#he did this to sage but it’s so much funnier when he does it to this fucking ancient deity

[sonicattos]

he’s so 15. i know he’s tired and cranky, but like so is every other teenager.

[theogony]

the case study into sakusa kiyoomi's facial structure

written for the haikyuu big bang 2023 (@hqbb) ! Been wanting to write Sakuatsu for forever now and finally gave me the impetus to start writing :3 check out the beautiful companion art by twilightdays on twitter here!

Atsumu grins, foxlike and sharp, before turning to Osamu. 

“If I manage to get a smile out of Sakusa Kiyoomi within 3 months, you’ll agree I’m the funnier twin and give me an entire 2 weeks’ free supply of your onigiri.”

There are very few things Atsumu likes to almost surely bet on - examples being volleyball, Bokuto’s ability to break the sound barrier when calling Akaashi, and Osamu’s ability to be an annoying, stuck-up ass. 

Osamu hums, before holding out his hand with mock solemnity.

“A week and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

The newest addition to the list? Sakusa Kiyoomi’s unflinching jawline. 

-

–no one's convinced that Sakusa Kiyoomi can smile, least of all Atsumu (which is a downright shame considering the fact his face could be chiselled out of pure marble) - but by god if Atsumu is a quitter; especially when his drunken pride and Osamu's onigiris are on the line.

Alternatively, the 5 times in which Atsumu tries to make Sakusa smile, and the one time he does (ft. errant volleyballs, bad cooking, drunken decisions, and one nosy Olympic team)

read the rest on AO3! (formatted better there) / read below the cut!

0.

It’s close to 1 in the morning when his phone buzzes, and Atsumu is nowhere near sober enough to comprehend the texts appearing on his screen. 

He squints, blearily, trying to decipher through giant blobs of colour who exactly the notification is from, almost regretting the drinking contest he went up (and won!) against Aran. Next to him, Suna isn’t doing much better, for once phone left unguarded on the tabletop where he’s slumped. Aran and Kita are off in some corner, doing god knows what, and the only one remotely sober is Osamu, their designated driver, still picking at the leftover onigiri. There’s a particular glint in his eye that Atsumu knows means that he’s busy doing some particular chef analysis with the ingredients and god knows what else, so he resigns himself to swiping at the messages. 

Omi-Omi: Remember we’re both practising our sets tomorrow 

  Do not be late.                                          

Atsumu rereads the message twice, before throwing his phone (as gently as he can while drunk) with a loud groan.

“Fuck Sakusa Kiyoomi. Honestly”

Osamu turns his head around at the loud proclamation, before wordlessly joining Atsumu on the table next to him, retrieving Atsumu’s phone along the way. Instead of handing it to Atsumu like a sane person, he whacks his shoulder with it - ignoring his cry of pain - prompting Atsumu to monologue on “Stupid, Stupid Sakusa Kiyoomi and his stupid, stupid rules and stupid, stupid face.”

Osamu seems content to let him continue rambling, but with an unexpected amount of effort, Suna props himself up on the table, fully facing Atsumu.

“You’re kind of obsessed with Sakusa, aren’t you?”

Atsumu sputters.

His new fixation is one born of superiority. Not in volleyball - it doesn’t take a genius to notice Sakusa Kiyoomi’s sharp instincts and sheer skill - but in charm. Like, let alone having suaveness - hell, Sakusa’s Kiyoomi’s face is probably stuck in a perpetual line of disgruntle and disappointment - which occasionally curves up at a specific angle between 5 and 8 degrees when he looks down upon you, mocking. 

And if Atsumu perhaps thinks it’s a shame, considering his face, he isn’t drunk enough to admit that - even to himself. 

“Komori San did tell me Sakusa’s an emotional guy though”, Kita hums vaguely enough, having seemingly emerged from the deepest corners of the bar to provide sage wisdom on the perpetual disposition of Kiyoomi. Suna vigorously nods, before attempting to trawl his endless gallery for an almost certainly photoshopped image of Sakusa smiling.

“Omi cannot smile. It’s like. Statistically impossible.” 

Even imagining it sends a flush throughout his body. In horror. Of course. 

“You know what I think?” Osamu finally drawls, resting his chin upon his palm with a grin, and Atsumu suddenly feels a flicker of fear. “Tsum-Tsum here”, he helpfully adds, pinching his cheeks with a saccharine grin, “simply isn’t funny enough for Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

How. Dare. He. 

Atsumu’s face blooms scarlet. As if he could never be enough for that stuck-up prick. Sakusa Kiyoomi should feel lucky that he even spends time with him! A man who doesn’t know how to handle social interaction and function without the help of a 5-metre radius from everyone should feel honoured Atsumu even takes pity to keep trying!

"How dare ya say I'm not funny enough for Sakusa Kiyoomi!" 

Osamu takes one look at the petulant expression on his face and starts laughing even harder, and Atsumu suddenly decides that no, perhaps it isn't too late to repent for the fact he never ate him in his mother's womb.  

Before another full brawl can break out between the two of them, Aran holds his hands up in a placating gesture.

“We could always settle it using a wager.”

Atsumu grins, foxlike and sharp, before turning to Osamu. 

“If I manage to get a smile out of Sakusa Kiyoomi within 3 months, you’ll agree I’m the funnier twin and give me an entire 2 weeks’ free supply of your onigiri.”

There are very few things Atsumu likes to almost surely bet on - examples being volleyball, Bokuto’s ability to break the sound barrier when calling Akaashi, and Osamu’s ability to be an annoying, stuck-up ass. 

Osamu hums, before holding out his hand with mock solemnity.

“A week and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

The newest addition to the list? Sakusa Kiyoomi’s unflinching jawline. 

1.

There are 10 minutes left into the first game of the season in Tokyo, in a gym with over 3000 fans when Atsumu Miya lines up one of the last serves of the game. Though the distant cheering of the crowd is inspiring to some of the players - he knows Bokuto thrives off it, hell, in any other situation he would too - but this close to a victory - close enough he can nearly sink his teeth in - he can’t afford any slip-ups - any uncontrolled variables. The weight of the ball rests heavy and fits perfectly in the groove of his palm - but he doesn’t let the familiarity of the scene fool him into forgetting that playing against the Adlers is different from when it’s just practice matches. 

And though it may frustrate him, well. If there’s one thing life has taught him through a myriad of scraped elbows and bruised dreams, it’s how to channel that spark of anger. 

Atsumu smiles, fox-like and vicious as he hits a perfect serve toss - one slightly low, but still powerful enough to reach a fellow teammate, the resounding thwack memory at his point - comfortable enough to elicit a familiar welling up of nostalgia and competition. His eyes dart across the court, analysing the trajectory of the ball as it sails cleanly across the set (perfect path, his inner voice internally trills) - until the ball is smacked back against an impenetrable block of players, and he lands back on his feet, back in high-school again and staring at the faces of the triumphant team in front of him.

Damn it. This isn’t working. 

The frustration he’s feeling is clear in the eyes of his other teammates - he can see it reflected across Ninja Shoyou’s face - can see it in the way Adriah’s grin strains a little at the edges - the way Oliver’s hands tighten imperceptibly. 

But it’s nothing compared to the analytical grin Sakusa sports - eyes narrowed and face scowling, as though trying to figure out the key to cracking the game open. 

And then his gaze shifts - and there’s a flicker of something colder underneath, gone after an instant, and it hits Atsumu like a bolt of lightning. 

It makes him grin - makes him want to try something impulsive. 

“Omi-kun”, he continues, deliberately pitching his voice low so that the others can’t hear. “Trust me, yeah?”

In his peripheral vision, he sees Sakusa give Atsumu a long look, before dropping his hands to his sides.

It’s all the cue he needs for him to recklessly set the ball high up into the air. His body moves into a long-remembered dance, fluid and fast as he steps into motion, habit honed into instinct at this point. One step, two, three—he loses count and jumps, calloused hand slamming into the sweat-sticky leather of the volleyball. The ball sails upwards - a dazzling comet to the rest of the court and a thinly veiled demand.

Well? Hit it. 

There’s no doubt that Sakusa Kiyoomi is a brilliant player - there have been enough interviews - reports and articles on his “potential” and “style”.

But it’s one thing to read about it - and one thing to see his eyes twitch as he analyses the path of the ball in a way that is so perfectly like him - see his body flex as he responds to the arc of the ball, sending it perfectly across the court - the sharp zing through the air lost to the quick frenzy of players rearranging themselves to the unpredictable spin that he’s known for. Hirugami goes up too, but it’s a split second too late - and the thud of the ball as it hits the court is lost to the applause. 

Though he can feel the confused exclamations from Hinata and feel more than hear Bokuto loudly screeching in his ear, Atsumu doesn’t pause to think before carefully bumping a jersey-clad shoulder against Sakusa’s briefly. 

“Omi-kun”, he lightly drawls - giddy on adrenaline and excitement, inhibitions lowered now that one of his reckless decisions has already paid off. “No celebration?”

Sakusa sharply cuts his gaze away as he makes a soft noise under his breath - though not fast enough to completely hide the smirk he’s sporting - nor hide the familiar spark in his eyes.

“Your set was too far left.” 

Fingers twitching, almost hesitant to reach out, Sakusa walks off to address the Adlers. 

Demanding bastard, he thinks, but he’s still wearing a foxy grin as he trots behind him, maintaining a careful distance as they go. 

He tries not to think about the half-hidden smirk on his face - and the near brush of their fingertips. He dimly wonders if it’d feel like electricity - like the same thrum of lightning whenever he sets a volleyball into motion - like fingers fluttering an instant before locking together for impact.

2.

The sun has barely risen by the time the rest of the Jackals are up on their bus. 

This, however, has done nothing except possibly increase the amount of vigour in Bokuto's voice as he sings another slurring edition of the latest hit on the radio. Even though Atsumu's 90% sure this counts in some way as a violation of the Geneva Conventions with the way it pierces through his skull, he's frankly not awake enough to comprehend much. He could bother Hinata into doing something, but unfortunately, said Hinata is currently miming a conductor with such zeal that Atsumu perhaps wonders if there's any lost love between Shoyou and music. 

Meian ends up coming to their rescue, turning around and glaring at them with such wither and vitriol that it could rival Omi. Bokuto eventually shuffles back into his seat near Shoyou, as the bus quiets back down to a volume reminiscent of a traffic jam in the suburbs. 

However, as an unceasing panic starts to set in suddenly, Atsumu wryly ponders that perhaps Bokuto’s one-man band was the only thing loud enough to drown out the large thumping of his heart as he sits next to Sakusa Kiyoomi. 

At rest, like this, the sharp angles of his face smoothen out, light playing over his features with a soft, golden glow - an unintentional side effect from his constant attempts to find a comfortable sleeping position (though judging from the angle chosen, Atsumu can almost foresee the inevitable funk Kiyoomi’s going to be in due to an excess of kinks in his neck.) 

The bus rolls over a peaceful bump, and as though the universe is agreeing with Atsumu’s astute deduction, shifts Kiyoomi slightly, bobbing his still immaculate curls. Atsumu hums, turning the other way before freezing as he feels the bus jolt again - this time sending an irritated Omi straight into the space between the seat-

-And Atsumu’s shoulder. 

This close to him, Atsumu can feel the steady rhythm of Sakusa's breath - probably intensely regulated from all the yoga he does, because of course he does yoga - and can see the delicate curve of each of his eyelids, hooded and alluring. His moles are close enough for Atsumu to trace - and he has the irrational thought to try to connect them - like glittering stars in a night sky. 

As a particularly harsh sun ray strikes the window, Kiyoomi tsks, shying away like a vampire, Atsumu muses, before his heart rate kicks up another notch, and he stills, unmoving - because Sakusa Kiyoomi is now unconsciously nuzzling himself into the crook of Atsumu’s neck. 

His skin is impossibly soft, and his mouth twitches - curving imperceptibly - a facsimile of a smile. Studying him like this, unguarded and awash in the rosy sunlight, Atsumu can't help but feel faint at the sight of a completely unguarded Sakusa Kiyoomi - at the sight of him so peaceful.

So……..soft. 

So….human. 

He’s snapped back into reality by Bokuto's deep lungful of air, indicating another round of the song, and Adrian practically diving across the aisle to tackle him down. Despite his best attempts at stifling his surprise, he shifts imperceptibly - but even that much is enough to send Sakusa skittering back like a cat, eyes blown wide.

The two of them spend the rest of the bus ride in silence, content to let Hinata's chatter fill the space in between - and if Atsumu still steals glances at Sakusa back, it's only to see if Sakusa is planning to turn around and smile.

Nothing more, and nothing less. 

3.

The bar is vaguely familiar to Atsumu the same way everything’s vaguely familiar when you’re seeing swirls in mid-air, and internally he thanks himself for not breaking out into a brawl with Osamu the last time he was here. The next thing he thinks to himself is about the stupid bet and the stupid, stupid man who’s been taking up nearly all of his waking hours with every waking syllable that comes out of his stupid mouth. For analysis. 

Or something. 

Atsumu would have made more of an effort to remember, but it’s not often that Meian gives them free rein to get as drunk as they like - a victory treat to celebrate another match won against the Adlers before they’re forced up at ungodly hours of the morning for their regular drills.

(After an entire day of recovery, of course, from the inevitable hangover everyone would be nursing. Meian may be harsh, but he’s not an absolute monster.)

His head is spinning, and he feels lighter than a feather, and Atsumu knows without a certainty he is not drunk - rather, almost certainly hammered. Not that it matters, because he still makes his way to the bar to get more drinks because why the fuck not, since he’s already past the point to care. 

It’s only when he’s halfway across the room, and he’s close enough to recognise Hinata and Kageyama furiously making out in the corner, that it dawns on him that the bar is the other way, and he sharply veers away from the sight. Before he can make it any further, he finds himself collapsing into the nearest barstool and leaning close to the nearest person he can see-

“What. Are. You. Doing.”

Atsumu distinctly recalls his previous prayer and then also dimly remembers the fact that the universe, in general, is a fucking joke. 

Oh, he faintly thinks, as he turns around to get a front-row view of Sakusa’s steely glare. Karma is a bitch. 

But hell, does intoxication suit Sakusa Kiyoomi - a slight sway in his hips as he turns to face him, moving to some melody that only he can hear, one that he’d very, very much like the lyrics for. His usually sharp gaze is a little unfocused as it wanders over the room, his over-bright, red-rimmed eyes making him look tired and ready for bed. Or getting into bed with someone, he thinks, ignoring the unfamiliar twang of indignation and anger, only if Sakusa Kiyoomi was the guy to get into one-night stands. 

Atsumu gives himself a little shake, telling himself not to stare. Of course, he’s a pretty drunk. 

He stares anyway. 

How can he not, when every single thing about him is just the right side of dishevelled – his cheeks flushed and his hair mussed in that lovely end-of-the-night sort of way that makes him want to pull him closer and run his fingers through it. The still perfect curls that now curl loosely around Sakusa’s neck, so at odds with his put-together appearance on the court, beg to be pulled around his fingers, Atsumu not letting go until he’s rumpled and breathless, and the only thing that is on the both of their minds are each other. He wanders vaguely forward, thinking of doing just that, and his gaze suddenly sharpens and snaps to him.

“Miya?” he says sharply, as though glimpsing Atsumu for the first time, and well. Atsumu doesn't cower, but he does take a step back. Slowly, his dark eyes shift up and down his body (checking you out a delicious voice whispers in Atsumu’s brain) and all of a sudden, his prickly shield slips, and he visibly slackens. 

"I've found you." He says, in what he thinks is a whisper. 

It is not - yet the breathy lilt of his voice makes it sound like an invitation. 

Atsumu is certain this is a ploy to somehow send him to an early grave - because there's no other explanation for why Sakusa Kiyoomi is currently saying what he's saying- and because there's no other explanation for the way his heart painfully stutters a beat when he hears those exact words. 

You're drunk, his brain ridiculous supplies back.

"I'm very much not drunk, thank you very much. I'm completely undrunk." Kiyoomi glares back as he puffs up like an adorable cat, and Atsumu faintly thinks he's never been more glad that Sakusa is the definition of a liquor snob - only drinking the finest (and strongest) wines. 

"Right." 

The frown between Kiyoomi's brow deepens, and oh, he's fucking grinning now, the urge to laugh bubbling up in his chest as Omi continues scowling like the contrarian he is.

"I'm serious! I can walk perfectly straight. "

The fond feeling in his chest only grows as he watches Sakusa attempt to walk away - before swaying and falling back into Atsumu's arm, content to nuzzle into his chest. Something pleasantly possessive aches along his bones at the thought that he is the only one who gets to see him like this – only him and not Hinata or Bokuto, who gets to see him sleepy and soft at the end of the day, whispering secrets and leaning close - eyes and words crystal clear and bright despite the low hum and mundanity that comes with sitting in a cheap dive bar.

“Stop that. Don’t smile at me. I know what you’re doing.”

“And what am I doing?”

“You’re trying to… seduce me.”

Atsumu blinks. 

Did he mishear that? Freudian slip? Can you Freudian slip with your hearing when you're drunk? Even so, he can’t help but frown a little. In all the years Atsumu has known Sakusa Kiyoomi, and further in all the years he’s heard from Suna and Komori - this evening’s behaviour is extremely atypical for him - he’s almost never seen Kiyoomi this drunk, let alone expect him to go search for him in such a state. 

Which is ridiculous. Because Sakusa Kiyoomi is aloof. Mysterious. Not someone like Atsumu, who feels too much and wants too much, half ready to carve his heart out of his chest if Kiyoomi would direct a smile at him. 

Atsumu blinks again. 

“Does that happen a lot?” he asks, in what he hopes is a tone that doesn’t scream Hey, Maybe in another world where I was a bit drunker, and you were just a random stranger, and we had no emotional baggage I’d be kissing you senseless, but here we are, and I’m totally not jealous, but also I may be a bit jealous, but it’s chill and totally fine. 

His life is a train wreck.

Sakusa seems to ponder the question, before lolling his head onto Atsumu’s shoulder with frightening ease.

“Perhaps. About 5 times in this room, though none of them were good enough to be partners. There’s a difference between partners and partners, of course.”

“Really?” He says, only slightly shocked at the fact that Kiyoomi’s been propositioned 5 times today alone. But damn, if that doesn’t hurt Astumu’s ego. He’s not even locked eyes with anyone or checked out someone today (present company excluded, of course).  “What sort of-”

Sakusa ploughs on as though he hasn’t heard him, even as his voice slowly becomes barely discernible under the cottony feeling in Atsumu’s mouth as his eyes roved over Kiyoomi’s curls and the chaotic din of the bar around them. 

“The next song, dance with me.”

Atsumu stopped short. “What?”

"Dance with me," he repeated, clumsily pushing himself off from Atsumu's hand that he forgot was lightly coiled around his extremely nice to-hold bicep. "The next song, whatever it is." 

"If you wanted to get rid of me, you could have just said-" 

"No!" Kiyoomi puts his hands on his shoulders, and for a second Atsumu fears that he might lose his balance - an absurd image that almost makes him laugh. "The song. The next. Let's dance," Sakusa mumbles, eyes glistening and breathing heavy, but gaze determined. It's silly, really, but there's something adorable in the way he gazes at Atsumu with the seriousness of a marriage proposal, and laughter bubbles up in his chest. It's foreign – this urge to tip his head back and let himself laugh in front of Sakusa Kiyoomi - but he just lets it out, conflicted by how easy it is - how familiar all of it feels. 

But God, it feels wonderful, this addictive cocktail of amusement and care that Atsumu wouldn’t have any other way.

“Alright”, Atsumu finally says fondly, as he feels the beat of the next song start up, and he gently brings Kiyoomi to the edge of the dance floor. “Let’s dance.”

The song that plays in the background is quiet and smooth, a woman crooning out to her lover, accompanied only by a guitar. Even then, Sakusa moves limply, eyes focused downwards as Atsumu lets him lead through a decently complicated half-step that seems to fit this song exactly despite their stiffness. As the song slowly began swelling towards the inevitable climax, Atsumu let his eyes rove over Sakusa Kiyoomi’s body - in the dip of his shoulders, in the half crook of his grin, in the glimmer yet distracted allure of his eyes as he looked towards their feet, which had stopped moving a long time back. 

“Something interesting down there?”

Kiyoomi looks back up, eyes unfocused and dazed, and Atsumu suddenly realises he’s close enough to smell the faint, barely perceptible smell of alcohol on his breath. 

Close enough to see the chapped corners of his mouth. 

Close enough to kiss, he startlingly thinks as he sees Kiyoomi move forward. 

Before Atsumu can think too hard about it, he nestles his head into the crook between his shoulder and neck and slips his hands down from his hips to his waist, his quiet crooning more of a vibration into his neck than an actual audible sound.

“Atsumu?” Kiyoomi finally murmurs, the name almost an inarticulate sound in his alcoholic muttering.

"Mh?"

“You know the thing about partners?” 

Atsumu nods, half distracted, distantly remembering the drunken ramblings.

"You're going to tell me which one I am?" He half-jokingly asks, almost expecting the answer to be something flippant.

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, before indulging him anyway, leaning close to his ear, his next few words barely above a whisper. 

"You're the best kind."

He says it so carelessly - like it isn’t the most remarkable thing in the world. Like it’s just a fact of life, known and accepted and unchanging. The sky is blue, the earth is round, and he makes him ridiculously happy just because he's the "best" kind. Atsumu presses his lips together, embarrassed by the sudden rush of emotion in his chest.

"I-"

Whatever he's about to say next is drowned out by the large clinking of glass in the background, and all of a sudden the moment breaks - the both of them simultaneously moving apart. Kiyoomi still smirks at Atsumu, as though he knows precisely what he's doing to him.

Even when intoxicated, he still looks at him with a challenge in his eyes - still looks at him with a look that tells him that damned fool still wants to win. 

Atsumu’s not sure that he'd be entirely averse to losing at this point. 

But for God's sake, not tonight. Not when Atsumu still hasn't managed to crack a full smile on Sakusa's face.

"Drinks!" It's not quite the smooth recovery he hoped for, but Sakusa doesn't say a word, only tilting his head to the side as Atsumu makes his escape. 

As he perches himself onto a rickety barstool, the song shifts into something more upbeat- but the moment he shared with Sakusa Kiyoomi out of all people still replays in his mind - the slight tickle of his breath as it ghosted over his ears, the firm but gentle grip of his palm on Atsumu’s hips. A strange combination of feeling like he can’t quite catch his breath and somehow like he also just took the deepest, cleanest, fullest breath of his life comes over him, and he furrows his brows at the surprising pleasantness of it all. 

He suddenly wishes Sakusa was here, not that he’d be much help in the current situation. He’s probably trying to fantasise in peace about how victoriously he’d be able to crow his immunity to any hangovers and headaches over the rest of them (over Atsumu only, he reflects in hindsight). Sakusa’s a bit ridiculous like that. His drunken brain supplies ridiculously beautiful, and Atsumu suddenly remembers why exactly he’s drinking again.

To forget about stupid Sakusa Kiyoomi and his stupid theoretical smile and-

-and the bartender suddenly slams 3 shots on the countertop in front of him, moving forward to the next counter. Atsumu says a quick prayer for good health and good times before downing it all in one go, and he turns around to get up and chase the bartender back - only to bump into the man at the barstool over.

"Sorry!"

The other man grins at him, shirt half unruffled, and platinum dyed sticking out messily in a charming, roguish way.

"I'm sure a handsome stranger like you can make it up to me by buying a round for the both of us." 

Sure, Atsumu may have been half joking when getting offended when Sakusa Kiyoomi had been propositioned 5 times, if only for the fact that deep - very deep down, he knows that number is slightly improbable even for someone as great as him. But at the same time, that doesn’t necessarily mean Atsumu has never been flirted with - hell, it doesn’t mean Atsumu Miya is blind enough to miss the hungry way the stranger's eyes skim over his body. 

Had it been any other night, Atsumu would have probably made this a night to remember for the both of them - a night spent with a quick drink and an even quicker tussle in slick and sweat at some rundown hotel. But for some reason today, an extremely familiar man with black hair and a smile for some reason he’s sure would light up the entire room creeps into his mind.

The clink of glass on the countertop breaks his reverie, and he dimly realises he’s been staring at the man with a dopey grin - a fact which the man seems to revel in, preening under the dim lights as he leans closer - far too close for someone with innocent intentions. 

“Hope you don’t mind. I ordered one for us to share. It’d be awfully presumptuous of me if I didn’t bother to greet the most sinful man I’ve met tonight.”

Even though the sensible voice in his head currently blares about 3 different warning bells, Atsumu doesn’t move away - paralysed by the knowing look in his grin so exactly familiar to the one Kiyoomi was just wearing-

“Miya?”

The sensible voice in his head goes very quiet.

Atsumu turns around on the barstool, ignoring the hesitant voice asking whether he's already spoken for.

"Ah, Omi-kun, wait-"

Sakusa opens his mouth, but then shuts it, eyes flicking between the two of them.

"I'll leave you to your date. My apologies for interrupting."

Without even a second thought, Atsumu scrambles up, following Sakusa into the freezing air.

"Omi, it's just a stranger-"

Sakusa turns around, moonlight silhouetting him like a vengeful angel as he glares at Atsumu, apparent indifference to Atsumu's matters forgotten.

"Do not call me that. And don't take me for an idiot. "

For a brief second, Atsumu considers reaching out to Kiyoomi and his hand twitches - a move that doesn't seem to go unnoticed, given the brief flash of…sadness? that flits across his features. 

In the end, none of them moves - and Sakusa finally turns, inky curls glistening in the moonlight as he walks away, leaving Atsumu to sober alone in front of the bar.

And it’s just…… it’s so damned unfair- the way Kiyoomi looks so breathlessly stunning even leaving like this - and Atsumu suddenly feels a stabbing ache go through him at how badly he wants to run back and say sorry for something not even entirely his fault.

