he had with Xavier - ticket stubs, photos, moments of his young everlasting beauty - they all go in a little book of Gaspard’s memory, treasured like a dream for years on end.

Time flies. He gets married. He has responsibilities now. He’s respectable.Then one day, Xavier comes back. He takes one look at the family Gaspard has created for himself, smiles sadly, and turns back to board the train again - never to return.

I’ll stop there because this is too fucking sad.

Gopnik AU (Danger) // sad ver.:

You’re reading it.

[magistralucis]

Bromance for the ship thing please? :)

The ship is my: exquisitely malleable pleasure, what hearty wholesome boys 👌👌👌👌👌👌👌👌👌 even better because platonically at least it seems canon

I consider this ship’s feelings: Mutual | Mixed | Strange | Awkward | Platonic | Sibling-like | One-sided | They don’t really like each other | Bolded ones that def. seem to apply irl | When you start entering AU territory though hoo boy | Like Justice slash I think they hit the four loves perfectly | Mike is a shy boy and there always seems to be an undercurrent of restriction in his demeanour | But that doesn’t like stop them | From being so admiring and affectionate with each other | Also unlike Justice slash the discrepancy of Gesa/Brodi’s music | Compared to their soft cinnamon roll personalities | Are immensely fanfic fuel-y to me

I’d consider the relationship: Healthy | Awkward | Abusive | Doesn’t work properly | They’d never get together | But also I kind of like | Adore it | When Brodi presents a threat to Gesa somehow | Like the soft Gopnik AU where Brodi literally had to put himself in mortal peril to re-prove his loyalty | Or the Monster AUs where Brodi being an outsider | And thus not 100% trustworthy | Is a continuous and recurring theme | I won’t expand on hard Gopnik bromance yet :D

Children: No | They have lots of bird children in soft Gopnik AU | As well as lots of lovely plants | They are thinking about adopting cats too | A family of kittens and cattes ; w ;

General Opinion: Bromance is about as literal as it gets, I reckon. I have pretty much no complaints about this ship whatsoever, and I think I have definitely reached a point where I don’t consider Gesa or Brodi to have a particular character archetype they play within written versions of this relationship. (Brodi being a threat or a betrayer is a trope that I like, but it’s not something he just does for the sake of it/because it’s just his thing in pretty much any interpretation.) I think I feel this way about Sebinsky as well, and it’s a good thing, because that opens up so many possibilities for them when I write - sometimes it’s soft flavour and sometimes it’s tinged with evil goodness, but whatever comes of it, I guarantee it’ll be interesting :D

One place where Bromance hasn’t played any part in (platonically/romantically or even as love-hate), even though there was plenty of room for it, is the liberté narrative of aksug. There’s a reason for this - Franck is the wildcard who gained Gesa’s attention and eventually caused Brodi to scorn Gesa somewhat, because from Brodi’s perspective Gesa’s just going absolutely nuts on his kind + tenacious language student for no good reason whatsoever. Season 3 might introduce the rivalry angle - if I might call it that, seeing as Brodi’s primary point of interest in Franck has nothing to do with romance and that’s not what he and Gesa are competing over. Or Season 4. It’s relevant eventually.

Also Brodi is surprisingly hard for me to write. But when I do get going, he seems to do just fine…

[magistralucis]

002- Gesaffelstein / Brodinski?

When or if I started shipping it:

Last December, when I began writing… this subplot.I am astonished it is now February and I am still writing it jfc this really became long and full of suffering I am probably boring the hell out of y’alls ;A  ;

My thoughts:

I have not yet completed anything in this pairing 100% nor have contributed hugely to this at present, so I’ll have something more to say when I’ve finished the above subplot.

But aside from the subplot… they… make me think certain curious ideasI am not sure if I ought to state those ideas

What makes me happy about them:

I started off way too dark with this pair. Looking at how gentle they are with each other irl makes me immensely happy - it’s a difficult quality to describe, but I think it really shows whenever you see them messing around with each other or embracing each other warmly! They are so comfortable with touch and that’s genuine excellence right there, if nothing else. How can one’s heart not melt?Plus Brodi wears some legit gopnik gold chains in one of his music videos and I think it’s hilarious

What makes me sad about them:

I think the biggest issue I have within Bromance is that a) I haven’t produced much for it yet or thought about it for as long as I have several other EDM pairings and b) I keep making Gesa suffer. The latter is not because it is deserved or particularly enjoyable, in regards to the Gopnik AU subplot. That means that everything that makes me sad about them at present is entirely my fault, and nothing inherent to them irl or in any other media I’ve ever seen. And even then… I am probably past the darkest points in that subplot, so who knows. I will have to think more on this one. 

Things done in fanfic that annoys me:

I would have more to say about this if I’d read more than a couple…

Also that kimbk really needs to stop with the Gesaffelstein torturing thing… :/ it’s like… totes not cool… smh…. 

Things I look for in fanfic:

I… I would have more to say about this… if I’d read more than a couple…

I do however enjoy philosophy with this couple as well, more in the sense that they embody some drastically opposing beliefs (rather than discussing it, the way I like best with the Justice pair for example).

I also think Brodi is a plant lover

My kinks:

Trust play. This is entirely an effect of the Bromance subplot I’m writing. 

Feeding each other things.

Brodi looking after a very haughty and yet often apologetic Gesa, down to helping him cope emotionally and making him good food with his supreme chef skills

Gesa-tying-Brodi-to-a-chair-play

Non-sexual bonding. I see Bromance as demisexual on both ends and so sexual intimacy isn’t all that important in my understanding of the pair - but my god, the affection and concern they’d have with each other besides!

Breathing in each other.

Who I’d be comfortable with them ending up with, if not each other:

… I am indeed writing a Franck/Gesaffelstein in a totally unrelated fic, but considering its contents, I don’t think that’s like… ideal….

My happily ever after for them:

Spoilers for @akchotesuggestion, please wait. :DDD