#he knows i’m HIGH. you fuck oh my god elias i love you.

[crosbyism]

"but then again this is the guy who’s publically known for loving to eat ass so"

I'm sorry, I thought Nate eating ass was fanon. Are you telling me this is an actual canon fact??

god i love when people don’t realise how much “fanon” around sid and nate is actually canon. it’s like heroin to me. also bc it’s like. 90% of the stuff in fics (which is probably why people assume it’s fanon but. oh boy it’s not. there’s shockingly little fanon around these two, mostly because canon is so abundant).

yes, nathan mackinnon is a known ass-eater. let me direct you to this post, anon. you’re welcome.

other nate (and sid) facts you might not have realised are canon:

nate is a known advocate for therapy. he’s been seeing a sports therapist since 2017

they wear matching clothing all the fucking time, sid has said publicly that he started wearing white sneakers and updated his wardrobe due to nate’s influence (iirc nate might’ve even bought him his first pair of white sneakers? either that or it was a “he told me i need to so i did” situation). they share a tailor. unfortunately i now have to bring your attention to the fact that since they have an alarming amount of matching clothes that they’ve bought for each other, that means that they in fact have to know each other’s clothing sizes off by heart. they also low-key share clothing btw

their families celebrate canada day together and their dads are best friends. in-law behaviour goes crazy

nate did in fact stalk his way into sid’s heart (got the same personal trainer and agent at age 13; built his house next door in 2017; they’ve been spending every day in the summers together since at least 2015. sid cooks for them daily, or at least did pre-pandemic. sid refuses to use nate’s gym tho so they always use sid’s).

nate used to have a fan twitter account more or less where he rooted for the pens. it was active until 2017.

sid and nate regularly go to summer weddings together as each other’s dates. they have done this since, once again, at least 2015

nate has confirmed that he used to have a poster of sid on his wall as a teenager (he didn’t confirm he used to jerk off to it but frankly. i think that’d be saying the quiet part out loud)

when sid won the cup in 2009 and held the parade in cole harbour, nate stood by the side of the road watching it. he was about to turn 14, he was already working with sid’s trainer and agent, and he was about to start attending shattuck (sid’s junior high). due to old pics we also know that this was RIGHT before nate had his first growth spurt and hit puberty. i’m not saying seeing sid with the cup kickstarted nate’s puberty and gave him his first boner but i’m not NOT saying it

nate dated vanessa morgan of riverdale fame in his rookie year. she’s now good friends with elias petersson from the vancouver canucks (this means nothing but i do think it’s a very funny coincidence).

nate schmidt, formerly of the VGK, once failed a drug test (it turned out to be a testing-fuck-up); when nhl players were asked about it natemack iconically said “i don’t think he was sticking a needle up his ass” (i just like this one)

when he was a kid, the one other thing sid wanted to be was a hairdresser. nate, on the other hand, “didn’t have a plan B”

nate is canonically possessive of sid (see: the asg 2024) and sid is canonically delighted by this and into it

they go on so many lunch dates in the summer my dude. they go grocery shopping together. like there’s so many pics of them in grocery stores or out having coffee or weird green shakes

oh i almost forgot, they went on a roadtrip through ireland last year. they’ve been on holiday together multiple times over the years though. done some eurotripping together and stuff. in 2015 they spent three months together, three weeks of which were spent living in sid’s santa monica condo together just the two of them

sid has put up a picture of every stanley cup winning captain in his basement since 2008, when the pens lost in the scf to DET. apparently this serves as motivation for him to win the cup. he notoriously does not watch the playoffs after the pens are out

however, he partied so hard at nate’s cup party he actually closed down the party with his dad. nate is the only non-teammate sid’s ever been seen supporting for a cup run (he’s also never been to his teammates’ cup parties afaik so. there’s that)

also they talked on the phone daily and between periods during nate’s cup run. they also canonically have almost weekly phone dates that can run multiple hours. quote nate “i can’t talk to anyone else the way i can talk to him”

they each have pictures of the two of them together framed in each other’s houses

there’s rumours they’re building adjoining houses on neighbouring properties in cape breton next to a golf course bc apparently being neighbours in halifax isn’t enough or something. this one is as yet unconfirmed by reputable sources though

[zabala0z]

Hi I’m back! I think we all know what I’m going to talk about; “s4 of TMA and OH MY GOD JARED HOPWORTH STATEMENT”

MAG 130: Meat

Lucia Wright has the same last name as James Wright who ran the institute from ‘73-‘96 until he passed. I don’t know if there’s any relation but just in case. There’s that pit. There’s a lot of pits that’s related to The Flesh (MAG 49, MAG 80, MAG 97, I think, and MAG 130) so. Yay. Also Tom Hann appearance once again (MAG 30, MAG 72). Love the mention of the Carlisle boy which I think is Tony Carlisle from MAG 18, the neighbor with all that meat. Gertrude also mentions Dekker which is probably Adelard Dekker who I still need to see more of to fully develop my opinion on him.

Also what’s with all the recent cobwebs??? There’s been so many mentions of them around the institute, is The Web planning something?