The best kind of partner, huh? 

How could he say such things when Atsumu hasn't even seen him smile even once? 

4.

When Atsumu first looks into his mini fridge after promptly dragging himself through another tortuous evening drill session with Meian, Atsumu swears he can hear his brother shout in his head at the dismal state of it. Normally, Atsumu would simply order something - rather than run all the way to experiment with ingredients from a completely new store - but he supposes that it's about time that he figures out how exactly Osamu just throws things in a pot and somehow produces the next culinary masterpiece. 

Midway through swiping through Japanese recipes, Atsumu sees an ad for a surprisingly appetising-looking sauce and impulsively decides that perhaps it’s time to try something new - and so he scours the internet for easy-to-make dishes and quickly swipes to a recipe for some soup he’s never seen before. 

Pho, the cheerful grandma says as she shows off her little stove top that looks nothing like Osamu’s meticulously arranged shelves - a fact that despite everything sends a small thrill through him. Osamu’s always been the showier one with food - cooked for precision, cooked to experiment and discover. 

Atsumu’s simply happy cooking for a sense of comfort - one this recipe seems to promise in spades. 

As he navigates the slightly off-beaten crossings, Atsumu muses about the strangeness of the situation - even he can admit Osamu is the real culinary twin - and the only other place he's ever tried to cook for himself is at their childhood home in Miyagi, a surprise downpour always chilling the tatami floor - which always made the food seem even more fresh, even more warm. Though in a way, it's not that much of a surprise - on the court, alongside Hinata's sunny disposition, Bokuto's cheer, and even Sakusa's frown he's found himself a new home amongst the rest of them - maybe not one that is perfect, but one that is inexplicably perfect for him.

After stepping into the chilly wonderland of supermarket air conditioning with the sound of a tinkling bell, Atsumu finds that all things considered, grocery shopping isn't too bad. Though it takes him a few unnecessary turns around all the aisles to locate all the produce he came here to buy (and a few other extra sweets because really, who knew they had such a varied selection of mochi?) Atsumu can triumphantly tick almost everything off his list - except a packet of glass noodles, which he thinks is right in the aisle in front of him. 

And there he sees it - a holy beacon nestled in between two other irrelevant packets of other pasta brands. He's lucky he came when he did - it seems to be the last one in the entire store, and it seems to beckon to Atsumu only till it’s cruelly snatched out of the aisle, to be rescued and imminently kidnapped and held for an indefinite ransom in some random thief's basket.

Luckily, Atsumu has been training for the past few years for this - being a jackal and more importantly, a twin of Miya Osamu meant always fighting for the best food, and so Atsumu reaches out to grab the other edge of the packet with enough dominance that he’s certain is bound to scare the other person away. He doesn’t bother tugging on the packet more than once - he sagely recalls that if done one too many times, your hidden desperation will reveal, which can become a tool that your enemy can use against you. 

“Miya?”

Atsumu feels a faint sense of déjà vu as he hurriedly drops the edge of the packet, jaw slackening in surprise.

While being Osamu's twin may have prepared him for a lot of things, it unfortunately did not prepare him to combat people who could stun Atsumu with a single glance. 

Then again, nothing really could prepare him for the immense self-rationalisation and gymnastics he'd have to go through against Sakusa Kiyoomi every single time.

Even dressed down and bathed in the most harsh of fluorescent lights, Sakusa still manages to maintain flawless posture and form. More importantly, Atsumu realises upon looking down into his shopping cart, that he's somehow managed to stack everything up in neat little rows and ensure it doesn't spill outside his basket. Atsumu is sure that if Osamu was here, he would weep at the forgotten opportunity to make Omi a top aisle organiser and perpetual employee of the month, and instinctively, he shies his basket away.

"Pho?"

"You’ve made it before?"

Sakusa furrows his brows harder, as though regretting the inevitable headache that appears whenever he's in Atsumu's vicinity. 

"If you're making Pho, why are you buying sugar? And so little garlic…." 

Scandalised, Atsumu snatches his basket back. Even if Sakusa hypothetically was right in the sense that he hadn't bothered to properly look at the exact quantities of ingredients, he did at least bother to call Osamu to let him know about his culinary foray! Or at least leave him a voice note after he didn’t pick up, most likely still busy with his restaurant! 

As though he can hear his inner monologue, Sakusa arches a single eyebrow at him, and Atsumu slumps over defeated. 

Fuck his stupid face. 

As though deciding that a socially acceptable amount of time has passed, the irritation on his face grows, and he picks up the basket, heading to the counter. 

“Omi-kun, don’t you know I need the glass noodles? ”

To his credit, Sakusa stops, though his eyebrow twitches. 

“There are plenty of other recipes out there which are more traditional.”

“Yes, but the recipe calls for it as well, so it needs to be a staple of mine, y'know! And besides-” Atsumu scrambles, eyes catching on the nearby bottles of Soju and Sake cheerfully advertised, lining the aisles directly opposite to them. 

“If you want, you could come over and help me cook! We’d make a drinking thing out of it- have some food and wine-” And oh, Atsumu is rambling, so he sends himself a mental note to shut up and give Sakusa his most winning smile. 

Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem as impressed as he hoped. And yet, it still sets Atsumu’s heart thrumming. 

“It’s 10 pm, Miya.”

Atsumu blinks, tossing his head back - if only to hide the darkening blush on his cheeks at the typical connotations that come with inviting someone to their house this late at night. 

“How badly do you want this?” Sakusa asks, eyeing the half-hefted bag of groceries, and Fuck, Atsumu thinks. 

That’s certainly something to think about later. Not now, in the middle of two aisles in their local grocery store. Definitely not now, under the inscrutable gaze of Sakusa Kiyoomi. 

“..... Fine. Under one condition.”

Atsumu’s already prepared to say yes, but he can’t help but try pushing a bit further.

“I don’t know, depends on the deal….” 

Sakusa holds his gaze impassively, though his eyebrow twitches again in what Atsumu realises is covert exasperation. 

“Just give me the rest of it. When you're done. ”

Atsumu would be lying if he said he'd know what to do with it anyway  - and with jubilance, he picks up Sakusa's basket alongside his and begins marching down towards the checkout. 

“Miya, wait-”

Instinctively, Atsumu switches both the baskets to one hand, the song and dance familiar from his childhood trips with Osamu, fingers gently stretching to hold the ones behind-

-Oh. 

Atsumu never thought of his hands as pretty - covered in calloused, fingers bruised asymmetrically - immensely useful but mechanical joints with seamless cogs. Holding Sakusa’s fingers, however, feels like holding paper lanterns - like cradling a gentle craft Atsumu can break in a minute. 

It feels like holding perfection - and Atsumu never wants to let go. 

Belatedly, Atsumu realises that it's Sakusa Kiyoomi - Sakusa touch-averse-no-sweaty-hands-will-bleach-his-eyes-out-after-this  Kiyoomi whom he's holding hands with, and he nearly drops his neatly fitted palm - already running through millions of excuses to quell the dull ache that he’s sure will remain imprinted - a phantom feeling he’ll continue chasing for the rest of his life.  

But then he feels the curling of fingers - soft, but firm - cold ivory contrasting with the warmth of the flush that he can feel prickling just under the marble skin. Atsumu’s gut twists with a hunger he can’t name - a feeling of fullness, yet desperate yearning. 

“... Just hurry and buy the groceries, Miya.”

And if none of them says another word about the matching blushes on both of their cheeks, then. Well. That's neither here nor there. 

-

“You can take those onions, and make X's in the bottom with a knife, and drop them into that pan.”

"In with the soup?"

"No. Shoot." He kneels and retrieves a pot from one of the lower cupboards. "In here. They need to boil for a minute, and then you take them out."

Atsumu does as Sakusa says, filling the pan with water and turning on the flame. He finds a knife and scores the onions, and under his watchful eye carefully measures the fish sauce and cuts the lime wedges, before throwing them into the broth. He searches in a cupboard for a stainless-steel spice caddy and throws in a star anise and a pinch of salt, before letting the contents come to a simmer. On his other side, Sakusa prods the pieces of meat with a wooden spoon, and Atsumu is free to let his eyes wander over Sakusa’s frame and marvel at how comfortable he looks cooking like this, humming a song under his breath, fitting into the small kitchen space so seamlessly - as a familiar piece slotted into place. 

“I’d rather you not burn my kitchen down at midnight. Don't want the neighbours to think that this is what I do with all the men I invite over.” Atsumu finally says, arms lazily inching a breadth away from Kiyoomi’s. It’s easier to cover vulnerability with banter they’re both familiar with, and his body involuntarily relaxes as he sees familiar irritation flash across his face, breaking whatever trance he is in. 

“Fuck you, Miya. Or would you rather I leave?”

Atsumu doesn’t bother answering - doesn’t bother calling out the bluff behind his words. It’s easier than breaking this illusion than admitting that Atsumu could have ordered out and not made a makeshift space in his life that Kiyoomi could have fit into, a small bubble of quiet amongst the loud. Easier than confronting the fact that Sakusa could have said no from the start - could have hidden closed himself from Atsumu and never shown him this side of him - from the highlighter-coloured jersey to the small reading glasses currently perched on his nose - could have hidden the way he relaxes around Atsumu in a way no one else seems to see. 

“I think I need to add more liquid," Sakusa finally decides, pouring water from a tea kettle into the pan, suddenly causing the glasses he’d forgotten to take off to steam.

"I can't see."

Sakusa unconsciously steps away so that he stands a bit closer to Atsumu - the rest of the apartment is silent apart from the sounds of the stove, the kind of quietness that comes only when it’s nearly midnight and everyone else with their sanity intact is sleeping. Even as he holds up his hands, messy from cooking, coated with flour and thin grease and prepares to remove the glasses, Atsumu reaches over him carefully - fingers pressed to his bare arms, cool despite the warmth of the kitchen, a whisper of Let me ghosting over his lips as he pulls him closer to pull off the fog stained glasses before his breath catches in his throat, and he’s faced with eyes wide and open and brilliant and bright and startling, staring straight at him - and instinctively he knows, from the storm raging in his chest and the drum of his fingertips on pale skin that something’s changed.

The sharp whistle of a pressure cooker breaks the silence between them and startled by the sharp noise, Sakusa looks away wildly, leaving the glasses askew before rushing to fix the fish sauce and ensuring the entire pot noodles haven’t been charred. 

Even as moonlight slants over the both of them, reminding Atsumu of the entire absurdity of the situation - it’s 1 am, and here he is making pho with Sakusa Kiyoomi out of all people - he can feel the palpable tension between the two of them simmer into something calm. Inexplicably, Sakusa starts humming again, a half smile curving his lips and starts doling out the steaming hot bowls of soup. It’s not perfect - the meat’s charred in some places, the noodles too stiff - but Atsumu savours the soup like a starving man, the broth filling him up with warmth. The light above them flickers, and perhaps because it’s midnight - perhaps because Sakusa’s trying to be soft, in his own way - he begins to talk - begins telling him a story about Motoya trying to impress Suna by trying to learn how to bake. The shadows on his face soften the harsh features - and for a change, Atsumu sits and listens - occasionally interjecting with short anecdotes. In one moment - when the shadows on his face shift with apparent disbelief, Atsumu thinks he sees the tiniest trace of a smile, open and honest, playing on the edges of Sakusa's lips - but then he slips off into drowsiness - the tartness of tangerines haunting his dreams, juxtaposed with the gentle sweetness that is simply, inexplicably Kiyoomi.

5.

Atsumu’s not sure when this started - when hanging out with Sakusa Kiyoomi became part of his daily routine - when sliding next to Sakusa Kiyoomi became an inevitable fact of life, regardless of whether he’d be loudly shouting with Hinata, or pummelling Bokuto over some silly bet. A lot of it is probably from his dogged persistence - but it’s still surprising how they’ve gone in a blink of an eye from mere teammates to good friends. 

And yet, he thinks, frowning at the back of the setter who’s currently doing his best to try to disinfect every single surface of the gym equipment he’s currently meant to be helping to carry for Meian (decidedly ignoring the fact that he’s also very comfortably perched on the floor under the guise of an extended water break with Hinata), he’s never seen that damn smile even once. 

And sure, Atsumu has always been a too-curious-for-his-own-good kind of guy - but this particular bet echoes in his mind for some reason he can’t name. Maybe because it involves someone else for a change. Maybe because that person is Sakusa Kiyoomi, out of all people - the one person Atsumu can never accurately predict, the one person who clashes with Atsumu like gasoline and oil but complements him like fire and kindling. 

“Is he staring at Kiyoomi-kun again?” 

Before Atsumu can think of an accurate response, Shoyo loudly cuts in, shushing Bokuto with what is meant to be a discreet whisper. 

It’s obvious why he’s his favourite Kouhai, really, Atsumu proudly thinks as he lets his eyes wander back towards Sakusa’s expansive back. Always ready to defend his superiors-

“We’re not meant to tell him we know!” 

Atsumu blinks once, brain grinding to a halt as he considers the words. 

“Know what?”

Bokuto and Atsumu make sudden eye contact, and Atsumu feels a sudden urge to take a deep breath and count to ten. 

See, the thing about the rest of the MSBY jackals is that the one thing - if it can be called a thing - that brings them together is their pestlike nature. Sure, some of them are upfront about it - like Sakusa, who would gladly invoice you an itemised list of everything you’ve done wrong the past month - while some of them are less intentional about it - like Adriah accidentally revealing he’s been watching Atsumu figure out whether it was a push or pull door for months on an end. 

Individually, however, both Bokuto and Hinata are probably the best at it - simply because the two of them are so genuine about it. You think they’re doing good and being honest until Bokuto’s loudly weeping on your shoulder about how beautiful Akaashi is at 3 am after offering to buy you a round, or Hinata’s grinding alongside you into the air - subsequently making a fool of yourselves on Instagram. 

And then you end up forgiving them, in the end, simply because they’re both fucking sweethearts about everything. 

Which is precisely why Atsumu’s already made a mistake by ignoring the biggest red flag of this entire conversation - the fact that the two of them are in complete agreement over something. 

“It’s just...your vibe.”

“Our….vibe?”

Hinata pauses, momentarily deep in thought. “Like… the tension between the both of you where you’re always staring at him, and he doesn’t look back until you’re not looking at him. And you also know everything about him like his favourite snacks and colours and flowers, even the things Bokuto and I never notice! And the fact that you always spend time around him outside practices, and you’re always able to predict his bams and counter with your kachows! It’s like me and Kageyama before-” 

Before Hinata can go into even more sappy and excruciating detail about his own love life and make Atsumu feel pathetic about the lack of his own, his mind glazes over to absorb Hinata’s spiral. 

Tension? Sure, he has regular tension with Sakusa Kiyoomi. It’s inevitable when you’re dealing with someone exactly like Sakusa Kiyoomi, who walks around 24/7 with an insane amount of rules and a stick up his ass. If there is any tension in the first place, it’s only from the frankly ridiculous amount of little grievances that Sakusa has about everything Atsumu does in general. Not that Atsumu really minds changing his habits, even if a good 50% are external factors, if only because adapting to seeing and living alongside a more comfortable Sakusa Kiyoomi is something he secretly doesn’t mind. 

The one thing that’d help dissolve some of that tension, however, is probably the fact that Kiyoomi has still never smiled in his direction. But now that he does think about it though, the two of them are probably his best bet on trying to figure out whether Sakusa’s capable of smiling - given Motoya’s probably in both Suna and Osamu’s pocket when it comes to the terms of the bet. 

“It's for science.”

“For science?”

“For personal reasons.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m performing a socially backed-up study.”

“Wow.”

“It's Osamu’s fault.” He’s losing credibility.

“Tsum-Tsum, just because you like Sakusa–”

“Shut up.” 

It’s because he really, really doesn’t. Sure, it’s been quite some time since he’s made out with someone or looked for another outlet to blow off some steam. And sure, he and Sakusa have been getting along together - and they do spend enough time off the court for their relationship to be misconstrued. And even if Atsumu is irrationally overly invested in making Sakusa smile for reasons he can’t explain, it’s not like there’s any concrete proof of it. 

It’s mere conjecture. Plausible Deniability. 

-Or it’s plausible deniability until a stray curl falls across Sakusa’s face, and Atsumu lets his gaze travel across the moles littering his face - mapping the haphazard constellations he makes until he meets Sakusa’s gaze head-on from across the room, a sharp pang in his chest pulling him in like a siren’s song. 

Omi-kun would look really good with a smile, Atsumu first thinks. I wouldn’t mind seeing it every day, is the next thought and oh, he suddenly understands Bokuto and Hinata’s casual sappy comments about their own lives and their partners, because he’s pretty sure he’s fallen head over heels for the most insufferable person he knows - fallen for the snark in his voice whenever he insults him and the quiet care at which he makes space for him - fallen for the constant push and pull between them and the stupidest quirks like the way he secretly loves reading maudlin poetry and the way he competes over everything. 

Oh fuck, he faintly thinks. 

Atsumu’s not sure what he wants to do right now. Scream? Cry? Kiss Sakusa Kiyoomi until he’s out of breath? Seek therapy? 

Bokuto sympathetically pats his shoulder with the wisdom of a centuries-old wizard as Atsumu crumples into his hands. 

“Don’t worry! You can just go up to him and kiss him! It worked out with me and Akaashi!” 

He should have swapped to the Schweiden Adlers when he had the chance. 

+1.

Here’s the thing about Sakusa Kiyoomi. Even though their relationship can be tenuous even on good days, and on some other days he’s a complete prick - well, the one thing that he doesn’t let it interfere with is his damn sense of professionalism. 

It’s unsettling, the way he’s able to push everything aside and pretend to notice the way Atsumu’s been ignoring him for days on an end, terrified by the sudden realisation that he wants to kiss Sakusa fucking Kiyoomi. Sometimes, when Atsumu feels particularly self-flagellating, and he notices him looking his way but not saying a word, he lets himself think that it wouldn’t matter in the first place - that Sakusa has never cared. 

It’s suffocating, the sudden realization that you like someone, he thinks. Like inviting a beast willing to swallow him up whole. Atsumu knows himself - he knows he won't be able to disguise it for long, that he'll burst eventually, the words he'd fought to keep buried rushing from his lips the moment Kiyoomi looks at him. 

But for now, he’ll contend himself by pushing himself further. Even though his t-shirt is soaked it sticks uncomfortably to his back, he meets Kiyoomi’s challenge with gritted teeth and satisfaction searing through his veins, agreeing to stay back even as the rest of the team files out of the gymnasium. 

The set starts easy. Even though Sakusa sometimes goes easy on the others, he never goes easy on him. Watching him give it his all, hair barely unruffled, even as his eyes narrow on the tosses Atsumu sends at him, makes the satisfaction in his ribs flare and grow. 

By the time they stop, both of them are breathing hard, and Atsumu briefly squeezes his eyes shut as he sees Sakusa step forward. 

“You don’t have to try so hard.” 

Atsumu stills, nearly flinching at the inexplicable hurt that comes with finally having Kiyoomi’s concern - the intense want that comes with being this close. Like this, less than one foot away from each other, there’s a small part of him that wants to simply give in to the voice in his mind to pin Sakusa Kiyoomi to a wall and kiss him till he forgets his name. 

But he doesn’t know how to ask for that. Can’t ask for that. 

“I do.” Doesn’t he fucking get it?

Kiyoomi’s gaze turns quizzical, even as he takes another step forward, so close to Atsumu he can feel his breath on his skin - can see the slight crinkle between his brow, can see the golden light framing him already like a memory. 

“Why?”

It’s warm and inviting, the way his voice echoes in the empty room, the air still between them except for the rush of blood in his ears and the thundering of his heartbeat. 

“Because I’m in horribly into you, you idiot.”

He looks at his lips for a split second before it hits him - an insane cocktail of adrenaline and embarrassing bravery that grabs him by the neck until he’s digging his fingers into his scalp, and he pulls Sakusa Kiyoomi till their lips finally, finally touch. 

Kissing Sakusa is like kissing the sun - like tasting the softest and sweetest thing Atsumu’s ever known, and he chases after it - colliding into his body and slotting his easily into his own as if they’d been carved together from the very start. Atsumu kisses him harder, burying his hands into his hair, and Kiyoomi loops a hand around him before dragging his tongue over his bottom lip. Atsumu whines, pliant in his hands, ready for him to take and take, a silly grin parting his lips against his will as his brain goes blissfully quiet - happy to stay like this, framed against a window underneath the sloping sun - just like this, for the rest of his life, having found everything he wants to know.

And then it hits him like a truck. 

Oh. Oh fuck. 

He doesn't even have time to come up with an excuse by the time Sakusa steps back, lips red and puffy with a giant smile on his face.

Atsumu feels his face burning as he reaches out, ever so gently to brush a thumb over his lips, the touch lingering even as he caresses the corner of his mouth agonisingly slow, as though memorising the features of Atsumu’s face. 

He’s dizzy, and the world doesn’t seem to make much sense right now, the thoughts in his brain blurring from coherent thoughts to simple exclamation marks. 

But then Sakusa Kiyoomi begins to laugh, wild and free, and Atsumu knows he’s a complete goner. 

His eyes are bright and inviting, sparkling with genuine mirth that spills from his face, lighting the skin up in a way Atsumu never knew he could fall in love with - brightens his face up in a way Atsumu now knows he won’t be able to live without. Even as Sakusa’s hands wander freely across his face, Atsumu feels his face heat up - suddenly shy even as he parts his lips in a silent request. Kiss me, he thinks, half pleadingly, as Sakusa’s fingers stray dangerously close to his lips, moving with a deliberateness and earnestness Atsumu has never felt before, kiss me until I can’t breathe - until the only thing that I can think of is you.  

“You know”, he finally hums, tucking his head into the crook of his neck, tangling his hands behind his back and pulling him tight. “I was wondering how long it’d take you.”

Atsumu gasps, his entire body going beet red even as Kiyoomi nuzzles him close to his ear, cool breath hot against the sensitive skin on his neck. 

“You—this is not how I wanted to tell ya! I wasn’t even sure if I was ever gonna tell ya, you absolute ass!”

“I thought you liked me”, Kiyoomi hums, light and free in a way that Atsumu hasn’t heard before. 

Atsumu freezes, voice catching even as he looks at the ground. “You’re welcome to ignore that.” 

“What if I don’t want to?” asks Sakusa, half smile still on his face, even as Atsumu scrambles back out of his embrace, face aflame, only half convinced this entire sequence isn’t just an extended hallucination from the universe. 

“Ya serious?”

But then Sakusa laughs again, sound too real and vivid to ever compare to any of his fantasies, sweat dripping down his skin and eyes earnest and bright, and he reaches forward to grip his wrists gently, pulling him back into a hug again, light slanting through the glass and painting them aglow - eyes closed and hearts peaceful, perfectly in bliss. 

Kiyoomi doesn’t answer him - instead, he lifts his head and kisses him, enough times that he loses count until his brain is dazed - until he’s a little but a mess under his palms and Atsumu finds he couldn’t care less. 

“If I had known it would lead to this”, Atsumu finally says, biting his bottom lip as his chin rests on top of Kiyoomi’s head, “I would have embarrassed myself in front of the team a lot sooner.” 

“You embarrass yourself enough anyway.” he finally hums, no real heat behind the comment. Atsumu still isn’t sure if he deserves that smile or those words and Kiyoomi’s whole heart - and he knows when the others get back they’re going to tease him mercilessly, but right now Sakusa Kiyoomi is looking at him with all the warmth of the world in his eyes and Atsumu finally knows what he looks like when he cares. When he cares about him. It's—it's so lovely that it makes his chest ache.

Maybe, Atsumu finally concedes, some drunken bets with Osamu aren’t that bad after all. 

[secret-engima]

Valentine’s Day ask! Is there a point at which any of the Calling for Rain characters (Nyx, Hinata, Naruto, Sakura, Lee, Karin, etc) have that ‘oh’ moment where they realize they’ve fallen head over heels? And was it a case of getting smacked over the head with it or did it sneak up on them when they weren’t looking?

Logged on real quick just to answer this since- valentine's day, why not XD.

Hmmm let it be known I haven't settled on anything *concrete* for how a lot of these pairings go, but from what the muses have given me so far since starting CfR:

Sakura was absolutely a "smacked over the head" moment. She was not prepared to realize she loved this blond goof. It definitely would be after Naruto got back from his training time skip, it could *even* be the first time she lays eyes on him and her hormones nail her in the head with a 2X4, but it would be funnier if at first nothing is different in her mind. And then either during or after mission with Naruto something clicks over in her brain and she's like "oh no, oh sage, oH NO HELP I LOVE HIM SO MUCH." Likely after Naruto has done something thoughtlessly Nice and Soft for Sakura.

Weirdly enough I almost feel like Naruto has always known he liked who he likes? It just grew out of puppy stage into something stable and friendly, and then grew out of that into love and each evolution he just rolled with it.

Lee has Always Known. He took like one look at Karin being feral when she first defected to Konoha and was like: that. I'm giving my whole entire heart (barring the bits that I already gave to my teammates) to her. Yes. :D

Karin on the other hand probably takes a While to realize yes Lee means that and always has. So for her ... soft 'oh'. After months and probably years of being at first wary of him and then friendly, she finally looks up one day and realizes he really loves her and ... she reciprocates.

Nyx and Hinata are so funny, because they're another couple that has both a soft "oh" and a loud "oH". Hinata is soft and slow, it takes ages for her to realize that she has fallen out of her puppy crush for Naruto and into love for Nyx, but even her slow journey doesn't take as long as Nyx, who is aggressively vibing in the land of obliviousness until something happens, not sure what, and he realizes OH. FEELINGS. FEELINGS FOR HINATA. MANY DEEP AND LOYAL FEELINGS.

Cue panic.

Because of course he does.

His Ostiums have to talk some sense into him.

and throwing in NejiTen in here for the giggles: Tenten thinks she's the first one to fall in love with the other in one loud "oH" moment that took her breath away and then it took forever to get Neji to reciprocate. She is wrong. Neji has been in love for a lot longer than she has, but the moment he realized it, somewhere in the quiet places and easy moments, he *buried* it deep deep down and refused to think about it or act on it.

The brand on his forehead throbs and throbs, and it tells him he can never love, because if he truly loves her, he will never let her near his cage.

It's already too small for just him.

She deserves to remain outside the bars rather than in here with him, bound not by a mark on her own forehead, but on his and on the heads of any children they would have.

Of course I'm not going to leave it on that pining note, but oh boy. Will there be drama :3.

Also! For the lols and records, I am tentatively planning a pairing for Tenzo as well, and he is definitely someone who fell in love *slowly* rather than all at once. Very slowly, very carefully, very sweetly because Tenzo has a heart of gold, we all know this.

[egg-emperor]

genuine question as someone who’s fav character is also eggman, why do you want eggman to be this like. Serious pure evil character, I definitely wish he was in frontiers more and had like a boss but, he’s goofy that’s kinda the appeal to me idk, I think jim carrey did him best

> "why do you want Eggman to be serious"

"silly" is literally the first thing I described in my last summary of what I really love and want to see him be lol

I adore stuff like the Twitter Takeover and Pontaff era including games like Colors, where he can be a big silly billy in casual situations but it's balanced out with him still having serious goals, showing his evil in his plans and actions, and still hating and trying to defeat Sonic. my favorite thing is the balance of humorous and evil and they commonly overlap in great ways too.

he is pure evil because the man at his most true to canon self hasn't given a single damn about anyone but himself and is very dangerous but I never said I wanted him to only be serious... one of the greatest joys of his character is that he has so much range from serious to funny and is best when he has that perfect balance to make you laugh but is still excitingly evil too.

I also love the range of him being a more funny cheeky mischievous evil in some situations just as much as I love his serious dark dangerous threatening evil. I really like when there's overlap of humor and evil in any way the most. it makes him enjoyable for some lighter more casually presented evil fun and his humor can actually add impact when he's doing serious suspenseful evil.

my main problem with Frontiers isn't the lack of a significant serious role, I can accept that but not how he's out of character in English. plus he's actually funnier and sillier in the Japanese version at least to me because of how accurately careless and rude he is to Sage outside of praising her only for how she's an impressive manifestation of his genius that performs efficiently.

it's also funny and lovable how traits of his manchild side shows in both versions with how he gets all angry and huffy and crosses his arms and is like "I don't WANT to!" whenever he needs to do something he doesn't want to, like he's being asked to share his toys because he always demands to do things his way. the humor is there and it's one of the only parts I do like in the English version.

though I am still bothered by how he spent most of the game sitting in Cyber Space, he could've at least had the chance do something epic when he got out whether it was a boss or not but it would've been nice since the real final boss fucking sucks lol. if they'd gone the Japanese route instead of writing him extremely OOC at the end then I'd be happy enough with English too.

but yeah you seem to be misinterpreting so I hope that clears it up. Eggman being silly and funny is something I enjoy and I'll never have complaints as long as they remember his evil and keep the balance. English version didn't but Japanese did. getting less screentime is a bummer but I can accept less as long as he's still portrayed well in the time he does get, that's what I prioritize.

I'm not a fan of carrey's take because he doesn't have the Eggman essence that makes me enjoy it (I only see carrey). but I like Eggman's humor and it's one of his most charming, fun, and important personality traits besides his evil. I'm not asking for that to go anywhere either, I love game Eggman exactly as he is pre English Frontiers and the point is I don't want them to change a thing about him.

he is a pure evil character that can be very serious but he can also be very silly and all sides are important and lovable and add to his charm to me

[thelovelypoems]

Just Bayonetta things to ponder a little longer. Or just some of my musings.

Cereza has Balder's eyes. (Yes, I know Rosa’s eyes are Grey as well and so she has her eyes as well but I wanted to say this resembles out loud instead.)

I believe Enzo's kids are twins. (I feel like their names are so similar that it was like if a boy we will name him Ed, if girl Edna but they ended with both. And I feel they do stuff together like bake a cake and share toys like the jet because they are close.)

Luka tells Bayonetta “No matter how I ask, no matter how many times, you always say the same thing--a misunderstanding” meaning they have met and talked for several times for the past several years.

By how many tabs Luka keeps on Bayonetta he should've known if she was pregnant or gave birth to a child. I don’t believe she would've been able to hide a growing belly for 9 months from him. So why did he even question Bayonetta having a child when little Cereza claimed her to be her mummy.

Witches and sages aren't necessarily hereditary, it depends on how much an individual possesses magical power. It is a higher chance though if one or both parents have magic and the environment of the crescent valleys.

I am waiting for the day Jeanne takes an apprentice. Since she doesn't want the Umbran clan to die out and she is the teaching type. I think it would be just a human girl that she scouts out and trains her to be a witch. It would be even funnier if it was a student from the high school she teaches at.

Cereza said in the epilogue for game 2 that "the distinct lack of acts of God doesn't hurt either" makes me think that as a Nun (which is one of her jobs) she has to do more holy events for the holidays. Perhaps this annoys her to do much more religious work for the holidays.

It is hinted in the game that Angels smell like rosemary.

It seems that sages are all male and the witches are all female and they don't mingle except for Cereza’s case, so that would mean most of their spouses / partners they make a family with are regular humans, although some might have an aptitude for magic but don't practice either magic arts.

Cereza was born to be a rule breaker. I don’t think she follows rules or traditions too closely and she is also the literal result of a broken rule.

I feel that Kirby and Bayonetta have best friend energy, the most compatibility. That they are galactic tier, and they are so extra but that is just their causal day.

I know that one of Bayonetta jobs is nun. But sometimes I wonder if she is a hit man for Enzo jobs occasionally. I know Enzo called her his racket for some of his odd jobs but I'm not exactly sure what that entails. Bayonetta says that “I see to the funeral, you get me the information I asked for. That was our deal”. Rodin says that he made a killing exploiting her, what are these other jobs? Because Cereza and Jeanne look like they do expensive shopping, and I don’t think the jobs (Nun and high school teacher) that we know of fit that budget.

It kind of surprises me that the lumen sages banished Balder instead of imprisoning him because he was their treasured right eye. Wouldn't they want their treasure there?

Bayonetta can't swim. Unless it's her serpent form, but in her human form since she can’t swim, she often surfs on objects during water battles. In really calm, still, shallow canals or bodies of water she walks and uses witch powers to breathe.

How the frick does Luka get to places? How does he get into the floating sphere of the Ithavoll tower? It’s in the air and Bayonetta has to walk on magic paths. How did he get to the cathedral where Bayonetta and Loki were with the water sphere thing? How did Luka manage to find the literal gates of hell himself? And just happened to be waiting outside the door when Loki popped out?! Like stuff that seemingly requires magic to reach?

[kl-writes]

One thousand words a day is too much!

How many times do you have to tell a story before it consumes you and becomes redemption? 1001.

There’s nothing funnier than being told the twentieth “only right way to do something.” Particularly when the only difference is a step there or shifting your weight here. It teaches you things about the world you never had to think about in school, where there really was only one right answer. Supposedly. At least, you could count on there being only one right way to advance. Even the more open-ended arts and literature gave way to easily-graded grammar, symbolism, setting, spelling.

At the same time, there’s nothing worse than someone who is always responsible for when the right thing happens and never responsible for when the wrong thing happens. Even if it’s subjective who’s right or wrong, a three year old can spot that pattern.

When I was eight, I caught a basketball wrong and broke my finger. When I went into the living room of my grandparents’ house to show my parents, my mom asked my dad to set it back in place. I didn’t trust him to do it in a way that wouldn’t hurt, so in my arrogance I set it back myself. So my pinky finger will always be a little bent. Maybe I should wax poetic about how I’d rather hurt myself than trust someone else and get hurt. Or maybe I was a dumb eight year old who knew it would hurt either way, but would rather risk doing it wrong than have an adult do it. I’m almost twenty-five and I still don’t trust the notion of “adults.” “Adults” are awful people.

In middle school, my friend R- and I talked about keeping our middle names secret so that we couldn’t be True Name’d or impersonated. We shared our middle names readily. We worried about our parents, who already knew our middle names. It wasn’t a very good secret.

I would get frustrated with myself in middle school for not having the drive to finish knitting a simple scarf. I made a few bookmarks and coasters. I never considered that maybe the problem was that knitting was boring. These days, I have no issue finishing scarves, so long as the knitting is accompanied by a particularly long and dry class.

I used to plan conversations, sentence by sentence, before I had them. It avoids any freezing-up you might do on the phone, and helps you make it through the conversation. Nowadays, I still hold useless conversations in my head and in my dreams, but I no longer need them. The army’s made me almost too brash.

I hated creative writing lessons in middle school because the teachers always wanted you to write about real life. Nothing was less interesting or more stale and putrid than my life. I think I made up what happened and exaggerated for the assignment. I still dislike that I had to do it, since it bothers me to no end when my mother lies for the sake of a good story. I never had any issue writing or reading fiction, when people knew it was escapism.

I forget the names of second cousins and neglect to ask the names of people I sit across from at lunch for months. I don’t call anyone, and my facebook messages to my sisters are more to show my own excitement for whatever video game or image I’ve found engaging or funny. I dread getting calls, but I don’t despise calls from my Grandma Z- like my mother claims to. I don’t know if she does anymore, my mom isn’t the same person who raised me anymore. That’s a good thing.

I want to connect to people, to scream when I’m mad, to cry when I’m sad, and to spread my joy to those I care about. But I don’t like dealing with problems or obligations that arise from relationships, and I prefer that everything fades away and that I am forgotten. People wouldn’t like “me,” But “I” have a very judgy and spiteful personality. I know better than to sling barbs at others, so I hold my tongue and bury myself ever deeper. Till we’re nothing but pins in a sewing tomato of needles.

They say that Terry Pratchet wrote 400 words a day! Less than what most writing blogs and advice says (1k words, 1.6k if you’re on nanowrimo), but I bet that Pratchett was more prolific than all of them combined! Writing’s a marathon, not a sprint. So that’s why I’m following his sage wisdom, and writing 400 words a month. Absolutely nothing to do with my own lack of discipline, self-imposed sleep deprivation, or general flakiness.

Maybe it’s a problem when things that bring you joy turn into products. There’s a number attached to everything on the internet these days, and I scrutinize even what little heuristics I can squeeze from my AO3 fics. I used to delete unfinished fics all the time, back in middle school, since I only managed a chapter or two and then got bored and moved on. I shamed myself. I’m better now- I no longer delete fics, since I no longer risk writing anything that long and publishing it. My record word count on any work is 18k, and that one was encyclopedic in nature. Pretty much useless, too, but at least the journey was fun.

It’s far easier to spend money on fancy writing books and fancier typewriters than it is to actually write. That’s why I love my AlphaSmart 3000! It was cheap, so it doesn’t hurt as much that I don’t write on it often! (Plus, I bet it’d survive a nuclear fallout)

I gotta be careful not to send to computer too often, though. Then I start psychoanalyzing the word count, pitifully smaller than all my estimates. Writing may be one task where you want to train to time, not to task. But that’s just the pessimism and lack of ambition speaking! Battery life’s pretty Gucci tho…

The strangest thing of all is that the stories I want to read aren’t the ones I enjoy writing, when everything’s said and done. I love the prep, I love the planning, but actually sitting down and going for it after all that work? That’s a no-go. And seat-of-the-pants writing for me leads to incoherent-to-semicoherent blobs of nothing. Word count ain’t anything. So if I like twists, and mysteries, and all sorts of odds and ends, should I break all conventional wisdom and seek to surprise myself with the ending? Should I produce a murder victim with no murderer? I still think the goose was behind everything in Hot Fuzz, so maybe everything’s reasonable if you do it with style.

I like weighty stories, too, but I loathe to write my own weight.

The best fancy writing book out there is Elements of Style, no shot. Stephen King’s “On Writing” is the worst since 12 year old me was irritated that there was no writing advice, and 12 year old  me skipped the intro where he talked about how the book wasn’t really about how to write. Intros and prologues annoyed me, since I read a lot of pulp fantasy with useless introductions. Eragon got me into the habit of skimming large blocks of text (My apologies to Paolini), so when I read denser stuff I would miss things and have to go back and reread, lest I frustrate myself with the text. Back then, useless introductions and unimportant blocks of text were just things that books had, they weren’t the subject of critique or judgement. So I wonder why I treat my own works with a judgement I never extend to others? It’s all or nothing with me. Either a sentence is perfect, or the entire passage is barely decipherable but free of spelling errors.

Did you know that you could do warm-ups for writing? Just write nonsense, and then when you run out of nonsense the rest of what you write that day will be fine. I don’t know a better way to hit daily wordcount goals and still feel like you’re doing something meaningful.

[seungcheolsbodyharness]

heart shaped: v

wc: 6.8k

summary: you start to doubt everything. jihoon takes you out for valentine’s day, and you make a decision that changes everything. 

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | finale (in progress)

when you wake up, you find that jihoon was right: your head is absolutely pounding. you open your eyes just to close them a few seconds later - your vision spins a bit and even though the room is dim, it seems too bright. breathing slow and deep for a minute or two, you open your eyes again slowly and take in your surroundings.

you're still on jihoon's couch, and there's a pillow underneath your head and a blanket overtop your body, a small trash can on the floor next to you that jihoon must have put there after you'd fallen asleep. a gentle turn of your head finds a pair of feet next to the trash can, leading up to the rest of jihoon's body. you frown and wonder why he's there and not in his own bed? but your head pounds harder, setting all other thoughts aside. you turn, little by little, onto your side from your back and look down at jihoon as he continues sleeping.

jihoon, as you've had no trouble noticing, is an incredibly handsome man. he's passionate about his work and charming when he wants to be, has proven himself to be a loyal friend to you and to others in the short time that you've known him. you can't help but wonder how, before the two of you decided to start your little charade, he could have any trouble finding a nice person to date. sure, there'd been the horrendous minji, but he hadn't lost all faith, right? he'd told you he'd been going on dates, after all. it was one of the things the two of you had bonded over. 

jihoon's chest rises and falls evenly in his sleep, his face pinched and mouth moving as though he were arguing with someone. from what you know about him, it's probably seungcheol. or maybe mingyu. 

you spot your unfinished water on the coffee table from the night before and reach for it, careful not to spill as you sip at it in your sideways position. jihoon continues sleeping and you sigh. jihoon is a good man, you posit, and he deserves to give the love he has to someone. a real someone, not just his fake girlfriend. for the first time since you'd suggested the fake relationship, you wonder if asking this of him is selfish of you. hoarding him to yourself when, surely, there's someone out there who deserves his affection in a real way. at the very least, you're aware of the fact that it's what jihoon deserves. 

your brain begins to swirl painfully with thoughts and the leftover burn of alcohol, and you're debating with yourself whether you should go ahead and head home or not - jihoon would understand, and you could always leave him a note letting him know. you're struggling to sit upright on the couch when there's a thunk and an "ow, fuck!" from below you - jihoon had banged his arm on the leg of the coffee table and is now sitting up himself, rubbing his arm and looking up at you. 

"good morning." he says, still pouting over the way he'd been brought back to the realm of the living. "are you feeling okay?"

you bite your lip and shrug. "my head is killer, but i'm not nauseous. not yet, anyway."

he nods and uses the arm of the couch to pull himself to a standing position. "well, i'm glad you didn't throw up. the smell is so hard to get out."

you let out a short bite of laughter and jihoon gives you a small smile, stretching his arms above his head. 

"why didn't you sleep in your bed?" you ask, sipping again at the water. 

"oh -" he pauses, scratching at the back of his head. "i was worried you might get sick in your sleep. and choke. like, i know it doesn't happen a lot, but you had a lot of soyoung's jungle juice or whatever, plus the soju, and -"

"thanks." you say softly. he stops talking and nods. 

"no problem." jihoon moves into the kitchen, opening cabinets and running the sink. you assume he's getting himself a drink, and you're not wrong. he returns a few minutes later with two steaming mugs of coffee, placing one in your hands after taking the water from you. "here. this will help, i bet." he also hands you two small pills - painkillers. you're so grateful you could kiss him.

"you know a lot about hangovers for someone who doesn't drink." you say off handedly, tossing the pills back and downing them with a big sip of your coffee - made just how you like it. 

jihoon laughs. "i didn't say i've never drank before. i just don't like it because my tolerance is so low, i can't really enjoy myself the way others do. so i just don't bother." he sips at his own coffee. "besides, with friends like seungcheol and soonyoung, i've taken care of my share of drunks and the people they are the next morning."

you chuckle into the rim of your mug and he smiles. you sit in silence for a minute or two, both of you still trying to wake up and become more yourselves. 

"are you hungry?" jihoon asks softly, running a hand through his hair. it looks nice, all sleep-mussed, you think. "we can go get something. i don't think anything i know how to cook would be helpful at all for a hangover."

"yeah, i think that sounds good." you agree. "but maybe - do you think we could stop by my apartment so i can shower and change first? there's a nice cafe that does brunch a few blocks down from me."

"i'm down for brunch if you promise no mimosas." he teases, smirking.

"but jihoon," you gasp, mock offended, "how could anyone enjoy brunch if there's no brunch cocktail? i simply won't hear of it."

he laughs, hard enough that he has to set his coffee down in fear of spilling it. "well, do what you want, of course, but i think coffee might be your best friend right now. let me shower and get dressed and we'll go."

"sounds good."

jihoon stands and quickly downs the rest of his coffee before heading towards his bedroom, leaving you alone in his living room. again you're struck by the thought that jihoon would make someone an incredible boyfriend, and how maybe you’re standing in the way of that. 

you’re stuck in your thoughts right up until jihoon comes back out to the living room. he smiles at you softly, calling your name to get your attention. he smiles wider, quirks his head towards the door. 

“let’s get going.”

“and then, and then,” seungcheol breaks off in the middle of his story to throw his head back and laugh. “then this idiot tries to tell me he injured himself training at home like he doesn't know i'm getting a report from his doctor. he got too drunk and rolled his ankle trying to get in the bathtub. his friends recorded a video." seungcheol sighs, a dreamy look on his face. "i'm so glad i got to see it before the company had it deleted." 

the whole table - you, seungcheol, sohee and jihoon - burst into laughter. seungcheol has a way of telling stories that make them funnier than they should be, otherwise. he wipes at his eyes, though you don't see any tears, and then he gasps and his face lights up, turning towards you. 

"did hoon tell you about his little admirer?" seungcheol's voice pitches low, like he's telling a secret. jihoon groans and seungcheol smiles wider. "i take it that's a no."

"admirer?" your heart sinks, but not for the reasons seungcheol or sohee or even jihoon might expect.

“it’s nothing to worry about, of course.” seungcheol assures you, waving a hand as if to placate you. “jihoon turned him down very kindly. poor boy was crushed, but i guess no one told him jihoon was taken.” seungcheol hums, then chuckles. “he came up to us while we were walking the halls, red as can be but looking so...determined, you could say. asked if jihoon had plans for valentines day, and when he said ‘not yet’, the kid nearly leapt out of his skin he was so excited. asked him to dinner, bolted into a spiel he’d probably been planning for a while, but thankfully hoon stopped him before he could get too ahead of himself.”

jihoon shifts next to you, shrugging. “i thought it would be meaner if i let him go through the whole thing. so i thanked him, but told him i was seeing someone, and it was pretty serious, so as flattered as i was, i had to decline.”

seungcheol nods sagely. “i’m surprised you didn’t tell her, hoon.” 

all eyes turn to jihoon, though yours are infinitely more sympathetic in comparison to seungcheol and sohee’s more curious stares. jihoon flushes under all the attention, almost shrinking in on himself. “i just didn’t think it mattered that much. i did the right thing and turned him down, and he’s not an intern in my department so it’s not like things will be awkward at work.” he looks at you out of the corner of his eye, almost as if begging for forgiveness. 

you force yourself to laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound too fake and patting jihoon’s shoulder. “it’s okay, jihoon, i’m not mad!” you assure him, even if it’s mostly for seungcheol and sohee’s sake. jihoon knows there’s no reason for you to be mad in any way, and once more your thoughts are shoved towards the idea that maybe your ruse with jihoon has run its course. sure, he told that intern what you had was serious, and you’re certain seungcheol gave him hell for it afterward, but that doesn’t mean things couldn’t change. 

besides, it had only been a little over a month. it wasn’t that serious, especially from an outside perspective. 

dinner finishes and you part ways, slipping back into jihoon’s car and waving goodbye to seungcheol and sohee. things in the car are quiet at first as jihoon slips onto the highway, music playing softly in the background. neither of you speak until jihoon sighs and says, “you’re not really mad, are you?”

you blink owlishly, surprised. “what? no, jihoon, of course not. i’m just...thinking.” 

“would you mind sharing? the silence is making me kind of, well, nervous.” 

you sigh now. “i’m not mad that someone asked you out or anything jihoon, that would be ridiculous. but...did you want to say yes? was he cute?” 

in the dim light, you see jihoon’s eyes go wide. “no, i didn’t want to say yes. i was flattered, but i wouldn’t have said yes.”

you chew at your lip, thinking about whether asking the question at the tip of your tongue, knowing it’ll only increase the nervous ache in your chest. 

“i know it’s not - we’re not really dating, but i’m still loyal, you know?” you’re not sure if he’s teasing or not, but it doesn’t help either way. 

“that’s not what i meant, jihoon.” you pause, and before he can say anything else, you rush out, “have there been other offers?” he looks over at you, and you continue, “since we started ‘dating’, i mean.”

“no.” jihoon responds quickly, “no, there hasn’t been. and even if there had, it wouldn’t matter, because i’m with you.”

“sort of.” you say softly, looking out the window. 

you don’t see the way jihoon looks at you, and he’s not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing. you tone is hard for him to read, which makes this all the harder. you’re too neutral, too blank, like you’re purposely closing yourself off to him. 

you don’t say anything else, and jihoon isn’t sure whether he wants to ask what’s bothering you because he’s afraid of what the answer might be. instead, he starts talking idly about work, and how busy he’s been since the new year started - too many idols and groups and soloists wanted fresh, new love songs in time for valentine’s day, and he’d been charged to write and produce a fair few just by himself. 

you’re glad for the distraction, glad to have something else to think about, especially when you and jihoon are so close together in his car, where your silence would be too noticeable, too worrisome. you talk to jihoon about what the process has been like, working on multiple songs for multiple artists at once, and he shrugs. 

“technically, that’s just what i do for a living, you know? the thing that makes this different is the fact that all the deadlines are the same: they have to be ready for valentines day.” he beats a steady rhythm onto the steering wheel with his fingers. “speaking of, i uh…” he trails off, and he’s grateful for the dim lighting because he can feel the way his cheeks heat up. “if you’re not busy, i’ve kinda got something planned for valentines day.”

“oh.” you say, surprised. “is it a work thing? i don’t mind not spending it together.”

jihoon starts to speak and then closes his mouth, opens it to start again and clears his throat. “uh, no. i meant for us. i have something planned for us.” 

“oh.” you say again, your surprise morphing to genuine shock. you hadn’t even been thinking about what valentines day would mean for the two of you. you definitely hadn’t anticipated that jihoon would plan something. 

“yeah.” jihoon shifts in his seat, your shock making him nervous suddenly. “we don’t have to, i can cancel the reservations -”

“you made reservations?” 

“ye-yeah?” 

you find yourself unable to respond. you’d thought maybe a movie, a quick dinner, something to show the two of you had spent the holiday together to show everyone that things were fine. but jihoon had gone outside that expectation and actually planned something. suddenly your thoughts turn back to how he should be showering someone real in his quiet affection when he clears his throat again. 

“is - is that okay? i should have asked, i’m -”

“no, jihoon, don’t be sorry! i just -” you bite your lip. “i wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.” 

jihoon’s entire body relaxes, releasing the tension built up by his anxiety. “okay, good. because i’m um…i’m really excited for what i planned, and i think you’re really gonna like it. is a surprise okay?”

your chest tightens and you’re not really sure why, but you tell jihoon that it’s fine, and you’re excited too, even though the truth is you can’t escape the dread filling your heart. end it now. you tell yourself. let him spend it with someone he doesn’t have to fake affection for. 

jihoon pulls into your shared driveway and puts the car in park, watching you for a moment. “are you okay?”

the question stings in a way you weren’t expecting and you’re careful not to wince. “i’m fine! just a little tired, i think. work has been busy, you understand.” 

with the car stopped and the overhead light on, you can see the unsure look on jihoon’s face, but he doesn’t ask again. he opens his door and walks around the car to open yours, walking you up to your doorway. the two of you hug and for a split second, you think jihoon might kiss you - he hesitates as you pull apart, eyes locked on your mouth, but in the end nothing happens and he simply wishes you a good night, reminding you that he’d be too busy between now and valentines day to see you in person. you nod, standing on your porch and watching him get in his car and drive away. 

once you’re inside, surrounded by the walls of your home and the silence therein, your mind is tormented with ideas of calling jihoon, ending things now, setting him free from your own selfish hold. but he’d seemed so excited by whatever he has planned, and you’re torn. 

you tuck yourself in beneath your covers, pulling them tight up to your chin as you lay there in the dark, alone with your thoughts.

maybe a good night’s sleep would soothe you. 

maybe.

the next few weeks pass and you find yourself feeling lonely without jihoon. you’d grown so used to seeing him regularly that going so long without him leaves a hollow feeling in your chest. you’ve spent more time with soyoung and some other friends you haven’t seen in a while, but even when you’re with them and having fun your mind drifts to jihoon, hoping that he’s taking care of himself with how busy he must be. the two of you have texted back and forth, a bit, but it’s been scarce. soyoung has teased you countless times about how you must miss your lover, and you always blush and bat away her words without offering any of your own. 

the one constant is jihoon’s excitement about valentine’s day. every time you talk to him he brings it up, shares his hope that you’re as excited as he is. you don’t have the heart to tell him you’re not. when the day arrives, jihoon tells you simply to “dress nice” and that he’ll pick you up around seven. you keep in mind that he made reservations and dress up for more than just “nice”, and wait for him to let you know he’s arrived. for once, you think, you’re ready before he is. 

there’s a soft knock on your front door shortly after seven at the same time that your phone chimes with a text notification. you open the door to reveal jihoon dressed sharply - a grey blazer over a collared black shirt with black slacks, his hair slicked back. you’re taken aback by how good he looks, and his cheeks flush when he realizes you’re staring. 