MAG 131: Flesh

fucking hell, Jon. I think this man just decides to do shit without running it by anyone. Also yay Melanie! I feel like really bad for her. Again, I can’t even blame her much for her reactions cause one, there was The Slaughter and two, surgery is like hella invasive even when it’s run by the person so waking up to someone performing an impromptu surgery on you would linger with me as well.

Helen is back. Bit scared of her but she sounds much better then Michael (then again, The Spiral lies like constantly). Now onto the main guy: Jared Hopworth.

Um. I had no idea what his voice was going to sound like. My expectation wasn’t high, just “unhinged” and my god did Jared Hopworth deliver. (Also heard he’s also Martins voice actor???? WHAT??) he didn’t give much new information but lemme tell you, hearing the squelching of meat and shifting of bones made me want to throw up so congratulations Jared! You’re are in the top 3 of TMA voices that make me feel intense horror!

MAG 132: Entombed

Jesus. Okay so. Daisy. Not much lore in this ep for me to connect to anything, just a lot of sad stuff like I was speechless. I can’t remember if I mentioned on here that I thought Daisy was related to The Hunt but I did suspect and I’m not surprised! Also, the shirt thing, that’s crazy oh my god, I thought it was interesting she asked about his shirt out of all things.

MAG 133: Dead Horse

The Everchase. Why does every entity have such a cool sounding ritual name??? Anyways, pretty interesting.

“You know what my least favorite part of a case was?”

“The police brutality lawsuit” Im literally dying.

Also, Basira, man. I think she’s so interesting. I can’t put it into words but god she’s just such an interesting character to me. An ex-cop, one of the only ones who like logic’s her way out of The Unknowing, trying to keep everything together at the institute, I don’t know, I just like her a lot.

But god FORBID a character gets replaced OR SACRIFICES THEMSELF.

I need to see something from Martin, I’m worried about him. Maybe Peter Lukas. Actually, I kinda wanna see Nathaniel Lukas? Like he exists too, he has his own shit going on. I don’t wanna see Elias.

Okay I think that’s everything! I wish I could continue my notes, I low key miss sitting at my computer after listening to the eps and typing out every single detail, it was kinda calming.

[sikudastoner]

📻 for Nysa and Mabel, mayhaps???

I’m glad to see I’m not the only one who likes to use the word mayhaps. *internet high five*

Nysa Lannister - Good Mourning by Halsey

Nysa’s playlist is mostly Halsey ngl. I chose this one because it reflects on her grief and guilt of Elia Martell’s death. Growing up, Nysa was close friends with the Martell’s and saw Elia as her “sunshine.” So, y’know. Good mourning? Sun is coming up, oh why? They told me once don’t trust the moon Nysa, she’s always changing.

Plus she’s pregnant with her second child, Lymond during this time I think I gotta recheck the timeline, and he ends up replacing Elia as the sunshine of her life.

Mabel Waters - Family Tree (Intro) by Ethel Cain

Oh boy, as someone who’s no longer religious and grew up in the church, what took me so long to discover Ethel Cain? Very Mabel-coded music. Anywho. Mabel hates being a bastard and somewhat resents her mother and Larys for making her born “sinful.”

I think a mother is one of the most precious gifts that God(s) gives to this world. She loves her mother! The fates already fucked me sideways. Swinging by my neck from the family tree. He’ll laugh and say “You know I raised you better than this” then leave me hanging, so they can all laugh at me. Poor girl just wants people at court to like her.

[ness-plays-wizards]

Alfonse Route Happy Ending/Chapter 15 (11-15)

Last week on the Alfonse Route, Alfonse and Shithead talked like normal people, no mention of Shithead’s morally reprehensible lack of action was made, Liz and Alfonse are engaged now?? They start to talk about Hugo’s deal. And that’s what you missed on 

GLEE

So instead of wondering what Hugo’s motivations were, Liz and Alfonse instead wonder how he knew they would guess Shithead’s passwords. Because that’s clearly the most important part of that interaction. THEN Alfonse asks the important question.

Questions I’m sure won’t be answered for another 6 routes or so. Idk.

Oh I KNOW we’re gonna run into him again, because he’s one of the fucking love interests and IM going to have to review his route.

So Liz and Alfonse go to his lab, which is apparently closing because he only made it to research zombie disease. Alfonse says he’s moving back to his Forgotten City clinic, and I keep forgetting that the Forgotten City is just the unkept alleyway in Gedonelune town and not the flooded city from last season. Alfonse and Liz reminisce about times in the lab, then about the close call with the elixir seed for the 100th time.

The topic shifts to Elias and we find out he stabbed us in the back by telling Alfonse all the embarrassing Phase 1 stories about Liz’s failures. Not cool man! Don’t you know the rules about cringe in friendships? You bury that shit. But Alfonse thinks the cringe is endearing so ig its fine.

Alfonse talks about how he should have been clearer with his intentions to Shithead and Elias because family members can’t read your mind. Very true. He credits Liz with inspiring him toward this realization, because what is an otome dating route without the female character fixing the male character’s life? This example is less egregious though so I’ll let it slide.

WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS? OH MY GOD. I CANT REMEMBER WHAT THIS IS. NO ONE HAS REMINDED ME IN THE ROUTE. IM SO FUCKING CONFUSED.