“ready to go?” he asks, holding his hand out to take yours. you take it and close the door behind you, following him out to his car. he opens your door and waits until you’re settled before closing it, quickly jogging back around to his side to get in himself and pull the car away. 

“you look amazing.” he says once he’s on the road, eyes unable to keep from glancing over at you. your cheeks flush and you thank him, picking at the fabric of your skirt. “i mean it. you’re always pretty but - i mean - just. wow.” 

you giggle a little at that, patting the hand he doesn’t have resting on the steering wheel. “you’re not so bad yourself you know. you look really good when you’re not dressed in sweats and oversized tops.”  jihoon sputters, about to defend himself and his fashion choices, but you laugh harder. “i’m just teasing, hoonie. it’s okay.” 

jihoon goes quiet and you’re almost worried you actually upset him until he says, “you haven’t called me that in a while. since new years.” 

you blink, surprised, and think about it. it hadn’t been a conscious decision or anything, but you’re pretty sure he’s right. “oh.” you say, “i hadn’t even noticed.” 

jihoon shrugs. “it’s - it’s not a huge deal, i just...noticed that you stopped, that’s all. thought you were trying to...nevermind. it’s not important.” he looks over at you and smiles softly, and if you were a better person maybe you would have pressed the issue. what had he thought you were trying to do? 

but you don’t want to fight with jihoon, and you’re not sure where asking that question would take you. jihoon had taken the care to plan this night for the two of you, and you were going to do your best to make him think you were enjoying every moment - to make him think you were doing anything but counting down the moments you had left with him before you set him free. 

“so,” you say instead, “are you going to tell me what exactly you have planned for us tonight?” you fiddle more with the material of your skirt as jihoon drives out of the city, your eyes watching the inky water moving slowly underneath the bridge. 

“well...you may have noticed i didn’t bring you any flowers.” he says cryptically, voice tinged with excitement. 

you didn’t notice, but you keep that to yourself. jihoon continues. 

“that’s because i’m bringing you to the flowers.” jihoon grins wide, like he’s done something incredibly clever. you’re still lost, yourself, blinking at him owlishly as you try to piece together what he means. deciding to cut his losses, jihoon reaches out and takes your hand and squeezes it. “i signed us up for a couples’ floral arrangement class.” 

you think of your nice outfit and jihoon’s, and wonder if that’s a good idea - you’re both quite overdressed for something like that. you say as much and jihoon laughs. 

“we’ll get aprons, and then go to dinner right after.” he pauses as the car slows and he pulls into the turning lane. “unless you don’t want to go? we don’t have to.” 

“no, jihoon, it’s not that! i think it sounds fun, and i do want to go.” 

“really, you won’t hurt my feelings if it’s not something you’re interested in. i just thought it would be nice.” he pauses, then adds quietly, “romantic.” 

“sure, but...you don’t have to romance me, jihoon. i didn’t even think we were going to do anything special until you said you were making plans.” 

he says nothing, continuing to drive as some top forties hit plays in the background. you’re stuck on why jihoon would bother trying to do something romantic for you, even if it was just to tell your friends you’d done it. that didn’t seem like something jihoon would be worried about at all. he pulls into a parking lot and stops the car, turning the radio off and looking at you with tired eyes. 

instantly you regret everything you’ve said. 

“i’m sorry jihoon, i must sound like the most ungrateful bitch of a fake-girlfriend. you went through all the trouble to plan things for tonight and here i am questioning you when i should be thanking you for being so thoughtful.” you take a deep breath and let it out. “i’m sorry. i’ll be better from now on. i would love to go in and make a floral arrangement with you. or for you. or however this is going to be set up.” 

the tension melts from jihoon’s body and he smiles in the dim light over the overhead. “thank you.” he says softly. “let’s go in, shall we?” 

you return his smile and nod, and before you know it he’s out of the car and around the front to open your door again, hand extended to help you down. you take it, intertwining your fingers as you head inside and up a flight of stairs to the florist. another couple is leaving as you enter, holding hands and exchanging adoring glances and each holding a small pink basket of their own. 

“i - it’s a private class.” jihoon says suddenly. “just so you know.” 

“wow. that is romantic.” you reply, peering over your shoulder as one of the men leans in to give his boyfriend a quick, sudden kiss on the cheek. you smile to yourself and turn back to look at jihoon, suddenly overcome with the need to do the same. you don’t, of course, but for a few brief moments, you genuinely consider it. 

you let jihoon lead you into the small shop, taking in the sights of all the different flowers hung in different arrangements - and some just hanging - around the lobby. jihoon calls out a soft “hello?” and a deep voice replies “just a minute!” 

you and jihoon stand in the lobby, hand in hand, jihoon’s thumb rubbing absentmindedly over the back of your hand as he gazes intently at a wreath of roses and lilacs displayed in one of the corners. a door opens behind the counter and you’re greeted by a broad, handsome man with dark messy curls and a bright smile. 

“oh, it is you, jihoon!” he says, smile growing wider. he comes out from behind the counter to shake jihoon’s hand, and you’re a little taken aback by how big this man is up close. 

“dongho i didn’t realize this was your shop?” he pats the florist - dongho? - on the bicep, and they both laugh. 

“i only opened this one last year - finally moved from the little alleyway shop.” dongho looks down at you, smiling. “so this is your girlfriend?” 

jihoon nods and introduces the two of you and then dongho takes you back to the workroom, which he’s decorated with ribbons and flowers just for today’s classes. 

dongho hands you both aprons and directs you two to sit at the table where most of the tools and buckets of flowers are set up. he teaches you both how to cut the flowers just so, to be mindful of the weight of the flowers as you place them, but otherwise lets the two of you be. 

the room is quiet as you work, other than soft music playing in the background and dongho’s occasional humming under his breath. 

more than once, you catch jihoon’s hands frozen in place and his eyes locked on your face, only for him to blush and look away as soon as you’ve caught him. you can’t figure out how it makes you feel, your heart a flurry of battling emotions as you continue. you are aware of one thing, though: it most certainly doesn’t feel unpleasant.  

for the next forty-five minutes the two of you in trim and arrange the flowers in your selected vessel: a cute little heart-shaped bucket that you fill with cream roses and soft pink peonies, delicate baby’s breath and white carnations. 

it looks pretty good, you think.

the two of you thank dongho for the class and leave with the arrangement in one of your hands as your other is safely secured in jihoon’s. as you descend back down the stairs towards the car, jihoon squeezes your hand and starts to laugh. you raise your eyebrows at him, asking what’s so funny. jihoon shakes his head and tampers his mirth down to just giggles, opening your door for you once you’ve reached the parking lot. he stands there in the space of the open door as you settle in your seat, smiling wide and still chuckling to himself. 

“i’m just…having a really good time. i’m really glad you wanted to do this with me.” 

your heart pounds and your cheeks flush and that urge to kiss him comes back full force. you wonder if his lips would be just as soft as they were on new year’s eve. you wonder what it would be like to kiss him fully sober, without the haze of alcohol bleeding through your senses. you bite your lip without thinking and jihoon’s eyes track the movement. 

you wonder if jihoon has been thinking about kissing you too. 

“did you have fun, baby?” he asks. a cold gust of wind whips up from behind him, tousling his hair and pushing at the flowers on your lap. 

you flush deeper at the pet name and nod. “yeah, hoonie. i had a great time. thank you.” 

jihoon beams and says nothing, closing the car door before climbing in on the other side. he reaches out his hand over the console, and without thinking you place yours in his grasp. he pulls the car out of the parking lot and drives down the road, twisting and turning until he pulls into the parking lot of a restaurant you’ve never seen or heard of. but with the full, full lot, and the decadent detailing of just the outside, you know why jihoon sprung for reservations. walking inside you see just how elegant (expensive) this place was, and suddenly you feel incredibly out of place. 

jihoon gives his name to the maitre d who has a hostess show you to your table - tucked away in a candlelit corner, waiting with a bottle of champagne. 

“jihoon.” you whisper, nearly beside yourself, once the hostess is gone. “this is absolutely too much!” 

jihoon’s mouth opens, eyebrows drawn together, and is about to say something when the waitperson comes up to the table. they list off the specials and pops the champagne, pouring each of you a glass. they leave to let you look over the menu, and you turn your attention back to jihoon. 

“really, jihoon i - this is so, so beautiful and romantic, but it’s too much.” 

“well, i think you’re worth it.” jihoon takes a swig of his champagne and grimaces. “that tastes awful.” 

you’re so distracted by his first statement that you can’t even laugh at his reaction to the alcohol. you have questions, and your heart is flipping over itself, but you can’t bring yourself to push words onto your tongue. you take a few sips of your champagne (jihoon is right, it is awful. but he paid for it) and soon the waiter comes back for your orders. you try to order something on the cheaper side, already racked with guilt thinking about how much jihoon must have spent. 

“what -” jihoon starts and stops, takes a breath. “what i meant before was just...you know, i’m sure haejoon never treated you to a nice valentine’s day. so i thought i would.” his eyes lock with yours and he continues. “so don’t worry about this.” 

you sigh. “at least let me pay the tip or something.”

jihoon laughs. “okay, fine. i’ll let you take care of the tip.” 

the waitperson brings out your first course and as you try to miss the dressing into your salad as delicately as you can, you say, “you’re right, by the way.” 

jihoon hums around a spoonful of soup. “most likely, but about what?”

you laugh. “about haejoon. we had two valentine’s days together and they were both...awful. lackluster. he..” you laugh, thinking about it now. “he forgot me both times.”

jihoon’s face pinches, angry. “that’s not something i’m happy to be right about.” you shrug and he pouts, wishing he could tell you just how incredible he thinks you are. “then i definitely want you to just…enjoy this tonight.” 

you nod, smiling softly to yourself and digging in. 

the rest of dinner is exquisite and incredible, and thankfully, not actually served in microscopic portions, which was something you and jihoon were both concerned about. 

once the meal is over and paid for and you’re back in the car, jihoon drives you home and when you’ve pulled into your driveway, he asks if he can play you something. a song. you agree and soft, sweet music fills the car - jihoon’s voice singing a melody filled with adoration and something that makes your heart both flutter and clench tight. you’re suddenly reminded that jihoon could be doing this with someone else, for someone he actually wants to be in a relationship with instead of you, who practically forced him to fake one. 

“it’s beautiful.” you say, distracted. it ends and without saying anything you get out of the car, barely hearing jihoon cry for you to wait. he catches up and takes your hand as you walk up to the door. there he takes your other hand as well, mumbling again that he had an incredible time tonight. 

“me too, jihoon.” you return, eyes downcast. jihoon squeezes your hands, rocking back and forth on his heels. 

you don’t see it, but jihoon bites his lip nervously. you don’t see it, but his eyes are trained on your mouth. you don’t see it, but jihoon leans in close, desperate to ask you a question. 

“thank you again for tonight, jihoon. i guess i should head in, huh?”

you don’t see it, but jihoon’s face falls but only for a moment because then you’re finally looking up at him and he can’t let you see the disappointment in his eyes. 

“yeah.” he says softly, pulling away.

“talk to you later?” you have the feeling that jihoon wants to say something to you, but it’s only one of so many thoughts swirling through your head that it’s gone in an instant. 

“yeah.” he says again. “sleep well, baby.” 

“you too, jihoon. you deserve a rest after working so hard.” 

he nods and hums, letting out a hollow little laugh as he walks back down the drive and you head inside. 

you close the door and sink to the ground, wishing the earth could swallow you whole. just how long were you going to be so selfish? how much more of jihoon’s time were you going to waste? how many times did it take, telling yourself he deserved something real, before you allowed yourself to let him go? 

your head rolls back against the door as you sigh. you were starting to regret every asking jihoon to do this for you. what was he even getting out of it? your benefits had been clear - no more dates with fucking weirdos that soyoung thought you could be cute with. no more set-ups that were disguised as favors hoping you and the guy would magically hit it off. 

to be fair, you had never imagined that the arrangement would bring you so much heartache - if that’s what it even was. never in your life had you felt so conflicted and yet so unsure as to why. 

you and jihoon were just friends, it had never been and never would be anything more. no matter how many times he called you baby, how many times you held his hand, how many times you felt the pull to kiss his lips and so much more. it wasn’t real. 

it wasn’t real.

maybe that’s why it was so confusing. 

maybe, somewhere along the line, jihoon had convinced your heart that what you had was real.

your mind, however, was well aware of the truth. 

x

you get his response and relief floods your chest. 

you weren’t avoiding jihoon. not by any means. it’s just that you knew if you saw him, you wouldn’t be able to let things go on any longer, and you weren’t ready to deal with that just yet, so you were just taking some space. by lying. 

it was only a little avoidant. 

you settle back onto your couch - you’d been pacing in the kitchen while you’d texted him - pulling a blanket over yourself and pressing play on the new season of your favorite show. you’d been meaning to watch for weeks now but you’ve been too busy.

you’re an episode and a half in, just about to press ‘place order’ for some takeout when your doorbell rings. you’re surprised, to say the least, but you yell out “coming!” and make your way to the door. you open it without checking the spyhole and immediately wish you had. 

“hi, jihoon?” you say, stilted and shocked. 

jihoon is standing there with two white shopping bags in one of his hands - one takeout, and one you’re assuming holds medicine. 

“can i come in?” he asks, gesturing with his free hand. you nod and silently lead the way into your kitchen, where jihoon immediately starts unpacking his - your? - spoils. there’s medicine, soup, crackers, tissues, lozenges, fried rice, juice, and he says nothing as you watch him place everything on your counter. 

“i - i told you not to come over, though, jihoon.” you say softly, pointedly not looking at him. 

“yeah, but i haven’t seen you since valentine’s day, and i was worried when you said you were sick. you said that being sick is always really hard on you.” jihoon looks you over - takes in the healthy glow of your skin, the way your breathing and voice seem perfectly normal. “you said you were...sick?” 

“oh, it’s just a headache mostly, and my body is kind of achey.” you lie quickly. “i haven’t been sleeping well lately and i always feel ill when it catches up to me, you know?” 

jihoon doesn’t say anything for a few moments, then takes the lid off one of the soup containers. “well, i brought this, so you should probably eat it…”

a few minutes later finds you and jihoon seated on either end of your couch, not touching or speaking as you both eat. he’d tried to say he would leave, and maybe you should have let him, but he’d come all this way just for you because he’d been worried so you insisted he stay. you eat in silence, aside from softly thanking him for the meal and everything else, your show still paused from when he came to the door. 

jihoon clears his throat, loud in the small, quiet space. “is everything...okay?” 

you want so badly to lie to him (again, you remind yourself). you want to tell him you’re fine, and that you have just been so busy lately, and you didn’t want to bother him. you want to lie and continue lying to everyone because the conversation you feel like you need to have is absolutely crushing your chest. 

“jihoon, we need to talk.” 

jihoon’s eyes go wide and his brows furrow, concerned, but he nods. “okay...go ahead.”

all too easily, words bubble up from your chest. 

“i’m so sorry, jihoon. i just - i’ve been so selfish, only ever thinking about how having you be my fake boyfriend would make my life easier, i never...i never stopped to think about what it would mean for you, you know? i just needed soyoung to leave me alone so bad, i was going crazy from all the shitheads she tried to set me up with. no offense. and you - you deserve a real relationship, jihoon, you know? you’re kind and devoted and caring and you’re going to make someone very happy and i can’t let my own selfishness stand in the way of that anymore. i’ve been losing my mind for weeks trying to decide what the right thing to do is, which is awful, isn’t it? of course the right thing to do is call this all off. we don’t have to tell anyone, of course, since that would kinda defeat the point of the whole thing, but - but you’re free jihoon. you don’t have to pretend anymore. we’re ‘breaking up.’ i want you to be happy, jihoon. i want that so much it’s been driving me insane. that’s why i was such a bitch on valentine’s day, i couldn’t stop thinking about how it should’ve been someone else, you know? someone you actually want to be in a relationship with, not me, your fake girlfriend.” 

you take a deep breath before finishing. “thank you, jihoon, for agreeing to this in the first place, even though i should never have asked. at least...i mean, at least now people will leave us alone, right? we can find new relationships in our own time. if someone we’re interested in asks us out, we can say yes.” 

jihoon, who neither visibly nor vocally reacted to your entire speech, chews on his lip. 

“so you don’t want to do this anymore?” he asks softly. “right?” 

“right.” you smile at him, thankful to finally have the weight of this off your chest. “but i really like hanging out with you, so we can totally still be friends! like, exes who are cool, yeah?”

“what are we going to tell people?” jihoon doesn’t answer your question, but you shrug it off. it had been mostly rhetorical anyway. 

“i figure we tell them that we decided we were better as friends.” you grin wide. “that’s not really lying, right?”

“yeah, right.” jihoon says, but he sounds distracted. he stands suddenly, making his way towards the door. “i have to go. i’ll text you.” 

he doesn’t wait for you to call “okay, sounds good!” before the door shuts behind him. 

you press play on the long-forgotten episode and after about another two, shoot a text to soyoung, laying your phone down on your thigh. it takes approximately five seconds before your ringtone cuts through the air and you roll your eyes as you answer her call. 

“what do you mean, you broke up but it’s cool? it’s cool?”

“yeah, soyoung.” you sigh. “we’re fine! we decided it wasn’t working out and we’d be better off as friends. it happens all the time.”

soyoung scoffs. “you’re so full of shit. both of you.”

“what are you talking about? you say that like you know something about my relationship that i don’t.”

she laughs. “don’t worry about it. if you say you’re fine, you must be fine.” she pauses. “are you sure you’re fine? you can tell me if you’re not. i love you, you know.”

your heart swells and you’re so glad she called, suddenly. “i love you too, soyoung. and i promise me and jihoon are fine. we’ve agreed to still hang out. everything is cool.” 

across town, jihoon steps out of a gas station, a bag full of soju in his hand. 

[cuttoothed]

‘Together forever’ with jonmartin?

I wrote a short post a few months ago about Martin and Jon both trying to propose to each other, to Daisy's amusement and Basira's annoyance. Never let it be said I'm above recycling my throwaway ideas into fic form!

Please note that Basira's advice is correct here, and Daisy is just being a troll, because she knows these idiots. Thanks for the prompt!

*

“So when are you going to make an honest man out of him?”

Martin spends a second choking around a mouthful of pasta, before looking at Daisy with an expression approaching alarm. He’s much too easy to fluster, honestly, she hardly has to try. After years of being mates, you’d think he’d be used to it.

“Sorry?”

“Jon. When are you finally going to marry him?”

“I don’t - what’s brought this on?”

Daisy shrugs and takes a bite of her sandwich, chewing it thoughtfully for a few moments.

“Dunno,” she lies, smoothly. “Just, you two’ve been together how long now?”

“Nearly four years.”

“Four years,” she nods. “And you’re both stupid for each other. Thought you’d’ve taken the plunge by now.”

“I - I’ve never really thought about it,” Martin lies, badly. “I mean, the whole marriage thing, it’s a bit of a scam, isn’t it?”

“The whole wedding thing is a scam, if you let it be. Marriage has benefits - tax, health stuff. Plus you want to marry him.”

“No I - ” Martin drops the pretense and sighs. “I mean, I suppose it might be nice, but I’m really not bothered. And I know Jon isn’t interested in that sort of thing.”

“How d’you know that?”

“Well, at your wedding he wouldn’t shut up about how it’s an outdated institution, and he couldn’t understand what logical reason anyone would have to want to do it.”

“Yeah, that definitely doesn’t sound like Jon trying to convince himself.” Daisy rolls her eyes and takes another bite of her sandwich. Martin looks somewhere between thoughtful and terrified.

“So...should I talk to him about it?”

“Nah,” Daisy wrinkles her nose. “I’d just propose to him. It’s more romantic.”

“Really?! But - but aren’t you supposed to discuss it first? What if he says no?”

“I mean if he says no, then no loss, you just carry on as before, right? You got any special occasions coming up soon?”

“Well, I mean our anniversary is in a few weeks. We’re not doing anything big, just going for dinner.”

“Perfect,” says Daisy, nodding sagely. “Do it then.”

A giddy smile spreads across Martin’s face, and Daisy smiles inwardly. She does enjoy these lunches.

*

“All right,” says Jon. “Here’s the latest draft.”

“Sixth draft,” Basira notes, sipping her gin and tonic. Jon takes a deep breath.

“Martin,” he begins in declamatory style. “Over the past decade, my opinions of what is important and what is trivial have shifted drastically. You have shared in the experiences, good and bad, that have shaped those changes, and you understand the solemnity with which I say that the people I care for are the most important thing in my life. You are the person I care for most, and while I know that the idea of two people being together forever is trite - not to mention impossible - I want to come as close to that ideal as possible with you. I want our lives to be irrevocably entwined, and I want to be able to say that officially, legally, I belong to you and you to me. Will you marry me?”

He pauses and gives Basira a hopeful look. She casts about for something to say.

“Well…it’s a bit shorter?”

“Right. You’re saying it still needs work.”

“It’s - there’s nothing wrong with what you’re saying, Jon. It’s just - do you really need to make a speech at him?”

“It’s important to - to put it in context. To explain why I’m asking him. So he knows how much it means. How much he means.”

“Okay, it’s just that right now it sort of sounds like you’re trying to convince him to say yes, and...that’s not the point of a proposal. Not these days. I’ve told you already, you need to talk to Martin about this in advance. The proposal can be a surprise, but the fact that you want to marry him shouldn’t be.”

“I - I know, I should…”

“But you’re not going to, right?”

Jon squirms uncomfortably, looking down at his drink. Basira sighs. If this man ever learns to have a real, honest conversation without having it dragged out of him, she’ll eat her left shoe. He’s just lucky that Martin’s crazy for him, and that Basira has Daisy on the case. She decides to take pity on him and change the subject.

“Did I tell you I heard from Melanie last week? She’s backpacking in Ecuador.”

*

“So how was your lunch with Martin?”

“Good,” says Daisy, scooting up on the sofa to make space. “That place does really nice sandwiches.”

Basira sets down two mugs of tea and then plops down beside her wife, reaching for the chocolate digestives on the table.

“I meant more on the...detective side of things?” she nudges. Daisy gives a wolfish grin, which Basira knows means trouble.

“Well he definitely wants to marry Jon, no worries there. Actually he’s going to propose.”

“Daisy…”

“On their anniversary.”

“Daisy!” Basira gasps, tapping her hand disbelievingly against Daisy’s shoulder. “I told you to find out if Martin would say yes when Jon proposes, not - not set up a rival proposal! You know Jon’s planning to ask on their anniversary. I’ve been helping him with his proposal for two bloody months now.”

Daisy shrugs, and crunches into a biscuit.

“It’s funnier this way,” she says through a mouthful of crumbs. “If that pair of idiots can’t decide to get married without our help, they’ll take what they’re given. Besides, ‘s not like either of them’ll say no. Just a matter of who gets it out first.”

Basira stares at her for a few seconds. She’s always known Daisy is devious, but this is absolutely underhanded and devilish.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more attracted to you,” she says, and Daisy grins again.

“Think we can get a table at the same restaurant that night?”

*

In the end they don’t see the proposals in person, because Daisy classes it too obvious, poor surveillance technique. She does pay a waiter to film the whole thing on his phone, however, and though a little jumpy, the footage clearly shows the events.

They see Jon muttering under his breath as they finish dinner, clearly rehearsing. Martin patting his jacket pocket repeatedly. A bottle of champagne being popped, and then Jon sliding out of his chair to one knee as Martin fumbles out the ring box and extends it across the table. The two of them staring at each other in bewilderment for several long moments. Then both of them in their feet and talking at once, though the words can’t be heard, flustered and gesturing.

In the end the two of them come together, embracing, Martin laughing and Daisy swears that Jon is crying. They actually get a round of applause from the other diners, which Basira scoffs at.

“We didn’t make such a big deal out of getting married.”

“We’re not idiots,” Daisy reminds her, and kisses her temple.

“Do you think they’ll be annoyed when they figure it out?”

Daisy snorts.

“I’m expecting special thanks at the wedding.”

[willow-salix]

Random bit of fun that popped into my head. Grandma Tracy + Selene + cooking sherry =

Selene checked the recipe again and nodded to Grandma. It couldn't be that hard could it, to be all domesticated and shit? She had many manly men that she had to cook for, not that she went in for all the "a woman's place is in the kitchen" stereotypes,  but she did think it was important that they came home to something better than their Grandmother's cooking attempts after a tough rescue, and this one looked like it would be a nightmare mission. 

She could cook most things, basic and homely she called it, having learnt baking from her Nan, although she did like to challenge herself now and then.

She had decided in her infinite wisdom that if she was capable of making simple dishes like lasagna, chilli's, soups, burgers, pizza's pancakes, breakfasts and the like, coupled with the fact that she was actually good at baking, she could manage to help Grandma in her mission. It shouldn't be that hard to make their boys some lovely fresh donuts, something they all loved.  Yep, that was a plan! 

Grandma Tracy had wandered back and forth while Selene was assembling the ingredients, flour, salt, yeast, eggs, milk and melted butter and insisted on helping, trying to add her own selections to the mix which Selene gently vetoed, hiding them in the microwave. It would be fine, with her overseeing the proceedings Grandma couldn't get into too much trouble, could she? 

Selene directed Grandma as they slowly added the wet ingredients into a big mixing bowl, one at a time until they made a relatively smooth mixture, then Grandma added that little by little to the flour, Selene mixing with her hands until they had a rough dough. 

She dribbled some oil onto the worktop, dumped out the bowl and began to knead the slop, gradually feeling it grow thicker and less gloopy, more springy. Damn this was hard work!

"Let me have a try, you youngsters don't know the meaning of hard work."

Selene stepped aside to let Grandma T take her turn, but within a minute the older lady was huffing as bad as Selene was. 

They tag teamed back and forth for a few minutes but her fingers were cramping and she was sure that she had inhaled so much flour she'd be sneezing bread rolls.  She went to wipe her forehead but her hands were so greasy with the oil she gave in. She didn't want to resort to cheating, but needs must. 

She whispered a little chant under her breath when Grandma made her excuses to go to the bathroom and watched as the dough kneaded itself, plumping up and down and flipping itself over as she washed her hands and settled down with a can of cherry coke. The dough flopped itself back into its bowl after a few more minutes and she covered it over and placed it on the windowsill to rise for an hour.  

And she promptly forgot about it, wandering off with Grandma to catch up on "The bold and the beautiful" a TV show that Grandma watched religiously and that had become Selene's guilty pleasure whenever she was on the island. 

Upon returning to the kitchen after learning that Chico was Marion's secret son and that Charlie's amnesia was fake, they found the bowl overflowing and the dough creeping its way towards the floor.

"Stupid magic kneading!" Selene dived at the dough, nudging Armstrong out for the way just as he tried to bat at it with his paw. "No! Bad cat. Leave it!" 

She cradled it in her arms like it was a baby, a big, messy, yeasty baby that was determined to get the fuck out of dodge. She balanced on one leg as she tried to hold it up with her knee, kneeing it like she was playing keepy uppy with a football. 

"Grandma, get a bowl! A big one!" She gave it a big push upwards as Grandma shoved a huge bowl under it, catching the evil, still growing blob. 

"What's wrong with it?" Grandma asked as she poked at it with her finger, diving back when it looked like it would consume her whole hand. 

"Nothings wrong with it, I'm sure it'll be fine."

Against her better judgement, and Selene wasn't known to be entirely sane at the best of times, she grabbed the biggest saucepan they had and filled it with oil, setting it on the stove to boil. Should only take a few minutes....  

She watched as the oil began to bubble and smoke,  knowing it was about as hot as it would get. Witches didn't like boiling oil, call her silly but that had always been something to avoid in the olden days, which was probably why she had taken the few minutes to kit herself out in a huge apron, Scott's spare bike helmet and a pair of Virgil's thick work gloves. Couldn't be too careful. 

She dug her hands into the dough, hitting it with her elbow when it looked like it might try to be the one to eat her before they cooked it. "No! Down! Bad dough!" 

She was sure it would be fine once it was cooked,  witches made everything a bit more lively, the boys could attest to that.

"Watch out Grandma, don't get too close." 

She scooped out a handful and rolled it into a ball then holding it at arm's length, dropped it in the oil like it was a hand grenade. Boom, the oil jumped up to meet her and she stepped back with a squeak of shock. Not good. Nope nope so much nope. Not doing that again. 

"Oh don't worry, it always does that when I cook too," Grandma shrugged as she crossed to the fridge to get herself a drink. "Keep going, it'll be fine."

After rolling another ball, which she caught before it rolled off the counter and across the floor yelling  'cry freedom', she sourced a pair of BBQ tongs to hold it with and dropped it carefully in the oil. 

"That seemed to work," Grandma encouraged. "Keep doing that."

Ball after ball followed and her roll, grab and drop operation was going so well she completely forgot that the oil was actually cooking the damn things. 

"Uh…little too brown maybe…" she fished them out and dumped them into a bowl lined with kitchen towel. She poked them, were they OK? 

"They'll be fine with some powdered sugar on them," Grandma proclaimed wisely, although Selene wasn't too sure. "Do the rest, that's nowhere near enough to feed my boys."

Grandma supervised as Selene slowly worked her way through the dough mass, which seemed to have lost its determination now she had effectively scooped half of it away, though it was still making a strange wheezing noise as it attempted to grow some more. She'd soon put a stop to that! She quickly rolled and tossed more balls into the oil, having perfected her drop and duck technique.  Paranoid that she'd burn the next lot she got them out earlier...Perhaps a little too early, as they stuck to her tongs as she slapped them into the bowl. 

"Damn it."

"Jelly will fix them, " Grandma nodded sagely, "Jelly fixes everything."

Selene threw the last of the balls, now looking slightly less ball like and more like lumps of dough that she was too fucked off with to fix, and began to search the cupboards for something to insert the jam inside the balls. 

She located a turkey baster that Parker had insisted they needed to cook a decent Christmas dinner, and that Alan had secretly been using to squirt the Gordon with. Selene had filled it with whisky that one time and used it to fire at Scott from opposite ends of the couch in an attempt to reach each others mouths. She grinned at the memory.

As if reading her mind- maybe she was a witch too- Grandma vanished and reappeared with half a bottle of cooking sherry. 

"Would you like a little taste? I find it helps me relax sometimes when I'm cooking, you're too tense."

Well, that might explain a few of Grandma's more adventurous dishes. 

Selene looked at the bottle, she could actually do with a little of that right now. She held out her coke can and Grandma poured a healthy splash into the remains of her coke.

"Don't tell John," Selene warned as she gulped down some of the drink for strength as she faced the fried dough balls she was supposed to fix. 

She grabbed a pot of smooth jam out of the cupboard and sucked some up into the baster -not that easy to do it turned out- and holding one of the cooked balls she stabbed it with the end of the rubber syringe. It went right through.  

"Shit!" 

She tried again, splitting another one. 

"Fuck!" 

"Language, Selene!" 

"Sorry, Grandma."

"Let me try," Sally managed to get the tip in one and squirted a generous amount into the donut. But didn't count on the force of her squeezing making the donut shoot off the end and fly across the room to smack Armie in the eye.

"Fuck!" 

"Grandma!" Selene was shocked, but had the terrible urge to giggle. 

Sorry," Grandma apologised, both to Selene and the cat, trying again.

                                    ***

The bowl was a jammy,  powdered sugar covered, slightly oily mess and Selene was on her third can of sherry and coke and honestly, she no longer really gave a shit. 

Who's stupid idea had this been? It was the thought that counted right? 

Grandma had given up over an hour ago and gone to bed, knowing the boys would be heading home soon and Selene desperately needed a shower. She had jam in her hair, sugar sticking to her hands and she'd lost the will to live. 

She plonked the bowl in the middle of the kitchen counter. 

"Sexy spaceman of mine," she texted, "sorry they look like shit…yeah, can't really explain what happened there…but I'll be naked in bed if that helps." She snapped a picture to go with it and called it good, promising to clean up in the morning. 

And she wound her way on slightly unsteady feet,  up the stairs and into the bathroom to shower off the remains of her one and only attempt to cook something you could buy easier,  promising herself a trip to Krispy Kreme in the very near future, and flopped on the bed wrapped in nothing but a towel. 

                                       ***

"John?" Gordon stared at the text that had popped up on all their comms less than 30 seconds ago. 

"I don't even know."

Their brother's long suffering, defeated tone just made the whole thing even funnier. 

"Think you had better get down here, bro," Virgil chuckled. "We'll be home in five."

"Yeah, that's probably wise," Scott added. 

Even EOS seemed to find the whole situation amusing, which in itself was a little bit worrying, as John rode the elevator down to the island. 

Alan and Gordon were staring at the bowl as if it might explode any minute. John spotted the empty sherry bottle in the sink and sighed. 

"Grandma got the sherry out." 

"That's not good," Scott agreed as he too entered the war zone, formerly known as the kitchen, his eyes taking in the precariously piled bowls, the flour that coated every surface, the oil patch that Alan almost slipped in and the grease splattered stove top, the pan of oil sitting abandoned. His bike helmet was on one of the stools and one of Virgil's gloves peeked out from the bottom bowl of the stack, though it was so covered in dough you could barely tell what it was. 

Virgil brought up the rear, his nose wrinkling at the slightly smokey, oily smell that hung in the air. 

"Dare you to eat one," Gordon nudged Alan. 

"Hell no! John should, it's his girlfriend that made them."

"Fiancée," John automatically corrected, poking gingerly at the contents of the bowl. "And no, I don't think so."

"Scott, you're the brave one, you like to take a risk now and then, you do it."

"Like the rescue wasn't risky enough? No way. Virg, you try, it's like modern art, appreciate it."

"Nope, I like my taste buds where they are, Gordo, you do it, it was your idea."

Gordon paled as he looked into the bowl. "All of us?" he asked hopefully. 

The boys exchanged glances and then one by one they all reached into the bowl, their competitive streak unable to resist, selecting the least offensive looking offerings. 

"On three?" Scott confirmed. "One…two…three!"

As one they all tossed their donuts into their mouths, chewing madly, their faces contorting into identical grimaces of horror and disgust. 

Alan raced to the trash can, opening his mouth to let the offending evil drop out of his mouth. 

"Urghh, it was raw inside," he shuddered. 

Gordon followed suit, spitting his out. "Mines burnt."

Virgil managed to swallow his. "Mine was all sugar which pretty much hid everything."

Scott had a dribble of jelly running down his chin to drip onto his uniform, his mouth hanging open as if he didn't dare close it again. Virgil handed him a paper towel and he grateful spat out the offensive food.

"My God, that was foul."

They all looked at John, who was still chewing his dough ball, now matter how much he worked it, it never got any smaller. In the end he too gave up and spat it into the trash. "It was like trying to eat a rubber ball."

Virgil tossed the remains into the trash to spare Kayo and Brains the same horror. "At least they tried."

Too tired to actually be bothered with real food, Scott handed round some bowls and Virgil grabbed a box of cereal and some milk.

They all ate quickly, eating in companionable silence, standing up, leaning against various cupboards and furniture, knowing if they sat down they would likely never get up again.

"Damn!" John moved suddenly, breaking the silence of the room, dumping his half eaten cereal in the sink.

"What's wrong?" Scott frowned, instantly worried.

"I just remembered the rest of her message," he was already running towards the stairs, "I've got a naked woman waiting for me."

Alan shuddered, gagging on his mouthful of cereal. "I did not need to know that."

[secretshinigami]

Mr. Brightside

Author: @yagami-raito-kun For: @jeepersjeevas Pairings/Characters: B & Matt Rating/Warnings: T (language) Prompt: B and Matt as best friends post-timeskip Author’s notes: This isn’t as developed as I would have liked with more time, but it was fun to write. I hope you like it!

--

Matt’s apartment was larger than a prison cell, but not by as much as B might have hoped, and the stacks of video games and takeout boxes along the walls didn’t help. A pair of shower curtains on PVC pipe frames cordoned Matt’s bed off from the rest of the room, and various crumpled clothing hung over the back of a threadbare, sage-green couch. B highly doubted the clothes–or the ones Matt now wore, for that matter–were clean. No surprises there, B thought, without judgment. He’s taller, but he hasn’t changed.

“Well, this is it,” Matt said, dropping his keys on the counter. “Home sweet home.”

B looked around the dingy, cluttered, one-room flat, expressionless. “Very nice.”

“You can go back to J’s place, if you prefer.”

“She’s made it pretty clear that I cannot.”

“Trouble in paradise?”

“Your flat is fine.”

Matt grinned. “That’s not an answer.”

“No, it’s not.”

B’s face was deadpan, but his voice held the slightest edge of humor. Matt studied him for a moment, uncertain, then decided not to push it. “Well, in any case, it’s good to have you around again. My couch is at your disposal as long as you need.”

“What does Mello think about this?”

“Mello doesn’t know shit.”

B clucked his tongue, feigning disapproval. “Trouble in paradise?”

“I’m trying to protect you, dipshit. Kira doesn’t know me from Adam, but Mello’s another story. Worst come to worst, he can’t give up information he doesn’t know.” Matt sighed as he lit up, taking a long drag before continuing. “Besides, I haven’t heard from him in months.”

“Months? Why, you poor thing.”

“Nah, it’s cool. I’m used to people I care about fucking off to L.A. without me to be dumbass morons.”

B hesitated before responding, but his face was impassive. “I suppose that’s fair.”

“That’s it? You go on a fucking murder spree, light yourself up, go to prison, fake your death, and then text me out of the fucking blue years later…and that’s all you have to say about it?”

“I suppose that’s fair, too.”

“Smug fucker,” Matt growled, but B could hear the warmth in his voice. “Thought prison would have taught you to cut that shit out.”

“I did cut it out. It grew right back.”

“Still can’t believe you fucked off to L.A. just to kill people. Seriously, what the hell were you expecting?”

“The opportunity to deliver a truly spectacular villain monologue.”

“And?”

“Didn’t get it. Here’s hoping Mello has better luck.”

“Ha. Unlikely.” Matt’s tone turned bitter. “When he calls, he sounds like he’s enjoying himself, but…Kira’s something else, man. I’ve just kind of accepted that Mello’s going to fuck up sooner or later.”

“Your confidence in his abilities is very touching. What makes you so ready to give up on him?”

“He idolizes L.”

A thin, toothless smile slitted across B’s scarred face. “That would do it.”

“Yeah.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

Matt shrugged. “Like I said. I’ve kind of accepted it.”

“Have you, now?” B’s smile widened. “I doubt it.”

“Fuck off.”

“Very convincing.”

“What would you know about it, huh?” Matt spat. “You’ve never cared much about anyone besides yourself.

“Myself? Ah, yes.” B stroked his mottled, patchy face. “Behold: the very picture of self-care.”

“You know what I mean. You’re never warm.”

“I’ve been quite warm, I assure you. When I caught fire…”

Matt groaned, and B relented, shutting his mouth with a self-satisfied hum. I do know about it, Matt. Not that you’d ever believe me. Even now, he could see the numbers over Mail Jeevas’s head ticking inexorably down toward zero. Whatever risks Mello was running overseas, B had little doubt he would outlive his sidelined, goggle-wearing admirer. But Matt’s the one worried, and about the wrong person at that. There’s a funnier joke for you, if I could tell it.

B stayed silent.

“That was awful,” Matt said. “Even for you.”

“You know you missed me.”

“Fuck me, I did. I really did.” Matt smiled. “You can give me the monologue, if you want.”

“Hmm?”

“Your villain monologue. From L.A. Knowing you, you had it all written out and memorized.” Matt arched an eyebrow. “Didn’t you?”

B laughed softly. Then he threw his head back and cackled, the sound harsh and wild. “Mm. Guilty.”

“Then let’s hear it.”

“Not yet. I’m saving it.”

“What for?”

The laughter vanished from B’s voice.

“Kira.”

[xolotoofficial]

Recorded in Advance

> “Alright, babe,” Marvus’ manager starts, making sure the bandages around his chest are well visible under his jacket, but not as visible as the layers of gold chains sitting on top. He smirks and pats him on the shoulders, eying the golden diamond-shaped studs in his ears. “You’re looking pitiful enough. Go out there and make me and your clown buddies proud.”

Marvus feels way better now that he’s had a couple of days to heal. If he was, oh, Jade, let’s say, it would probably take much longer for him to heal, but he slowly swaggers into the interview, feeling like a million but walking like he’s still injured, but healing. The stab wounds on his body were closed up at this point, and the scarring was already looking pretty minimal, but he looked like he was being held together by cotton and stitches under all the wrappings.

The day he woke up, he let them photograph his chest, and it was emblazoned across every magazine - a clown, martyred at his own show, bloody and pitiful, tore the fuck up and still devastatingly hot. Gore was barely a kink on Alternia.

The cerulean woman in her pencil skirt and killer heels splattered with warm blood sits with a notepad in her lap and a winning smile. She was a familiar site. They had done interviews before, and she was very efficient. “Are you ready? Do you remember all the questions and answers we’re going through today, Mr. Xoloto?”

He smiles and nods, feeling the cameras on him again. It’s familiar, and he can honestly say he missed it. “Yes, I remember. It’s a steel trap up here, even if it’s been knocked around a lil’ bit.”

She feigns concern and they both cackle with each other. She was easy to win over, as easy as anyone else, but at least she had fun with it.

“You’re such a messy bitch.” She croons, recrossing her legs, one set of eyes looking at her notes and the other staring into him with glee. “Alright, everyone shut up and start rolling!...” She herself smiles into the camera. “Hello and welcome to all of you at hive watching, this is Krayvt Terrox, of course. Today I’m joined by one of the most masterful jesters this side of Alternia in an exclusive interview. Known for the size of his crowds, the size of the bloodshed, and the size of him… well. Marvus Xoloto, it’s so good to have you here, and so soon after this grizzly attempt on your life.”

He smiles and nods lazily, moving very little. “Only by motherfuckin’ grace, sister. It’s great to be here, Kravyt.”

“Let’s start with the obvious - your attacker isn’t a stranger to the disciplinary system, and according to multiple sources, he’s been on the cull list for some time for abandoning his duties and past violence on trolls of higher blood. It’s rather stupid of him to brazenly walk on stage when common knowledge among us who actually use our pans that you like to keep a certain amount of attention and cameras on you. I have to ask, did you know Lanque Bombyx personally?”

Marvus shakes his head. “No. We had some mutual acquaintances once upon a time, but I didn’t know him, or about him, or get any warnin’s on his violent ass nature. We’ve attended some same parties, but other than that? Nada.”

“Oh, interesting. Let’s start with those acquaintances. Did you have any altercations or issues with those mutual acquaintances?”

He shakes his head again. “Oh, no. It’s funny, the only people we both knew seemed to either not want much to do with him, or just didn’t have nice things to say. I take care of my friends, ya know? And that includes listenin’ to em, so I did my best.”

“Of course, Marvus the Great wouldn’t be associating with such base criminals. I’m sure the people who lost him to the cull list were very disappointed.”

Marvus laughs. Thinking of Daraya being disappointed in Lanque’s crimes tickled him. “Can’t say fer sure since he came up so rarely, but I’m sure they were pretty g-d bummed.”

Kravyt’s eyes narrow and she leans in. “Now, about the parties? What’s the secret there?”

“Oh, god, ain’t no secret. They was jus’ meetin’ ups I was havin’ with some of my siblin’s. He was there at the same time, in my ass and all that. The only secret I might think was there was that he was followin’ me. Ain’t uncommon, but ain’t impressive on me.”

His interrorgator simply laughed, flipped a page in her paper. “Gosh, this is a funnier story than I expected. Here we all were, thinking he was some sort of hired hand or a wronged quad, but he’s really a jealous nobody. So, what happened that night? Why does Marvus Xoloto lose to an overly desperate fan like that? It’s not every day that someone attempts on a clown’s life, let alone escapes from the scene, and a Jade blood on top of that. A well-trained subjugglator would be expected to win that match up, easy.”

“Well, I ain’t subjug trained, I’m laughsassin trained. We more like a clown utility knife, less of a club to the face, ya dig?” One hand plays with a chain around his neck, the other hand waving away the last statement. “Not disparagin’ of course, I love the heavy hitters in my family, but I ain’t made to maintain that kinda rage all long term and shit. After a bumpin’ ass night of performin’, ya could guess that I was tired a-f. Ain’t help that on top of tired I was all cocky and shit - I’ve always been the type for spectacle, and I ain’t thought that through much at the time. I was jus’ tryin’ ta stop him, wound him all for-life-like, put on a show, and I got blood in my eyes for just a second and, well, I got the beatin’ I well up and deserved for bein’ a show-off, durin’ the fight and durin’ that long-ass slam session.”

Marvus takes a pause. He stops his fidgeting and his eyes cut to the ground. Clowns don’t show shame, but he does it regularly on global television. Even Kravyt, who knew what the questions and answers were ahead of time leans in while the camera does the same on his face.

“But I wanted to make my fans all happy, you know? Shit, they show was gettin’ ruined, and I wanted to give em another to make up for it... That was my b. If I knew he was such a criminal I woulda been more on toppa dat shit, but I ain’t sure it mattered much. Like I said, I’d been performin’ for a long time at that point - like, i-d-k, almost 3 hours?” He pauses though, stage whispering to the woman across from him. “And don’t tell nobody, but I mighta been a lil’ slack on my training. Gotta get that fixed now, don’t I?”

Kravyt nods in understanding, swinging her foot. “Thank you for that, Marvus. I’m sure that was difficult to talk about. Let’s move onto something a little less clinical - how are you feeling?”

Marvus beams for the camera. “Aww, thanks sis. I’m doin’ pretty okay. I should be all healed up sooner than later. Then I can get back to all that good” - and sometimes illegal, you know how it is - “work I’m motherfuckin’ known for.”

He winks through Kravyt and she blushes, but it wasn’t really for her. That one was for the cameras - the rebels he had been helping for the past two sweeps. The clubs he bought out. The performers he had been recruiting. He wasn’t out of the game, and he wanted them to know that.

“And what about the church? How are they feeling about all of this? What about your friends?”

Marvus nods sagely at her question. “Well, my family ain’t to happy. Last I heard they were makin’ their own moves about this. Somethin’ about uppin’ security every-motherfuckin-where, and they hired some kickass to the case? Wild a-f. I ain’t all involved or nothin’ cuz, ya know, I’m a motherfuckin’ loud mouth and alla dat, but they’ve been supportive of me. And as for friends...”

He smiles a little, face as neutral as usual. “Well, they’re goin’ a lil’ SHITHIVE. I get it though. Somethin’ terrible happened to one of their friends, all because of Lanque. He’s gettin’ all sorts of people hurt with these weird motherfuckin’ antics. Who knows who’s gonna be all in the path next? Can’t imagine how hurted his cloister must be - they be their own sorta family, and I kinda feel some kinship about that. I know most trolls ain’t gettin’ what clowns got, but I know, if I up and imagine, it would suck if I fucked up and got a sister of mine hurt, you know?”

And that one was for Lanque.

“How kind of you to empathize with the associates and friends of a criminal. But that almost sounds just as juicy as this -”

“None of that, sis. This is just me havin’ my own fun. I mean, the church got him covered - I get somethin’ of my own, I think. I just wish his family the best.”

“You really have a gilded heart, don’t you?”

“Aww, I don’t know about that…”

“And so humble.” She giggles. “One last question, then.” Kravyt nods and finishes her scrawling. “It’s really good to see that you’re alive and well. Is there anything else you’d like to tell the good people at home?” Marvus turns to the camera to his left and gives another best winning smile. “I’ll be going on a whole new tour in three nights from now to celebrate my good health! Tickets are available now, and locations are listed up on my website. While you’re there, if you’re feelin’ up to it and know anything at all about the location of my attacker, there’s a text form you can submit, only available to people who’re signed up to my Fanclub.”

“It was lovely to have you on tonight,” the smiley four-eyed woman chirps pleasantly, offering her hand. He leans forward with an exaggerated wince, reciprocating the action. She looks at him with her own over-acted pity. “Thank you again, Marvus.

“...aaaand cut it! Start shutting this down. Good job, Marvus. We’ll get these all edited up and it should be going up as soon as it’s done. A day or so. You were wonderful as usual - only took three takes to get all the footage we need.”

Marvus stands and stretches, clapping his hands together once. “Glad we could do this, f-r. Hey, don’t be a stranger, sis - maybe we’ll get to talk without me actin’ like I ain’t ever been stabbed before, lmaooo.”

She shrugs. “I suppose it might be good for ratings - people really are obsessed with you. Who knew that a person could capitalize on their powers like this? Like, shit, I don’t get it, but clearly huffing your voodoo-vibes or whatever is better than coke.”

[halothenthehorns]

MUDBLOODS AND MURMURS

MUDBLOODS AND MURMURS

Harry just shrugged and said, "How should I know? I don't even know how much time skips any more than you guys."

James hesitated for a moment, before swapping the baby that was still in his arms with the book so that Lily was now holding her little son. He began the next chapter in a rather foul mood, he was still ticked Lockhart had lied about the book's he'd made up, and Harry was going to go another full year without a proper teacher. DADA was an important class, and Harry was having worse luck than they did about awful teachers. Still, he was determined to shake it off and enjoy the rest of Harry's year.

Harry spent the next week learning to dodge around corridors in order to avoid Lockhart.

"Good." All four of them said gleefully, Sirius adding on, "great time for you to practice the uses of the hidden corridors."

Harder to avoid was Colin, who somehow managed to memorize Harry's schedule.

"Why's he following you around?" Lily asked in surprise.

Harry was grimacing in annoyance again, admitting, "he liked to try and talk to me. It was bloody irritating too, because he just kept trying to ask me questions about stuff like if I was going to go on and be a Dark Wizard Catcher, when I had no idea what that was? I hated being hero worshiped."

Lily felt bad for both the kids, seeing both sides of the coins there.

James looked dearly like he wanted to say something, but he thought Lily would get mad at him again, so he held it in.

In class wasn't going any better, as Ron's wand was continuing to act up, the most spectacular event being when it shot out of Ron's hand one day during a Charms class and hit Professor Flitwick in the forehead, making an odd green boil appear.

"Points for originality," Sirius chuckled, "we never did that."

After so much happening in just his first few days back, Harry had been more then looking forward to the coming weekend, but was woken up at an absurd hour to find his Quidditch Captain, Oliver Wood, hovering over him in full practice clothes.

"Early Quidditch practice," James agreed sagely, "not unsurprising."

Harry slurred out what was going on, and Wood told Harry they had a Quidditch practice to get to. Harry glanced at the window to find it was hardly sunrise.

"Okay," James grimaced, "I've never had to get up that early."

"Vosper got us up before dawn once," Sirius reminded him, "it was before his last game there, and he was desperate to make sure we won that one."

James nodded in remembrance, their old Quidditch Captain had been a real fanatic, like Wood apparently.

Harry tried to protest, but Wood wouldn't hear it. Saying that this was their opportunity to get a jumpstart, as no other teams had even started yet.

"You sound way too enthusiastic about this," Lily said lightly, feeling like laughing at these boys. They wouldn't stay up past midnight to study for exams, but would get up as early as they had to for a game.

As Seeker for his team, Harry had no choice and stumbled around his room to get dressed. As he made his way downstairs, he was joined by none other than Colin,

"Wow," Remus said in surprise, "he's dedicated. I never went down with those two, I enjoyed sleeping too much."

Harry just shrugged, he still found Colin more aggravating than anything.

camera in hand. Colin said he'd heard someone mentioning Harry's name on the stairs, and he'd been dying to show Harry the photo he'd taken. Harry glanced at it to find photo Lockhart trying to tug Harry's elbow onto full screen, but Harry's photo self was putting up quite the fight.

All four gave appreciative chuckles at that, glad photo Harry was putting up as much of a fight as the real Harry.

Colin asked if Harry would sign it, and Harry refused,

"I thought you said you would have, if you were alone?" Lily asked, starting to feel bad for the little first year. He was just trying to talk to Harry after all.

"That was before Lockhart made such a fuss about it," Harry said, just as flatly to his Mum as he had been to Colin.

saying he had to get to practice. Colin eagerly declared he wanted to come, and Harry tried to discourage him by saying it was going to be boring.

"Wow, you were really desperate to get rid of him," James said, mouth twitching with humour.

Harry rolled his eyes at all of them, they clearly found this funnier than he had.

Colin didn't seem to believe him, now pounding Harry with questions, like how Harry had been the youngest Seeker in over a century.

"Bet your camera he was," Sirius agreed proudly.

Then Harry went wide eyed as he popped himself in the head and said, "oh, Colin told me and I remember now, went on about buying that camera in Diagon Alley before he came to school. That's how he got it."

"Well that explains it," James grinned, happy that random little thing had been answered, and also understanding there was no way Harry could remember that until after all of the conversations

with Colin came back to him.

Not even waiting for an answer, he continued by asking for details, like if the broom Harry was holding really was the best?

"No, to the last one anyways," Harry said, looking grumpier the more James read, "a new model came out over the summer. What?" he demanded as the others just kept smiling at him.

"Sorry," Remus said, trying very hard not to laugh, "we just think it's cute is all. This kid is clearly hero worshiping you. The fact that you're taking it like this, the opposite of how your father would have, is funny as all get out to us."

James really did laugh then, unable to deny that one bit, while Harry was beginning to wonder about his dad's younger personality.

Harry began grudgingly answering Colin's questions about the basics of the game, and Colin clarified that Harry was the Seeker for his team.

"Best one there is," James said with pride.

Harry agreed he was, then tried to convince him that was all there was to it.

"That's it," Sirius chuckled, "wow you were really trying to get rid of him weren't you?"

"I don't want to be worshiped, then or now," Harry snapped at him, a bit more edge in his voice then he meant.

Sirius didn't look mad though, on the contrary, they all suddenly felt a little bad as they finally realized what Harry was so annoyed about. It was the same feelings they had whenever an adult tried to praise Harry for being famous. It wasn't the fame, it was what he was famous for! It must have bothered Harry greatly that this student wasn't catching on to that part, so Sirius was the one to apologize and promised not to pick on Harry about it anymore.

Harry looked surprised, but thanked him all the same.

Colin kept it up though, talking to Harry all the way down to the pitch. Harry only managed to shake him off when he went into the team only changing area, to find the rest of the team in place, all half asleep. Wood was standing in front of them, holding some cards. When Harry sat down and joined them, Wood began going into absurd details about all of the training plans he intended for them this year. The team was falling even farther asleep in the process.

"Uh-oh," James chuckled, "not a good idea at all."

"Why?" Lily asked.

"Cause they're all still asleep," Sirius laughed. "He should have had them do some warm ups, then sat them down and talked about real tactics."

Harry verbally agreed, saying Wood had gone on far too long with this.

After the first board, Wood brought out three more all of equal lengths, and Harry began zoning out Wood's voice as well.

"He's not even taking the hint," Remus laughed "how does he not notice his teams falling back to sleep, and not paying attention?"

When he was finally done, he asked if there were any questions? George came out of his nap with a start and demanded why Wood had chosen to do this at the worst possible time.

"He's got a point," Lily agreed, "now seemed like the worst opportunity."

Wood snapped back that this was important! They should have won the competition last year, but because of circumstances, Harry shifted uneasily in his seat with guilt.

"We don't blame you one bit," James said at once, as Harry did indeed still look guilty over that, "saving the Stone was far more important than some game."

Lily pursed her lips, agreeing with James, though still thinking Harry should have never gone after the bloody thing to begin with. It was far over and done with now though, and Harry didn't look guilty anymore, so she let it go.

Wood rounded them up and gave them one last pep talk, saying let's go and put his new theories to work! The team followed him out as sleep dazed as they walked in.

"Not exactly the cheerful speech to get them moving either," Sirius chuckled.

They walked out to see the sun had properly risen now, and Harry spotted Ron and Hermione in the stands with breakfast between them. Harry got on his broom and zoomed up to them, where they were shocked to hear that Harry hadn't even started, but instead was supposedly being taught new moves.

"Can you recall any of them?" James asked.

"Nope," Harry said brightly, looking back the whole scene was almost funny.

Harry started flying around the stadium, the wind doing far more to wake him then any speech. While doing some aerial manoeuvres though, he heard a strange clicking noise, and looked around to find Colin also in the stands taking pictures.

"Something I've never thought of," Remus agreed, "are cameras even allowed on the field?"

"I suppose so," James said with a shrug, "I've never heard of anyone bringing one though, so I'm not sure."

Fred asked who that was, and Harry denied knowing while speeding away. Wood wasn't pleased, demanding to know if that was perhaps a Slytherin there to spy on their training practice.

"He doesn't recognize he's a Gryffindor?" Remus asked in surprise.

"Did you know every single student in the castle?" Lily asked in disbelief.

Remus shrugged, admitting that.

George however pointed out that the Slytherin's didn't need a spy, because they were coming up in person.

"This can't be good," James said in trepidation. He had been hoping for a nice normal Quidditch practice. Clearly things were about to turn ugly.

Harry verbally agreed.

Wood was outraged, already pelting back towards the ground and steaming that he had booked the field.

"They really can't be there then," Sirius said, getting angry now. "Two teams aren't allowed on the pitch at the same time, it causes too many problems. Wood says he booked it, so they really can't be there."

"That's clearly not stopping them," Remus huffed.

Wood and the Slytherin Captain, Flint, bowed up to each other, Wood all but spitting they had to leave. Flint scoffed and said there was plenty of room for both of them.

"There's hardly enough room for your ugly mug," James snapped, "let alone two teams."

The rest of the team had joined by now, as well as Ron and Hermione coming over. Wood snarled back that he had booked the field!

"He should go and get Madam Hooch then," Sirius said, "she must be close by, she usually is when there's a practice."

"Well she wasn't this time," Harry said, feeling a sense of forbidding again. He had yet another bad feeling that something was going to happen, something about Ron and slugs again?

Flint said that he had special permission from Snape to be there.

"He can't do that," James said at once. "If the teachers could fill up the pitch for the students, there would be too much of a chance for overbooking!"

"This cannot be legit," Sirius said in disgust.

Flint pulled out a bit of paper that had Snape declaring he gave the Slytherin team special permission to practice that day, because they had a new Seeker.

"Teams get new members all the time," Remus snapped, agreeing with his friends about the injustice of this, "that doesn't give them a right to more training."

"Please tell me you took this to Madam Hooch, instead of fighting it out," Lily said at the look on Harry's face, and the way he looked like he was about to start reaching for his wand based on his emotions at the time.

"I can say this," Harry said, digging to try and remember at least slightly what happened next, "we don't practice that day."

The three boys looked more than annoyed at this deceleration, and James read in a real temper now.

From behind the six large boys, the new Seeker came forward with a smirk in place, Draco Malfoy.

Harry rolled his eyes in disgust, why wasn't he surprised?

None of the others looked very shocked either, the little git had to try and beat Harry some other way, since he clearly couldn't do it inside school.

Fred only half recognized him as Lucius' son, and Flint made the comment that it was Lucius Malfoy who had gifted the Slytherin team.

"He bribed his way onto the team you mean," Sirius spat.

"Probably couldn't get on any other way," James said vindictively.

It was then Harry realized all seven members were holding top of the line Nimbus Two Thousand and One brooms.

"Gits," all four boys muttered.

Lily couldn't help but agree with them, but chose to stay out of this for now.

Flint was gloating over this fact, mocking the Gryffindor teams brooms in comparison.

"So," Sirius snapped at once, "there are pros and cons to every broom model. You could have the fastest broom in the world, and you'd still be an awful player."

James suddenly began laughing, saying, "Well you just said it dear Padfoot," he grinned wickedly at his friends, "Malfoy is probably rubbish as a player, but he bought his way onto the team. I doubt Harry will ever lose a single match to those twats."

Harry smiled at his dad, loving the confidence he seemed to have in him.

Ron arrived then, demanding to know why Malfoy was even there. Draco very obviously pointed out his new position, and his new broom he'd acquired for him and his whole team.

"He's not even subtle about it," Remus said in disgust.

Then he made a crude joke about how a museum might buy the Weasley's brooms for a bit of money.

"Oh please," Lily huffed, "that wasn't even funny."

"Malfoy still hasn't gotten any new jokes it seemed," James said, wrinkling his nose in disdain.

Hermione shot back that at least the Gryffindors didn't have to buy their way onto the team, they actually had talent.

"Go Hermione," all five of them praised, glad someone said it.

Malfoy scowled over at her, beginning to call her a mud-

James cut himself off with the look of deepest shame and disgust at what he had been fixing to say.

Sirius and Remus roared in outrage, causing the baby in Lily's arms to begin fussing all over again. Lily noticed, and quickly excused herself from the room, trying very hard not to remember

the last time someone had called her that.

Harry looked around at them. Clearly Hermione had just been insulted, and James hadn't even finished the insult, but Harry instinctively knew what the rest of that word was. Feeling very upset himself, he asked, "What's a mudblood?"

James jaw was tensing so much he looked like the Lockjaw curse had been set on him.

"It's a foul name for a Muggle born, about the worst thing you can call us," Lily said from behind Harry. He turned around and saw his mum, now childless, leaning against the staircase, holding herself instead. She must have gone upstairs to put the baby away.

The anger Harry felt reared up again in tenfold, now he knew for certain something awful happened, and it was because Malfoy had called his friend that.

Lily came back in and sat down in her spot, sighing she said quietly, "Just keep going James. We can't do anything for it now."

"I'm not saying it," James snapped at once, finally breaking his jaw back open, "I refuse to call anyone that."

Lily sighed in annoyance, then said, "well, since we know what he meant, just skip the word and keep going."

James did not look happy, but did as asked, skipping over that foul word but reading the rest of the sentence.

blood. Harry could tell that Malfoy had clearly just insulted his friend, but it wasn't a word he'd ever heard before. The rest of the team clearly had though, as they all began shouting at Malfoy for his use, and Ron went for his wand.

Sirius and Remus grinned viciously, Malfoy deserved whatever curse Ron pegged him with.

James sounded very pleased indeed as he read.

There was a bang, a shot of green light, and Ron was flung backwards as a spell came out of the wrong end of his wand,

"Wait what!" he yelped.

"Oh dear, what curse did Ron try to use?" Lily asked fearfully.

James read quickly.

making him land on the ground, hard.* Hermione sprinted to his side, demanding to know if he was alright, but Ron didn't seem able to answer. He opened his mouth, and instead began vomiting slugs.

"I really want to laugh right now," Sirius said pityingly, "because I wanted that to happen to Malfoy. Poor Ron."

"Worst part is, he clearly did that spell properly, and the wand backfired on him," Remus said, wincing in sympathy.

"No the worst part is, there's no counter-curse to that," James said, feeling really bad for Ron. He had stood up for his friend, and gotten hit for it by his own wand, "now he's going to be stuck like that for at least the next twelve hours."

Harry sighed, feeling really bad for Ron.

Lily was the only one smiling though, she felt warmed that Ron had done something like this, the opposite of what her supposed 'friend' had done all those years ago.

The Slytherin's reacted typically enough, each one of them collapsing to the ground in gales of laughter. The Gryffindors didn't seem to know how to react, no one seemed to want to

touch Ron.

"Not even his brothers," James huffed.

"Well like you said," Sirius said sadly, "not much they can do for the poor kid."

"They could still get those bloody Slytherins back while they're distracted," Remus pointed out.

"Remus!" Lily yelped.

Sirius however, clapped Remus on the shoulder, grinning with pride as he said, "and that's why we kept you around Moony. Always keeping us on point."

Harry and James were both laughing very loudly now, while Lily just rolled her eyes in annoyance at all four of them.

Harry suggested they take him to Hagrid's.

"Better than anything else they could do," James agreed, still fighting back bursts of laughter. He wasn't so angry anymore, Ron had tried to do the right thing after all.

Harry and Hermione each took up one of Ron's arms and began hoisting him to his feet, just as Colin arrived. He asked if he could get a picture of Ron as yet more slugs began pouring out of his mouth, while also asking how Harry was going to fix him?

"Why would he think that?" Harry asked, "Do I look like I know how to fix him?"

Lily smiled sadly at her son, the younger boy was clearly putting Harry on some kind of pedestal, probably viewing Harry the same way Hermione obviously viewed Lockhart.

Harry ignored him and pushed him out of the way as they began dragging Ron the distance to Hagrid's hut, and almost made it there when the door opened and out stepped Gilderoy Lockhart.

"Bloody hell, this guy's like a doxie infestation, they just keep cropping up!" Sirius said in disgust.

"Well I've had plenty of practice hiding from him by now," Harry reminded him, making them all feel better at once.

Harry quickly ushered them into a bush, much to Hermione's disappointment.

"For such a smart kid, she seems remarkably blind this year," Remus noted.

"She's just star struck," Lily said, "hopefully it will wear off."

Lockhart was still talking even as he exited, offering Hagrid to buy a copy of one of his books. Then he waved goodbye, and Harry made sure he was out of sight and heading back towards the castle,

"Whatever he was saying, I doubt it was actually useful," Remus huffed.

before he eased himself out and went to knock on the door himself. Hagrid answered with a rather grumpy look in place, which instantly cleared away when he saw who it was. He invited them inside and hardly seemed bothered by Ron's problem as he was lowered into a chair.

"Guess he's seen worse," James agreed.

Acting almost cheerful as he told Ron it was better they go out then in,

Sirius and Remus really did laugh then, James agreeing, "true enough."

while handing Ron a bucket. Hermione said that she didn't know a way to stop it, as it was a rather difficult curse to be pulling off even without a broken wand.

"Shows a lot of his potential though," Lily said fondly, "he'd probably be doing far better in all of his classes once he got his own wand. That is Charlie's broken wand if you recall."

"We remember," James agreed.

Hagrid began puttering around his hut, making them tea as Harry asked what Lockhart had been doing here? Hagrid grumbled that the man had been offering him advice of all things on how to take care of a kelpie problem.

"Oh please," Remus scoffed, "I am convinced that idiot is all books, no talent. The worst kind of Ravenclaw."

"That's still being overly kind," James scoffed, "since he clearly doesn't even know how to handle what he does read and write about."

Hagrid grumbled that he didn't believe a word of what that man had been saying, exclaiming that if half of it was true he'd eat his own kettle.

"Wonder if he annoys everyone around school like that?" Lily asked.

"I think he does," Harry said, "at least, none of the teachers seemed happy with him all year."

"Can't imagine why," Sirius faked shock.

Harry felt a jolt of surprise, as it wasn't like Hagrid to insult the teachers, and Hermione even tried to defend Lockhart as she said Dumbledore seemed to find him to be the man for the job. Hagrid corrected that Lockhart was the only man for the job, as he was the only one who applied. That curse on the DADA job had spooked away everybody else.

"So we were right," James sighed, "kind of almost wish we weren't."

"Can't even imagine what kind of idiot you're going to get next year," Remus agreed.

People were starting to call the post jinxed.

"Starting to?" Sirius laughed, "the post has been cursed for how many years now?"

"And not one single person had lasted more than a year, in that many odd years," James finished, "yeah, it's a real mystery why people aren't willing to try anymore."

Then Hagrid changed the subject by asking who Ron had been trying to curse? Harry said Malfoy, because he'd called her something bad. Ron agreed and told Hagrid that he'd called her a

James broke off again, looking disgusted, but Lily said gently, "James dear, if Ron can say it about his best friend, just spit it out. We all know you don't mean it."

"Doesn't make me feel any better about saying it," he huffed, but took a breath, and winced as he finished.

mudblood. Hagrid was shocked and looked just as outraged, which only confused Hermione all the more as she said she had no idea what that meant.

"Guess she couldn't have come across that in a book," Remus agreed.

Ron explained that it was the worst kind of insult you could call a muggleborn, it meant dirty blood. Since Malfoy was a pureblood, it made him feel superior enough to insult anyone who wasn't. He explained all of this while still occasionally having to spit a slug out of his mouth in the process.

"I am rather curious why Ron knows this," Sirius said, "surely he's never come across it, since his family would never say something like that, plus being a pureblood, nobody would have called him that."

"I asked that night," Harry said, having wondered this same thing, "he was in Diagon Alley with his dad and his co-worker Perkins. Well they got stopped inside the Leaky Cauldron by this guy, Mr. Weasley later told Ron his name was Yaxley. Yaxley, called Mr. Perkins a Mudblood, and Tom the barkeep kicked Yaxley out. Mr. Weasley told Ron what had happened afterwards, since

he didn't understand at the time obviously. Ron was only eight or something."

"That's awful," Lily huffed, "for someone to go around like that in public, did Yaxley even know who this Mr. Perkin's was? You can't tell if someone's muggle born just by looking at them!"

"Ron didn't know, he's never asked," Harry said.

"I'm not too surprised," Remus said sadly, "I've seen a lot of pretty similar instances."

"Now you guys are really depressing me," Sirius said, forcing himself into brighter tones he said. "Can we move on now?"

James was more than happy to comply.

Then Ron said that the whole blood thing was pointless really, if you took people like Neville into consideration. He was a pureblood as well, but terrible at most brands of magic. Hagrid praised Hermione as well, saying she was the brightest witch there was, making Hermione blush. Ron continued by pointing out that most of their kind were half-bloods anyways, since if wizards hadn't married Muggles they would have died out.

"Couldn't have put it better myself," James said with pride.

Then Ron retched again and had to go back to sticking his face in the bucket.

"Poor kid," Sirius said again.

Hagrid did say though that it was probably a good thing Ron's curse had backfired, as Lucius himself would have come up to the school if his son had been hexed.

"I'll take that trade any day," James huffed, "I'll back Ron up in an instant. Malfoy deserved it."

"I'm sure Ron's parents would have as well," Lily agreed, "he was standing up for a friend."

Then he added on that at least Ron wasn't in trouble. Harry wanted to point out that vomiting slugs was something he'd consider trouble,

"Yeah, you've got a point there," Sirius grimaced.

but because he'd taken of bite of Hagrid's offered dessert, he couldn't seem to unclench his teeth.

James couldn't help but chuckle a bit then, Remus saying, "I see Hagrid's cooking hasn't gotten any better."

"And it never will," Harry said brightly, he missed Hagrid a lot.

Then Hagrid turned his attention to Harry, a joking look taking hold as he demanded of Harry how come he hadn't gotten a signed photo from him yet?

The four of them couldn't help but crack a grin at that, Hagrid was clearly messing with Harry, though the boy looked far from amused.

Harry was so indignant he wrenched his jaws apart and snapped that Lockhart shouldn't be still spreading that around! Hagrid pacified him, laughing and brushing it off, saying how he'd told Lockhart that Harry was ten times more famous then him without trying. Harry grinned back now, saying how he was sure Lockhart hadn't appreciated that, and Hagrid agreed it did seem to annoy him. Lockhart had then brought up the subject of one of his books, and Hagrid voiced he'd refuse to ever buy one, which is when Lockhart had taken his leave.

"Thank you Hagrid," Sirius said with a straight face, "now I know the perfect way to get rid of him."

Hagrid then asked Ron if he'd like some food, and Ron politely declined that may not be the best thing for him now as he still looked fairly green.

"I found a plus side to vomiting slugs," Lily said lightly, "a polite way to say no to someone's cooking."

"I'll keep that in mind," James said seriously.

Hagrid then offered them all outside to look at some pumpkins he was growing for Halloween, and they all went outside to find them to be bigger than boulders.

"Wow," Remus said in surprise, "wish he did that more often. That must be quite the sight."

Hagrid was quite proud of this, saying they should be more then big enough come the holiday.

"Bigger than boulders?" Sirius laughed. "How big is he trying to get them?"

Harry asked what Hagrid had been giving them, and Hagrid gave a rather shifty look to where his pink umbrella was resting against his cabin.

They couldn't help but smile indulgently at Hagrid, no wizard could blame him for his actions there.

Harry had a very good reason to suspect this umbrella wasn't all it looked, in fact Harry had a strong impression Hagrid may have hidden his old school wand inside that battered object.

"Only a strong impression?" James asked, "I thought you had a better gut feeling then that?"

"I do," Harry assured, "but since I've never been able to prove it, I just put it like that."

"Fair enough," Sirius chuckled.

Hagrid wasn't supposed to use magic, since he'd been expelled during his third year. Harry had asked what happened once, but Hagrid tended to obviously change the subject whenever it happened. Hermione praised the size of the pumpkins, and Hagrid said that Ginny had said the same thing. She seemed to have come around a few times in fact, perhaps hoping to run into someone, he finished with a suggestive look at Harry.

"I see Ginny's still as awestruck as Colin," Remus said lightly, trying to avoid making it a joke at Harry's expense again.

Harry told Hagrid to shut it, causing Ron to snort with laughter, sending even more slugs spraying forward.

"Ouch," all five of them muttered, that had to be worse than puking them up.

Hagrid quickly pulled Ron away from his vegetables, not wanting those slugs anywhere near them. As it was getting close to lunchtime, the three of them decided it was time to head back to the castle for some food, Ron still hiccupping from time to time but only bringing up smaller slugs now.

"That's the nice stage of the spell," James said sadly, "the poor kids going to have a come back later that night. One of the reasons that spells so tricky, it has a delayed effect."

They only just got inside though when Professor McGonagall got a hold of them, telling them that they would be doing their detentions that night.

"Damn," Sirius drew the word out, "can we have a real discussion about McGonagall's awful timing of late?"

James did agree, but ignored the stupid question anyways.

She told Ron's first, saying he would be polishing up the trophy room, with no magic, under the supervision of Filch.

"At least it's a normal punishment this time," Remus said weakly.

"Hope Ron's 'comeback' doesn't happen then," Sirius said.

Then she told Harry that he would be helping Lockhart.

"Say what?" Lily yelped.

"I thought they banned torture?" Sirius spluttered.

"Wow, that's a new low, even for her," James said in disgust.

"I think I'd rather take the fine," Remus said, getting annoyed already at having to spend any length of time with that jerk.

Harry tried to protest, asking if he could do the trophy room as well, but McGonagall cut him off and told him it wasn't his right to pick his punishment.

"Guess that is a first for her," Sirius agreed "students don't usually ask for other detentions."

"I don't blame Harry one bit for this though," James huffed.

Then she said that Lockhart had asked for Harry by name.

"Great, just great, a night of my life," Harry said in disgust.

She told them the times they were to be there, then walked off, leaving both boys feeling truly miserable, and Hermione a rather 'well you did deserve it' look.

"She has an expression for that?" Remus asked, trying to change the subject for Harry's sake.

"Yeah, we saw it a lot during the first half of last year," Harry said, a little distracted.

Harry and Ron didn't savor their lunch nearly as much as they thought, both boys convinced they'd received the worst punishment.

"Oh Harry got the worse deal by far," James said at once.

Ron bemoaned that he'd be at his task for hours, he'd never had to clean things like a muggle before. Harry grumbled that he'd happily swap, he had more the enough practice from the Dursleys.

"The way you say it like that," Lily huffed, never appreciating those random comments by her son "that's not normal."

Harry shrugged, it was true.

Harry was going to have to sit around and listen to Lockhart for hours though! They weren't getting out of it though, so at eight o'clock he showed up and grudgingly knocked on the professor's door and went inside. Inside, the office was decked out of photos of the man himself.

"Here I thought his head couldn't get any bigger," Remus snorted in disgust.

He lead Harry inside and set him the task of addressing where the envelopes will go, then launched into tail after tail about all of his remarkable adventures. Harry wasn't really listening, just saying things like 'mm' and 'yeah' whenever there was a pause.

"Better than me," Sirius groaned at the mere thought of that, "I would have just ignored him."

Occasionally he caught a phrase like 'celebrity is as celebrity does,' and that Harry should remember all of these important lessons.

"If Harry remembers anything about you, it will be the hundreds of people you hoodwinked into thinking you're a decent person," Lily snapped.

Harry was left with only the melting candles to mark time, thinking over and over again that it must be time to leave!

"I note McGonagall didn't say what time he could leave," James said miserably, wishing now he could have given Harry yet another of his old things, that two way mirror would have come in handy by then.

"That's for the punishing teacher to decide," Remus reminded him, though James of all students should have known that himself from all of his detentions, "so it's up to Lockhart."

Harry's aching hand was dragging across yet another envelope when he heard it for the first time. A terrible voice, one he'd never heard before in his life, that sounded like ice come to life.

"Err, James, now's not the time for those kinds of jokes," Lily said, looking a little queasy as to why her husband would have said something like that.

"I wasn't joking," he whispered, looking suddenly very upset. That had been very close to the way Harry had described Voldemort's voice last year...it couldn't be possible Voldemort was hanging around Lockhart to...was it?

James didn't give his friends a chance to put their two cents in, he read the words quickly.

It began to whisper 'come, let me kill.'

Harry shuddered in disgust, his Dad wasn't doing a very good job of capturing just how creepy that voice had been.

"Damn James," Sirius muttered, rubbing where his heart was, "I was putting money on a student trying to scare someone with a creepy voice, but I can't see many students saying that."

"You don't think," Remus began hesitantly, "perhaps Vol-"

"Don't." Lily snapped, her eyes suddenly shining brightly, "just don't. I can't stand it if Voldemort's come back again this year. Let's say Sirius is right for now, and skip past this to Lockhart wetting his pants."

Harry was rubbing his temple again, there was something about what his Mum had just said that didn't feel right, but James only seemed reassured enough to read on.

Harry jumped so hard that he nearly upset his ink bottle. He screeched 'what' loudly, and Lockhart only seemed to vaguely notice as he repeated that he had indeed been on the bestseller list for months and had broken records.

There was a very nasty pause at Lockhart's words, surely the guy would have freaked out as much as Harry had.

James kept going in a very uneasy tone of voice.

Harry corrected that he'd meant the voice, and Lockhart sounded truly mystified as he asked what voice?

"He didn't-" Sirius broke off, looking worriedly at Harry he tried again, "Lockhart wouldn't have been faking it?"

"I don't see how," Harry huffed, now rubbing his temple in real pain, "it was loud enough to me, but he didn't react at all."

All four of them exchanged very uneasy looks now. Why had Harry suddenly heard a voice someone else hadn't?

James mind floundered as he tried desperately to think of something, Harry was looking around at all of them clearly very concerned at their reactions.

It was Remus who took a brave stab and said, "I'm sure you ah, heard something like a ghost just being a jerk. Lockhart couldn't hear it over his own prattling."

None of them looked convinced at all, they had lived at that castle for seven years and never heard of anything like a ghost doing that, but James still read on.

Harry insisted he'd heard another voice, and Lockhart simply brushed it off when he saw the time. It was past midnight, surely Harry was just tired.

They were all still too freaked out to make an annoyed comment at Lockhart's not noticing it was midnight!

Harry was finally excused, and quickly made his way back to the common room, feeling jumpy and paranoid. He went up to his dorm and waited up for Ron, who came in a half hour later,

Sirius finally took a brave stab at attempting normal conversation again, "Guess you should be lucky you got the detention you did. Filch has kept me there since two sometimes, he liked making me stay late."

"Maybe that's because you insulted him while you worked," Remus said distractedly, still straining his mind for a reasonable explanation to Harry's problem.

the boy cradling his arm in pain as he explained it hurt to even move it. He'd had to buff the Quidditch Cup fourteen times.

"Why was the Quidditch cup in the trophy room?" Lily asked distractedly, "I thought, since Slytherin won last year, Snape would have it."

"Snape lent it to Filch that night, just for Ron's detention," Harry said bitterly, having asked that very thing the next morning.

Plus he'd begun to vomit slugs all over again on some Special Award for Services to the School.

"Poor kid," Sirius said for the final time, hoping that was the last of that curse.

Harry cut in and told Ron that he'd heard a voice Lockhart hadn't seemed to. Ron asked why Lockhart couldn't have heard it, and Harry said he had no idea.

"That's the end of the chapter," James sighed, passing the book along to Sirius.

HPHPHP

*I'm not sure what to call this, a nonverbal spell? His wand being screwy? Ron just did some very powerful magic though, and it's really glossed over how advanced something about that is.

[fiction-boys-rule]

I Got You

Pairing: Shane Walsh/Sage(OC)

Warnings: drowning, swearing, fluff

Summary: Shane reluctantly lets Sage go with Daryl into the woods to search for Sophia, unaware of the unfortunate event that will follow. While on the search with Daryl, Sage suddenly gets put in danger, forcing her to be separated from Daryl and the rest of the group.

    Before joining Rick's group and meeting Shane, I had never believed that being in a group with other people was paramount to being successful in surviving the hell bent apocalyptic world that humanity has to live in now. Up until meeting the group that I am a part of now, I had dealt with the consequences of the zombie apocalypse by myself. Sure, I had encountered many dangers and setbacks of being alone, but I never thought that I would feel the need to change my survival skills in the future.

     One hot day while scavenging for water, I found a small shack and I woke up to a crossbow being pointed at my face. That was my first introduction to Daryl. He had convinced me to join his group and I soon met Shane and Rick, who gave off strong leadership roles. A few months after joining the group, I became disliked by many. I was commanding and defensive, and speaking your mind without limit was frowned upon by many. But I ended up catching the attention of someone I never would have expected to be interested in me. Shane and I soon became close friends and he and Rick supported me and defended me with the group and my opinions regarding crucial decisions for the group.

     About two months ago, Shane and I were sent on a run by Rick and we ended up getting pretty hot and heavy inside of an abandoned building. I refused to take it any further physically and was surprised when Shane respected my decision. Since then, I have seen a much gentler side of Shane than I had ever expected. We managed to keep our relationship pretty secret for a while, mostly since I wanted privacy and Shane is one of my first actual boyfriends. Following the reveal of our secret, people have been much more wary of me and many have stopped openly defying and judging me. I would say I like it this way, but I don't like that it took for me to get in a relationship with an ex cop to gain respect and fear from everyone who hates me.

     Truthfully, I would say Daryl and Shane are my only friends. I have always been more of a socially closed off person and I don't tend to trust easily. But I am fine with spending most of my time helping Rick and Shane with anything they need. In this time, people can be a liability. The fewer people you are close to, the better off you are.

"Need help with that?" Daryl asks.

"No, I'm good. Do you want any help later today with your search for Sophia? I know you hate people worrying about you, but the thought of anyone going alone into those woods is pretty batshit crazy and stupid."

"Guess I'll be batshit crazy then."

"Daryl, seriously. I don't have much to do around here anyway. Shane always has me on a tight leash and it's about time I start going out and doing things myself. Without him always looking over my shoulder."

"I'm leavin' when the sun starts to set. Meet me at the stables."

I nod, walking into the house and setting down the basket full of plants and other herbs.

"Maggie, I seriously don't know why you make me do this. Half of these plants I just guessed with because they all look the same. How can you read books about plants?" I hold up the book of natural remedies and she grins.

"Hey, Sage. I just wanted to take some work load off my dad. He has been drainin' himself too much. Which means it's about time I start leadin' around here. I'm sure you did fine. Even if you did that bad, practice makes perfect."

"Whatever you say. Need any more help?"

"No, your lesson on making the remedies will be tomorrow." she grins.

I groan, faking annoyance. She laughs as I walk out of the kitchen and into the living room, seeing Rick sitting on a couch.

"We're all out there busting our asses and you're in here relaxing on your ass?" I grin, sitting next to him.

"Well, look who's talkin'. The girl who came in here to sit her own ass down on the couch."

"Smartass." I tease.

He chuckles, laying back, "Just so you know, I'm goin' back to workin' once Carl is out of the woods."

"You do know we are technically out in the open and the woods are kind of far away from the house?"

He grins, "Who's the smartass now?"

I smack his shoulder, making him laugh even harder. I missed that sound. He's been through so much and I feel so bad for him and Lori. The group doesn't give him enough credit.

"How is he?" my voice softens.

"Gettin' better every day. Just wish he would get better faster."

"Patience, Rick. He lived at least."

"I know. I know." he mumbles.

"Well, this lazy ass needs to go work. Do you know where Shane is?"

"No idea. Don't exactly keep tabs on anyone anymore. How are you holdin' up? I know you like to help, but don't take on too much responsibility."

"Well, who else is going to be able to lead without you doing it?"

"Already thinkin' of usurping my throne, Sage?"

"Honey, I've already taken it."

We laugh, a foreign sound I still have to get used to.

"I'm actually going with Daryl to go searching in the woods. I don't feel good with him going alone. Too much shit going on up here with him," I point to my head and shake it.

Rick nods, sighing, "I know. I would talk to him but he won't listen. Carol is very grateful though."

"Let me know if I can do anything for you as your temporary replacement for the throne. It feels like we don't talk enough."

"Yeah…" he mumbles.

"Alright, well I am going to get going. I'm here for you, Rick. With anything you need. We all are."

"Thank you." he smiles.

I leave, striding out of the house and heading to the pastures. I spot Shane on top of the RV, talking to Andrea. I keep walking, reaching a hill near the woods and stopping at the top. I sit, inhaling the fresh breeze that blows. My hands grasp the grass, and I exhale.

"Hey, baby." Shane greets.

I open my eyes and smile up at him, patting the spot next to me. He sits, groaning.

"You're getting old." I tease.

"And you're not gettin' any funnier." he remarks.

He laughs and I smack his arm, snickering.

"Asshole."

"Well, I'm your asshole."

"Sadly." I tease.

He scoffs, grabbing my forearm and pulling me closer. I pull away, smirking. Standing up, I watch as his eyes stare up at me with a mischievous look in them.

"Can't even take a joke." I say.

"Me? Who became abusive when I said the truth about their humor?" he smirks.

I gasp, crossing my arms and walking away. His hands wrap around my waist and pull me back.

"Let go, Shane!" I exclaim.

He laughs, pulling me further back and he falls to the floor, dragging me down with him. I laugh, yelping as we hit the floor. He groans, hands never releasing me. I try to fight him off, pulling at his hands and attempting to roll away.

"Nah, you ain't goin' anywhere." he whispers, tickling my stomach.

"Shane, stop it!" I plead, laughing and rolling to the side, almost crying from laughter.

He climbs on top of me, hands wandering my body and tickling me even more.

"Shane, stop it!" I yell, making him laugh even harder.

Finally, his hands stop and he falls to the side. I exhale, attempting to catch my breath. I look to the side, staring at him. He is on his side, leaning his face on his hand and looking at me with a boyish grin.

"Fuck you." I mumble.

He smirks, grabbing my hand.

"So abusive." he whines.

"Should have thought about that before you made a move on me in that abandoned building."

"I liked you too much to keep actin' like a friend, Sage. You were too important to pass up. I like you, a lot. More than all of your abuse."

I laugh, smiling at him.

"Any plans for today?"

"Going to help Daryl with the search for Sophia in the woods."

Shane frowns, "You're goin' with him?"

"Yeah, I'm supposed to meet him soon at the stables. I felt bad letting him go alone and no one else has the balls to do what he does."

"I'll just tell Andrea to keep watch and that way I can go with you-"

"Shane. No. I'll be with Daryl. I'll be fine. Plus, we spend all day together. A few hours apart won't kill us."

"Are you sayin' you hate spendin' time with me?" he asks.

"You sure do love to take what I say out of context."

He smirks, and I roll my eyes.

"Plus, I could learn some very useful tracking skills from Daryl. Shane, you need to stop worrying so much. You're going to start getting gray hairs that show how old you are getting from all the stress you put on yourself."

He sighs, looking off towards the farm.

"Hey, I just don't want you overworking yourself. Just like you keep me in check, I need to do that to you too."

He looks back at me, smiling slightly, "Yeah, I just like you. A lot."

"Yeah, you said that already."

He rolls his eyes, "And I don't like you doin' all this stuff. But I guess you're right. Between the gun lessons I'm givin' you and Daryl's trackin' lessons, I feel more confident in you."

"You weren't confident in me before?"

"Now look who's takin' my words out of context."

     We laugh, and he grabs my hand, running his thumb across it. I grab his shirt, pulling him forward. He grins, moving on top of me. Leaning down, he kisses me and I still get that giddy and nervous feeling when we do this. I grab his neck, pulling him down. He groans, moving his leg to have a better position. He pulls away, kissing my neck and chest.

I sigh, combing my hands through his hair, relishing in how soft it always is. He exhales, groaning softly when I lightly scratch the back of his head.

"I love when you do that." he whispers.

"Oh, I can tell." I say.

We laugh, pulling away and sitting up on the grass.

"Andrea and I are due for another run soon. Wouldn't be fair for me to disapprove of you goin' with Daryl. I trust him."

"Yes, what a hypocrite you can be." I tease.

Laying my head on his shoulder, his hand goes around my shoulders.

"I'll be okay."

"I know." Shane mumbles.

"For the record, I like you too. A lot. Even though I don’t say it as often as I should."

"No worries, baby. I know you do. I know." he kisses my forehead, making my heart swell.

"Well, I should probably get going. I don't want to be late and make Daryl stop letting me tag along."

We stand, walking together back to the farm. Arriving at the stables, I release Shane's hand.

"Be careful, alright? Listen to Daryl, for fuck's sake."

"Okay, I know. I'm not a little girl."

"But you can act like one." he smirks.

I gasp, "Thanks, asshole."

I walk into the stables, but Shane pulls me back. His eyes hold a peculiar expression in them when I look up at them.

"I like you. A lot. Come back in one piece, okay?"

"Alright, I will. This is what I'm talking about when I say that you're going to start getting gray hairs from all this stress, by the way."

"I know, I know," he rolls his eyes.

Looking around, he leans down and kisses me. Pulling away, he smiles.

"Don't be late."

"If anything, you're going to make me late." I tease.

I smile one last time at him before walking in. Daryl is at one of the far stables, petting a horse.

"Ready?"

"Yeah. Are we taking a horse?"

"Yeah, goin' to cover more ground. I would give you one of your own, but-" "Trust me, you don't want to do that. I am very inexperienced in that field and am not to be trusted."

"Alright then, get on."

We get on the horse, heading into the woods. The silence is enough to make me uneasy.

"I think I should check out the river bank. You never know."

Daryl huffs, "I don't think that's a good idea." "Daryl, at this rate, we'll be here all night. Come on."

Daryl sighs, stopping the horse.

"Fine. Don't wander off. Holler if you get in trouble. Here, take this knife."

     I get off, walking towards the river. I twirl the knife in my hand, sighing to relax my body. I near the edge of the river, the loud sound of the current speeding past filling my ears. The water from the recent spring downpours have made the river a deadly current that drags everything along with it. My feet crunch the gravel and the water crashes along the rocks. My steps falter when I spot something bright on the rocks in the river. I slowly approach leaning forward to catch a glimpse of the item. 

    A bright pink shoe is nestled between two rocks. It could be Sophia's. I should probably get it and take it back to see if Carol can say if it is Sophia's. I sigh, slowly stepping on a rock at the edge. The frightening conclusion comes into my mind that maybe Sophia fell into the river.

     I hesitate, looking back to the woods. Maybe I should tell Daryl. But I decide against it, fearing that the shoe will float away. I step forward, slowly progressing towards it and stepping carefully on the rocks to not slip. I reach the shoe and reach forward, straining my arm to reach it.

"Sage!" Daryl yells, startling me.

I turn, seeing a walker in the water with its hands reaching for my foot. Daryl jumps off the horse, making his way towards me. I turn too fast, and my body leans backward. I lose my balance, and fall backwards.

He isn't going to make it.

I fall into the water, gasping as the cold water soaks my back. I hold my breath as I fall in the water, body in a state of shock from the freezing temperature of the water.

'Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.'

A sinking feeling occurs in my stomach when a terrifying reminder enters my mind.

I can't swim.

I swing my arms, reaching for something, anything. Opening my eyes, they sting and it's useless, I can’t see anything. My foot scrapes on something and fuck, the pain.

My head resurfaces, and I don't see Daryl anymore, I just hear the loud current. I take a quick but deep breath before my body sinks back down.

'Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This is how I die. This is it.'

My body feels heavy and my mind is telling me to keep going, but my body is protesting.

Suddenly, my body feels weightless. I reach, grasping, but I only grasp air.

I want to scream, but nothing comes out. I am blinded by bright light and them my back hits something hard. My ears are ringing and fuck, my head is throbbing.

I groan, breathing heavily.

"Fucking shit," I groan, grabbing my back. I wipe my eyes, looking around. I landed on a rock. Turning slightly and ignoring the pain from my neck, I see that I fell down a small waterfall into a small creek.

"Just my fucking luck." I whisper.

    I lay back down, body on fire. I don't want to move, I can’t move. A strong gust of wind blows, making me shiver. I exhale, looking to my left. A set of bigger rocks leads to an embankment with trees and some shelter. I exhale, gasping as I attempt to sit up. My whole back throbs in protest and I look up, seeing the sunset. It's almost going to get dark. I bite my lip, sighing. I lay back down, afraid to move. Hopefully the rock will be my protection for the night.

    I don't sleep the whole night, afraid that if I fall asleep, I won't wake up again. Every small sound in the distance makes my body tense up and heart race. The pain has reduced to a permanent throb that surrounds the back of my head and neck. My back stings and my body is cold, so cold. I sigh, closing my eyes. I look up at the sky, admiring the bright moon. Shining without a worry in the god damn world. I hope no one is out looking for me. I hate when anyone sacrifices anything for me. The group will do just fine without me. I don't think I can say the same for myself.

Faster than I thought, the sun comes up and fills the creek with golden light, making the water shine and gleam.

I slowly slide off the rock, standing in the shallows. My vision from my left eye is slightly blurry, making me extra wary of my surroundings.

"Follow the sun back home…" I mumble, staring at the sky.

I should have paid more attention during Rick's lessons.

    Walking through the limited forage, I find myself in an area with more clearings, making me anxious. I don't feel very comfortable with being so easily open to being spotted. My feet maneuver themselves easily through the foliage, accustomed to Daryl's lessons and Shane's instincts. I freeze when I hear rustling in the bushes ahead. Crouching, my eyes narrow and my heart pounds.

Rick appears, looking warily around the area. I frown, starting to stand. Rick flinches, raising his gun.

"I'm not dead yet."

He scoffs, lowering his gun and walking towards me.

"You are truly something else, Sage."

"I've been told. Now help me up. I can't stand."

He chuckles, grabbing my elbow and helping me up. He then embraces me tightly in a hug, making me cringe.

"Careful, Lori might come out all of a sudden and beat you over the head with a stick."

"I'll take the hits for you, Sage. Don't worry about that." Rick pulls away, grinning.

"Please tell me Shane didn't go on some vigilante mission to find me."

"He almost did. It took a few of us to hold him back. Daryl tried lookin' for you and came back when it got dark. Shane lost his mind, tried goin' at it with Daryl."

"Fuck," I mumble, "some things never change."

"Shane went with Daryl to go lookin' for you. Don't know when they'll get back."

"What are you doing out here alone? You should be back at the farm taking care of Carl."

"Lori's got it. Didn't want you stayin' out here for longer than needed."

"Rick, you really have to let go of some of that cop mindset."

"Easier said than done."

"Oh, I know. I have to deal with Shane, remember?"

Rick chuckles lightly, shaking his head. We finally make it back to the farm and if Rick hadn't been with me, I would have screamed with joy.

"Hershel's goin' to help you and you'll get better."

"But Hershel should be helping Carl, and I don't want to-"

"Stop bein' as stubborn as me. Come on, let's get inside. You need help."

I sigh, holding on to him tighter as we walk towards the house. Carol and Lori look up, smiling. They come over, hugging me. My back responds with a paralyzing sting, but I hug them back nevertheless.

"Alright ladies, if you'll excuse us, Sage needs to get looked at."

I pull away, smiling lightly as I walk into the house with Rick. Glenn shakes his head and Maggie cries with relief, giving me another painful hug. Hershel walks in, beckoning me into the spare bedroom.

"A little privacy please," Hershel turns to Rick.

Nodding, Rick exits the room and Hershel starts to pick and prod at various parts of my body. I wince when his fingers squeeze on a certain part of my head.

"Slight concussion. You feel like throwin' up?" "No, but my left eye is blurry."

"Hm," he says, moving to my neck. I wince, inhaling.

"I got some medication to give you. No sleepin' for another few hours. I got some ointment for your back but other than that, only time will tell. Just try to rest-"

"Without actually resting." I finish.

He smiles, "Exactly. I'll be back."

I sigh, biting my bottom lip. My luck sure hasn't run out. I hear footsteps and turn, seeing Shane at the door. I smile, patting the space next to me. He walks over, kneeling in front of me. His eyes search my face, hands grabbing mine.

"I'm fine." I mumble.

He nods, leaning in and kissing me. My hands grasp his hair, accustomed to the motion. He pulls back, leaning his forehead on mine. He sighs, thumbs rubbing my neck.

He kisses my forehead before standing and sitting next to me.

"You got some god damn luck."

I laugh, leaning on his shoulder, "Yeah. Guess so."

Hershel walks in, handing the ointment to Shane.

"Rub it on her back. As much as she needs. Make sure she doesn't fall asleep."

Shane nods, glancing over at me. Hershel leaves and I smirk, "Well, put those hands to work."

He scoffs, shaking his head. I turn and Shane pulls up my shirt. I flinch when the cream makes contact with my skin, my back stinging more than before.

"Want me to stop?" Shane asks.

I shake my head, sighing. After a while, the feeling turns to a numb one and the feeling of Shane's hands on my skin is more soothing than painful. He pulls my shirt down, setting the ointment aside. I try to stand, but falter. Shane grabs me, pulling me back down gently.

"I got you. Don't worry. I got you."

His hands make their way into my hair as I settle against his chest.

"I got you." he hums, rocking me back and forth.

[bittysvalentines]

For: @aceinhyperspace

From:@17piesinseptember

♡ ♡ Happy Valentine’s! I hope you the most fantastic of days ♡ ♡

___

Kent laughs a belly laugh. “To be fair, you did hate me.”

“I did not,” Bitty refutes, cheeks turning red. Though that could be the wine.

Jack’s eyebrows lift but he doesn’t say anything.

“I didn’t!” Bitty repeats, then he gets a wicked glint in his eyes and says, “I just sometimes imagined you getting seriously injured and cut from your team.”

Kent launches himself at Bitty to faux-tackle him. Thankfully, Jack’s quick reflexes protect his laptop from crashing to the floor. He moves away from the couch they’re play-wrestling on and stands on the other side of the coffee table away from the flailing limbs.

“Yet even this rivalry had nothing on the years of ingrained tension between previous line mates, Parson and Zimmermann,” Jack continues reading the article.

Kent's face is pressed into Bitty's side but Jack catches the mumbled, “They probably wrote that because you never smiled at me during our face-offs.”

“You never smiled at me either, bud,” he tells Kent.

Kent digs his fingers into Bitty's side and is released. “Oh yeah?” He stands and straightens his t-shirt. “What do you call this.” Kent jumps over the coffee table to get up in Jack’s face and pull his face-off expression.

“It’s a smirk.” Jack tells him.

“Bitty?” Kent looks for support elsewhere.

“Sorry, hun.” Bitty fixes his hair on the couch. “I’m with Jack on this one.”

Kent pouts and spins the laptop around in Jack’s hand.

“The pair were first…Okay, blah, blah, blah, we know this part.” Kent scrolls down the article with a finger. “Blah, blah, blah—Oh. Here we go.”

Kent takes the laptop from Jack and clears his throat. “However, if the hockey fans of the world thought that theirs was the rivalry of this decade, they were in for a shock when the Falconers added Eric “Bitty” Bittle to their roster. Suddenly the apathetic dismissals of Zimmermann seemed genial. Put Bittle against Kent and the ice seemed warm.”

Jack laughs at that and Bitty groans. “Why is there always an ice related pun in these articles?” Bitty laments.

“I like them,” Jack says.

“That’s because your dad humour came in early,” Bitty tells him with perfect derision.

Kent laughs so hard that Jack takes the laptop back off him and sits down beside Bitty. Jack looks between the two of them, Bitty still despairing over the pun, and Kent wiping his eyes as he starts crying with laughter. It’s not the future Jack thought he’d have, not when he first met Kent, not when he first met Bitty, not four years ago when they were all finally in the league together. Reading the article reminds him how far they’ve come.

~FOUR YEARS AGO~

Jack pulls Bitty aside before the match. “You okay there, bud. You seem a little…wound-up.”

“I’m fine.” Jack watches Bitty’s hand clench tightly around his hockey stick.

“Okay.” Jack lets it go, even though he knows Bitty is lying. There isn’t time now to get into it. The Aces are waiting for them on the ice.

Jack takes an embarrassingly long time to figure it out, and in fact, he doesn’t even get there by himself.

Kent skates past him before second interval and hisses, “What’s the new guy got against me?”

Jack watches Bitty in the next play as he pulls a spinorama around Kent and whisks the puck away. It’s not skills, it’s showmanship. Like Bitty’s trying to embarrass Kent.

Jack spies Kent and swings past him, speaking quickly so it’s not obvious. “He knows about our history.”

Kent has to wait until the next pause in play to respond.

“I apologised for that,” Kent speaks angrily. “We both did.”

“I didn’t think I needed to let Bits know that.”

“Well, could ya?” Kent demands, starting to skate away. “He’s being a fucking menace to me.”

Jack doesn’t get a chance to say anything during the game. He makes sure Bitty doesn’t get picked for post-game interviews but by the time he himself has finished, Bitty’s gone from the locker-room. His stuff is still in his nook though, so Jack goes looking. He can’t be far, and Jack has a suspicion he knows which direction Bitty would have gone in.

The two blond heads are easy to spot, and their voices carry in the empty corridor.

“You tweeted me?” Jack can easily picture the ice in Bitty's eyes at that tone.

Kent shrugs and Jack can see Bitty’s hackles rise. “Knew you’d see it. I’ve got something to say to you.”

Jack starts to jog, heart pounding.

Bitty lifts his chin. “Why should I bother hearing it? I’ve got a win to celebrate.”

“You should bother because you played almost as dirty as me out there.”

Eric rolls his eyes. “Hypocritical remarks. Great. I’m leaving.”

Kent reaches out to grab Eric but Jack reaches them in time and puts his body in the middle of them.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Bitty smiles brittlely. “We’re leaving.”

Jack looks from Bitty to Kent.

“Kent, you should say what it is you wanted to.” He doesn’t want this getting into Bitty’s head again at their next game.

Bitty’s jaw slackens. “You’re on his side? That’s the guy who can push you into an anxiety spiral in three sentences! Whose ego is so big that—"

“Woah. Hey, Bits,” Jack interrupts, seeing the curling of Kent’s fists. “We’ve talked about that. It’s in the past. We’ve both apologised to each other.”

Jack keeps his eyes on Bitty, watching his expression thaw ever so slightly.

“Right. Fine. Okay.” Bitty relents for the moment, though Jack knows they’ll be talking about it later. Bitty presses his lips together in a firm line and looks Kent up and down, unimpressed. “I still think you’re a dick,” he tells Kent before stalking back to the locker rooms.

“Back atcha,” Kent shouts to Bitty’s back.

~PRESENT DAY~

“I'm going to the kitchen,” Bitty announces, picking up the empty bottle of wine. “Does anyone want anything?”

Jack shakes his head. “I'm good, bud.”

“Is there more of your hazelnut ice cream?” Kent asks.

“Think so,” Bitty tells Kent. “I'll bring the tub if there is.”

“Love you,” Kent replies, stopping Bitty en route to the kitchen to give him a kiss.

“Love watching him leave,” Kent says to Jack, stealing Bitty's old spot on the couch. Jack agrees wholeheartedly but flicks Kent's ear anyway.

“Ouch,” Kent complains.

Jack smiles at Kent so he knows it's in jest when he says, “Why are you always so crass.”

“You bring it out in me. You're both too hot for my own good.” Kent licks an exaggerated line up Jack's neck so Jack pulls his hair in retaliation.

Bitty re-enters and avoids the ensuing tussle by sitting on the opposite armrest of the couch. “Well, at least I know you didn't read ahead without me,” he interrupts after a few moments.

He takes a scoop from the tub of ice cream in his lap and passes it to Jack.

“Any bets on what the closing paragraph is going to be?” Jack asks. It's a running game for them to predict the path of these articles.

Bitty hums. “I'm thinking something about trade rumours—reuniting the Parson Zimmermann dream team.”

“Good one. How much are we betting?” Jack asks, passing the tub across to Kent, who grabs at it eagerly.

“Ten dollars?”

“Mh. Ten tubs of this ice cream,” Kent says with his mouth full.

“Declined,” Bitty says. “Even if I give you my recipe and watch you cook, it’ll somehow turn out wrong.”

Kent pokes out an ice cream-covered tongue and Jack uses the distraction to steal the tub back.

“Winner gets to choose the theme for our Halloween party this year?” Jack suggests.

“Ooh. I like that one even better actually. I'm in.” Kent holds his spoon aloft. “I'm gonna go with…” He twirls the spoon as he thinks before landing it on Jack's shoulder. “I bet they talk about the Stanley Cup in a way that implies if one of our teams wins it'll prove LGBT-plus players are proficient.”

“Kinda specific,” Jack comments, tipping the tub so Kent can access it. “You’re sure you wanna go with that?”

“No, no. Let him make the weird and specific bet,” Bitty argues. “It's funnier that way. Plus they're actually right half the time.”

~THREE YEARS AGO~

Bitty, stretched out on the couch with phone in hand, laughs. It's the groan that follows it that gets Jack's attention.

“You good?”

Bitty groans again. “I'm annoyed. I was going through Kent's Instagram for his cat and it's hilarious.”

“And that's annoying to you?”

“No. Yes. Probably.” Bitty drops the phone onto his chest and digs his hands into his eyes. “Should it be?”

Jack shuts his book properly and sits on the coffee table so he’s up near Bitty's head.

“You're always number one in my book.”

Bitty drops his hands and smiles at Jack.

“I'm gonna follow him,” he declares.

“Uh…” is all Jack gets out before Bitty hits the follow button.

“And fuck it, his personal one too.”

Jack manages a full, “Are you sure?” this time at least. Bitty still trash talks Kent when they face each other. He doesn't think this will go well.

Jack's worry turns out to be unfounded.

“I really wish you'd bond over something that isn't my clothes,” Jack pleads, watching Kent and Bitty in stitches on the couch.

“But Jack. Jack. Look.” Bitty holds his phone up for Jack to see. His laughter shakes it so much it's tricky to even pick what outfit they're laughing over this time. “Your shoes.”

“Your shoes,” Kent repeats. “Bright yellow.”

“Yellow,” Bitty echoes, nodding sagely in the way only tipsy people can get away with. “And your t-shirt is huge.”

“So huge,” Kent gasps, wiping tears from his eyes. “I bet you twenty bucks Bitty and I could fit in it. Like together. At the same time.”

Jack doesn't think his clothes are that big. He laughs. “Deal. Twenty it is.”

Bitty and Kent share a look and then Jack's racing them down the corridor, trying to stop Bitty from showing Kent their closet.

Kent and Bitty strongarm him into giving them both twenty.

~PRESENT DAY~

“How long is this article, anyway?” Kent asks when Jack pauses between paragraphs.  “They aren’t even up to us coming out yet.”

“I was out before getting drafted,” Bitty points out, licking his spoon clean of the last of the ice cream.

Kent leans over the back of the couch from where he's been pacing and stretches a hand over Jack’s shoulder to reach for the laptop

Jack holds the laptop out away from Kent’s reach.

“Come on. I just wanna see.”

“I’ll lose my place.”

“I’ll find it for you again.”

“And then you’ll—"

“It’s 3000 words,” Bitty interrupts their argument. He holds up his phone at their twin looks. “I googled it.”

Jack scrolls down a little anyway, to appease Kent, then hands the laptop over his shoulder to him. He gets a quick kiss on the cheek for his troubles.

“On National Coming Out Day 2020, Bittle, Parse and Zimmermann came out on social media—”

“Already out,” Bitty repeats.

“—their announcements prompting several other current and retired players to join them over the following months. Though they say they were not together at the time, several months later the trio was spotted apartment hunting by fans, leading to speculation—later confirmed by the players themselves—that they were in a relationship. One year on and—”

Kent stops reading and scoffs. “This is bullshit.” He points a finger at the laptop. Bitty and Jack have to turn on the couch to see. “They didn’t even talk about the parade!”

“Look on the bright side,” Jack says, “at least they're not using that ‘we fell in love over FaceTime’ quote.”

“I stand by that,” Kent claims. Jack believes him, he just likes bringing it up.

“I remember when you said it,” Bitty says, holding his arm out over the back of the sofa to grab Kent's free hand. “I thought it was very sweet.”

“See, Bitty likes it.” Jack knows Kent's teasing from the easy smile on his face but he plays along.

“I didn't say it wasn't sweet,” Jack points out. ‘I just meant, it certainly wasn't the full story.”

“Well that one wasn't appropriate for mass media,” Kent replies.

“No!” Bitty says with overdone shock, hand pressed to his chest. “Spending a long weekend with us and bottling up your supposedly unrequited feelings only to confess those feelings over FaceTime the second you flew into McCarran, then hop on another plane straight back to us? That's not appropriate?”

“I meant more the stuff that happened after.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Always so crass.”

“That wasn't crass, that was suggestive.”

“Pee-can, pe-cahn,” Jack replies.

Kent sticks his tongue out.

“We're glad you did it,” Bitty says, pulling on their still linked hands to kiss him.

Kent returns to the article, making his way slowly around the couch.

“They’ve put in that blurry phone pic again,” he sighs. “Why do people always use that one? We weren't even together yet.”

“Jack’s ass in those jeans,” Bitty says at the same time Jack says, “Bitty’s hand in your hair.”

Jack waits for the inevitable follow-up. He catches Bitty’s eyes and knows he’s doing the same.

Three, Bitty mouths.

Two, Jack mouths back, grinning.

One.

“But my eyes are shut!” Kent complains with his usual dramatic flair.

Jack and Bitty start laughing.

“What? Guys, what?” Kent asks sulkily.

Bitty gasps. “You say that every time.”

“Well my eyes are shut every time,” Kent replies, defensive.

“At least it’s not the picture from your birthday last year,” Jack points out.

Bitty shudders beside him. “Amen.”

~ONE YEAR AGO~

The flash from the camera is blinding.

“Take the flash off,” Jack shouts over the groans of people who’ve been half-blinded.

“Yeah, take it off.” The way Kent’s hands are snaking into the waistband of his pants makes it clear he’s not talking about the camera flash.

“Sorry!” Bitty says, adjusting the setting. “Okay, final one y’all.”

Bitty starts the self-timer then dashes to squeeze himself into the group. He jumps on Jack’s back and almost topples them both over by throwing an arm to wrap around Kent’s shoulders.

After the camera clicks, Bitty pulls them both by the hand over to the camera. He brings up the final photo and zooms in on the three of them.

“Dear lord.” Bitty flips the camera so they can see.

“Holy shit,” Jack exclaims.

Kent grabs the camera and zooms in even more, laughing. “I love this photo. This is the best birthday photo ever. I’m gonna print it and frame it and keep a copy in my wallet.”

“Isn’t it a litte, uh, N-S-F-W?” Jack can’t help but say.

Bitty groans. “Jack, please don’t tell me you just—”

He grins and confirms Bitty’s fears. “Not safe for wallet.”

Bitty headbuts Jack’s chest. The blond hairs tickle his skin and he’s pretty sure the body paint is going to rub off onto Bitty’s forehead. “No! That’s a fine. I’m calling it. Give me a kiss to make up for it. Right now.”

Jack happily obliges.

“You owe me one too,” Kent tells Jack, already leaning in for it. “Oh my god, that pun was bad.”

Kent laughs into Jack’s mouth as he kisses him, and Jack tries hard to shut him up with his tongue. It’s not that effective.

~PRESENT DAY~

“Oh. Is that it?” Kent sounds disappointed to have finished the article, for all his ribbing earlier. “No one guessed the ending then. Damn.”

Jack reaches over and closes the internet window before Kent hits the comments section. They’ve learnt to leave that be. It’s always the negative ones that stick with you.

Kent puts the laptop on the coffee table then twists on the couch so he can lean against the armrest and stretch his legs out over Jack’s lap.

“Not the best, not the worst,” Bitty remarks from Jack’s other side.

“There wasn’t anything new in it, at least,” Jack comments.

“Yeah, because we’re like the boring married people in the NHL now.” Kent manages to sound sad and relieved at once.

“Kenny, we’re neither of those things,” Jack says, rubbing a palm along Kent’s leg.

“Soon though,” Bitty says, smiling, stretching his left hand across to rest over Jack’s on Kent’s leg. The diamond flecks in the gold band catch the light. “I’m looking forward to a boring married life with you two.”

[raendown]

All I was trying to do was answer an ask and I accidentally a whole fic. Again. 

Anyway, follow the link or read it under the cut!

Good Morning (After)

His first thought was I don’t know where I am and it occurred to him before he even opened his eyes to check. He couldn’t remember anything of the night before. Well, that was a lie. He remembered thinking for some reason that Hashirama’s jokes were funnier than usual, laughing and leaning up against a warm body as he tried to catch his breath. Tobirama was fairly sure the last time he did more than snicker sadistically was last year when he watched Izuna attempt a new shuriken jutsu and accidentally slice off half a foot of his own hair.

After the first thought, his second was this is not my bed. He could tell because this one was softer than his own, the mattress molding to the shape of his body, and the pillows were thicker than the ones he preferred to sleep on. There was also something large and heavy draped atop his midsection that certainly would not have been there if he were at home in his own chambers. 

It went without saying that his brain was moving a little slower than usual. There was a severe pounding inside his skull and his eyes felt as though they were pressing outwards to escape the sensation. His tongue tasted like one of his experiments that had been left out in the sun to ferment and his stomach appeared to be taking a journey across open waters without his express permission. 

Were he functioning at full capacity Tobirama might have thought to sweep his surroundings with a subtle finger of chakra, to feel for other signatures or familiar settings. Unfortunately for him the thought did not come quick enough. He was beaten to the punch by a disgruntled moan from somewhere around his belly. Which seemed strange, really. His stomach didn’t usually make such noises.

His eyes opened slowly, peeling apart with difficulty as though he had slathered his face in glue or honey before falling asleep. Grimacing at the sensation of it – and at the pain in his head - Tobirama looked down to see what was putting such heavy pressure on his abdomen.

“Sweet sage above kill me now...”

Madara looked back at him uncomprehendingly. His hair was twice as wild as usual but even that could not hide the vibrant red teeth marks on one side of his neck. Something dark (Tobirama hoped it was chocolate and not blood) was smeared down the forearm he had been using to clutch one pale hip. His dark eyes were blinking sluggishly as he struggled to pull his facial features back in to some semblance of human representation. 

The moment he succeeded it was ruined again, his expression immediately morphing in to something out of some eldritch horror tale.

“What.” It wasn’t even phrased as a question. 

Tobirama’s headache increased just looking at him. And with good reason. The farther he forced his eyes open the more he could see of their very compromising situation. He wasn’t sure what to feel about the tale it told. 

Both of them were very obviously naked. Where Tobirama had passed out on his back, Madara had fallen asleep spread out on his front - with Tobirama’s thighs thrown over his shoulders and his head pillowed in the crease of the younger man’s groin. From the way his eyes were twitching it was obvious how hard he was trying not to look down at what was now sitting down below his chin. 

“We didn’t...um...” What he really wanted to say was please tell me we didn’t. Madara blinked owlishly. 

“I think it’s rather obvious that we did,” he replied. “Or at least tried. Did...did we pass out while I was-?”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence!”

Madara’s jaw snapped shut and the two of them glared at each other, one man holding himself up just enough for his head to hover mere inches above the other’s soft cock. 

“Hashirama can’t find out about this.”

“Kami no!” Tobirama shuddered at the very thought. “Never. His reaction would be horrible.” 

His reaction would be to start planning their wedding and burst in to tears every time they so much as stood within ten feet of each other. As Tobirama was fairly sure that Madara was currently planning escape routes, that wasn’t something either of them wanted to deal with. 

“So what do we do then?” It said something that Madara was asking him for ideas, asking him to lead them out of this situation they had found themselves in. Too bad his brain was pounding too heavily for him to figure out what that something was.

“We keep our mouths shut, obviously.” Tobirama wrinkled his nose when Madara sneered at him. “Go fuck yourself.” 

“I think it’s evident that, if anything, it would be me fucking you, Senju.”

“Evident how? I see no evidence!” 

“Who’s the one on their back, hm?” 

Tobirama snarled, raising himself on to his elbows and trying not to show how the chance in position made him sway a little. “That means nothing! You could just as easily have planned to ride me.” 

“I think not!” 

The snarky comeback on the tip of his tongue was bitten off and swallowed as a fresh wave of pain rolled through him. He sank back to the mattress with a pitiful groan and both hands reached for his temples, already glowing with green chakra by the time they touched his hairline. He massaged small circles as the rudimentary iryo jutsu did its work, smothering the pain and clearing his mind. 

Finally it no longer felt as though his head was going to explode. He raised himself back up on to his elbows, tensed to snap something else at Madara, only to be stopped by the puppy eyes the older man was giving him. 

“What are you looking at me like that for?” he demanded. 

“I didn’t know you knew any healing jutsu...”

“Who do you think did all the research for Hashirama to learn it? I don’t have nearly the skill for it he does but I picked up a few along the way.” 

“I don’t suppose...” It was slightly terrifying that someone as constantly angry as Madara could make such devastating puppy eyes. He was nearly as good at it as Hashirama was. 

Not that Tobirama was moved by them. Absolutely not at all. 

“Why should I?”

Madara shifted - and it occurred to Tobirama to wonder why he hadn’t yet removed himself from his compromising position between another man’s legs. He was still belly-down with a pale thigh over each shoulder and his chin very nearly resting in a bed of wiry white curls. 

“Don’t be selfish, I feel just as shitty as you did!”

“Well you’re being an asshole. Why should I help you?”

“I’m always an asshole.”

Tobirama snorted. “A truer statement, you have never made.”

“And yet you still wanted to sleep with me.”

“Probably your idea.”

“Oh...” The moment Madara smirked Tobirama could smell trouble. “You don’t remember do you? You did have more to drink than I did...” His grin was vicious, sharp-edged and painted with victory. 

“I don’t need to remember! There is no way I could have been the one to suggest such...such...activities with you of all people!”

Madara was chuckling. It was not a good sign.

“You really don’t remember. I see where all the attitude is coming from now.”

With a small wriggling movement he managed to shake Tobirama’s legs off of his back, freeing him to lift himself up on to his hands and knees. The younger man made an indignant squawk when his surprise bed mate began to crawl up his body, 

“What do you think you’re doing!?” 

“Why so shy all of a sudden?” Madara’s grin widened, every single tooth on display, and it made him look like a predator on the hunt as he crawled forward. “You certainly weren’t shy last night.”

“I-” Tobirama was uncomfortably aware of the fact that they were both still naked. “I have no memory of last night. You could be making that up.” He hated how weak his voice sounded. He hated that he wasn’t even trying to get away, just watching Madara come closer with a nervous expression. 

“I’ll make you a deal, Senju.”

“My first instinct is to say no...”

“Get rid of my headache too”-Madara’s knees were straddled across Tobirama’s hips, his hands planted on either side of the younger man’s head. He leaned down until their faces were only inches apart and whispered-”and I’ll ride you like you so obviously want me to.” 

It took a few moments for Tobirama to respond, too busy forcing his breathing back in to regular patterns and reminding his heart to beat. He swallowed twice before the words would come out, ignoring the self-satisfied look in Madara’s eyes. 

“You’re bluffing,” he whispered back, further ruining his own image by licking his lips. 

“Am I?” Madara asked. Still smirking, he very deliberately lowered himself until his weight settled down over Tobirama, a pale cock nestled between his ass cheeks, already half-hard. 

“You can’t honestly...we...you don’t...” As the blood flowed away from his brain and down to more interesting areas of his body, Tobirama rapidly lost the ability to string enough words together to form a proper sentence. Madara seemed more amused than upset by this. 

“Come now, you were quite eager for it last night.”

His hips shifted, grinding himself ever so gently down on to the cock beneath him, and Tobirama didn’t quite manage to stifle the way his breath hitched with want. 

“You’re not seriously trading sex as payment for me curing your hangover?”

“Hmph. Obviously not.” Madara leaned down just a little bit more, until his hot breath washed over Tobirama’s lips with each word he spoke. “I’m going to fuck you anyway. All I offer is a chance for you to fuck me first. If you get rid of this damnable headache.” 

Tobirama’s hands were limned in dull green chakra before he’d even consciously decided to agree. He tried hard to ignore the blush on his face as he raised them to either side of Madara’s head, softly rubbing small circles on sharp temples as he had done to his own before. The moan he received for his capitulation made him shiver and close his eyes for a brief talk with his own body abut self-control. 

When he opened his eyes again Madara was only just doing the same thing. His hands lowered back down to his sides and the two of them stared at each other for a moment that felt as though it lasted forever.

Then suddenly Madara was kissing him, messy and heated and everything he had secretly dreamed about for much too long now. It tasted awful with their combined morning breath and he could not have cared less. Tobirama’s hand was already reaching for the lube even as he made a mental note to give thanks to whatever deity had granted him this unexpected wish come true. 

[skippyin]

The Dragon Angus Theory

I don’t know how many people know about this particular TAZ Theory but I discovered it last night in the TAZ Subreddit. There are thread discussions about this here and here. There could be more but these were the two I found.

In summary, the theory in general pertains to the fact that Angus might not be all that he seems, and that he might be a dragon in disguise. Specifically a Silver Dragon. Under the cut because this came out really long! (Don’t worry there’s a tldr at the bottom)

The above linked threads call upon some things he does in Murder on the Rockport Limited. The first raise of suspicion being that being Angus seems to be pretty strong for a little boy:

Griffin: And with that, Angus grabs Graham (aka juicy wizard), and with a surprising amount of strength for a little boy, pulls him out of the chamber. 

Another strange occurrence is when Merle tries to cast Zone of Truth on Angus and Angus resisted it with a surprising 24 for his saving throw.

Griffin: Uh, he rolled a 24.

Clint and Justin: What?

Justin: Can I- can I have a little side chat? If this fool just rolled a 24, he is uhh a really fucking bad guy. That’s like some mysterious shit.

Griffin then says a short while later

Griffin: He had a lotta charisma. He’s a charismatic young man.

This confirms that Angus has a very high charisma score. Silver Dragons have high Strength and Charisma scores. So Angus being a dragon who is polymorphed would actually allow this to make sense. Let’s take a brief look at the spell taken from the D&D 5e Monster Manual:

“Change Shape. The dragon magically polymorphs into a humanoid or beast that has a challenge rating no higher than its own, or back into its true form. It reverts to its true form if it dies. Any equipment it is wearing or carrying is absorbed or borne by the new form (the dragon's choice). In a new form, the dragon retains its alignment, hit points, Hit Dice, ability to speak, proficiencies, Legendary Resistance, lair actions, and Intelligence, Wisdom, and Charisma scores, as well as this action. Its statistics and capabilities are otherwise replaced by those of the new form, except any class features or legendary actions of that form.“

Now while it says the polymorphed dragon retains Intelligence, Wisdom, and Charisma, with Strength, Dexterity, and Constitution being altered to fit that of the new form, Griffin being the DM could always change this just to make things a little more interesting.

Another thing to point out is the fact that, when the body was discovered, Angus was the first to notice the invisible fire crab monster on the ceiling.

Griffin: Angus looks at you, and he goes,

Angus: We need to get Graham to a uh, a bed or something as quick as--

Griffin: And he stops and, uh, looks up, and he says,

Angus: Nobody move.

Dragons have an ability called Blindsight which allows them to detect creatures using their other senses like vibrations, keen smell, acute hearing, or echolocation. Making invisibility, darkness, and most kinds of concealment irrelevant.

To see if I could find any more evidence for the theory, I did a little digging in the 5e Monster Manual and looked at the section dedicated to Dragons. Specifically Metallic Silver Dragons. And... It spookily fits.... Here’s what I found:

Silver Dragons are The friendliest and most social of the metallic dragons, silver dragons cheerfully assist good creatures in need.

Silver Dragons are Lawful Good.

"Dragons of Virtue. Silver dragons believe that living a moral life involves doing good deeds and ensuring that one's actions cause no undeserved harm to other sentient beings. They don't take it upon themselves to root out evil, as gold and bronze dragons do, but they will gladly oppose creatures that dare to commit evil acts or harm the innocent."

"Friends of the Small Races. Silver dragons enjoy the company of other silver dragons. Their only true friendships outside their own kin arise in the company of humanoids, and many silver dragons spend as much time in humanoid form as they do in draconic form. A silver dragon adopts a benign humanoid persona such as a kindly old sage or a young wanderer, and it often has mortal companions with whom it develops strong friendships."

"Respect for Humanity. Silver dragons befriend humanoids of all races, but shorter-lived races such as humans spark their curiosity in a way the longer-lived elves and dwarves don't. Humans have a drive and zest for life that silver dragons find fascinating."

"Metallic dragons also seek to protect other creatures from dangerous magic. As such, powerful magic items and even evil artifacts are sometimes secreted away in a metallic dragon's hoard."

"Solitary Shapeshifters. At some point in their long lives, metallic dragons gain the magical ability to assume the forms of humanoids and beasts. When a dragon learns how to disguise itself, it might immerse itself in other cultures for a time..... bolder dragons love to wander city streets in humanoid form, taking in the local culture and cuisine, and amusing themselves by observing how the smaller races live."

Now, granted, only Adult Dragons learn the skill to change shape. However, since Angus is so bright, I wouldn’t be surprised if he learned early. Or he might just be lying about his actual age (tho i really like the idea of Angus being a bright young dragon who wants to do good and help people) ((Plus again Griffin is the DM and can be as flexable as he wants with these rules that are a base guideline))

Angus being a dragon would also explain why he is living in the BoB base without any mention of anybody being worried about him being gone for too long. I mean, he’s a kid he had to have some kind of caretaker before all of this. He's mentioned his "grandfather" in Neverwinter, however that could have just been a cover story while he was investigating on the train when he had the suspicion that the criminal he was hunting for was on board. Though the antique silverware set Taako took from him may actually be his grandpa's that Angus brought along in order to help back his story up. He also mentioned his Dad when Merle tried to teach him about Pan to which he replied "My Dad says I'm not allowed to talk to people who worship Pagan Gods" (While i dont think this really supports him being a dragon, fun fact is that dragons, especially metallic ones, worship Bahamut who actually has a shitton of non-dragon followers as well.) 

Also, him being a dragon in disguise would explain why he's the only character who talks the way he talks. In reference to "Hi I'm Angus McDonald, I'm a little boy!" or "No I'm a Flesh boy" and "I was gonna have them [the pringles he gives to the boys at the end of the arc] as a train time snack but I forgot to eat them in the train times." I am literally listening to an Angus line compilation while typing this and honestly he sounds like hes trying SO HARD to blend in as a little boy and its adorable.

I don’t care if this Theory turns out true or not, again I’ll say that’s what AUs are for. I just wanted to share it on here with you guys because I love Angus so much and him being a dragon boy just makes everything so much funnier???? Also here’s a bonus:

Wow Travis what a good joke.

tldr; Angus’ stats and abilities seem suspicious, he doesn’t really mention having any sort of caretaker and is perfectly fine being on his own, his personality fits with what is described about Silver Dragons in the D&D 5e Monster Manual and the whole thing just strangely fits?????