Liz does not think she has the Fortune of Magic and posits that all the things that Alfonse is claiming is because of the Fortune of Magic was just coincidences.

Liz and Alfonse go to the harbor where they had that one romantic moment and also that one high-stakes confrontation with a ostentatiously dressed dude from another dimension, and for some reason there’s sparkles everywhere.

Liz asks Alfonse when he started having feelings for her. Alfonse tells her he saw her as a little sister at first (SERIOUSLY STOP DOING THAT ITS WEIRD AND PSEUDOINCESTUOUS) but the feelings changed to romantic after he saw her pass the prefect trials and problem solve the hell out of the last few routes. Alfonse asks Liz the same question, and she gives.. pretty much the same answer, honestly.

And that’s all for this week. Next week, we air the final post of the Alfonse Route. Fittingly, on the last Wednesday of the year. Rachel Bloom was right, life doesn’t make narrative sense, except when it does, or smth.

Merry almost Christmas y’all, and Happy Holidays!

(Queued for: December 21)

[lyrker]

“he knows. he knows i’m high” ELIAS YOURE LOOKING INTO THE EYES OF EVIL ITSELF AND THATS WHAT YOURE AFRAID OF ?????????

[sketchy-scribs-n-doods]

time travel tma fics be like:

it's killing your shitty capitalist eldritch boss hours babieeee

my children deserve rest and i am going to gift it to them

get in loser we're speedrunning 4 seasons of character development!!!!

the spiral is probably helping us but i still don't trust it

the web is probably helping us but i still don't trust it

time to Bully Elias

i may know the future but that doesn't mean i know wtf i'm doing

we're just gonna ignore poor pathetic old man leitner in the tunnels tbh

sasha Deserves Better

jon and martin allotted-mutual-pining hours commence immediately this time around so get ready

so how the fuck are we gonna hide from jonah douchard's stupid all seeing eye this time fellas

tim please calm down

daisy p l e a s e calm down

shut up i already know u and that u wanna kill me this isn't n e w get in line bitch

jon can have a little intimidating the shit out of elias. as a treat.

mr. peter lukas imma need you to turn around and immediately leave the way u came in no words no questions just leave :)

i have s o many emotions about these people i'm technically supposed to have met last week fu k c

pls don't touch that statement hardworking assistant of mine, i got it n o w o r r i es :)))))

no!!! that is not my martin/my jon!! i Can Not Fall In Love with him in this timeline, it would not be fair to him,,,, would it ? ? ?

time for crippling guilt and self doubt!!!!

moral and spatial-temporal dilemmas of a gay and anxious nature

jon's ceaseless urge to punch his past self

"jon looks like he's gonna melt into a sad gloopy puddle whenever he looks at me what tf is up him"

crippling guilt and self doubt!!! part 2!!! electric boogaloo!!!

S E C R E T S

so i died in another timeline that's fun huh

there are so many narrative threads to keep track of jon are u okay??? do u need a calendar for all these events and lives ur tryna save???

the Power of Friendship prevails u dumb idiot, god of course we're gonna help u-

it's Found Family time bitches!!!

the possibility of s o many things going so differently and terribly wrong this time around is like,,,, a s t r o n o m i c a l l y high

monster jon monster jon moNSTER JON MON S T E R J O-

the other avatars and fear entities either hate jon's newly powerful and unpredictable guts or wanna have fun helping to kill/destroy elias there's no in between

this shit's gonna get s a p p y bitches bUCKLE UP-

it's jon deserves a fucking hug hours babieee pLEASE

oh no, said jon, i fucked up

Author's Notes: "yES this is ridiculously self indulgent, nO i don't c a r e"

pls process ur emotions in a healthy manner this time around i'm b e g g i n g u mr. jon jarchivist

feel free to add more i live for this goddamn trope

[imaginewarehouse]

Various Males x Fem!ExModel!Reader || Oneshot

Plot: You, a retired model get hired at Cloud 9 and, not-at-all-surprisingly, you get harassed by every allegeable (According to them) bachelor in the place- but god fucking damnit! You’re just here to get a paycheck??!  

“You can’t knock ‘em out, you cant walk away,

Try desperately to think about the politest way to say,

“Just get out of my face,”, “Just leave me alone,”

“And no you cant have my number,”,

“Why?”

“Cuz I lost my phone.”

(Inspired by Lily Allen’s Knock ‘Em Out)

Includes (In order of appearance after the introduction bit): Sal Kazlauskas, Garret McNeil, Tate Staskiewicz, Isaac (And I think my favouritism here definitely bleeds through*Cough*), Elias Greene, Cory, Jonah Simms, and Marcus White.

Warnings: Sal, harassment (They leave after you say no though. Just to be sure) 

🔆  🔆  🔆

“And uh, yeah one last thing before we all hop off to work! We have a new Cloud 9 family member. Y/N! Would you like to stand up?” Glenn, the lovely man who took your interview a week ago and then went out of his way today to look for you out front in the morning to show you around quickly and guide you through clocking in, finds you in the crowd of workers and gestures for you to stand.

Oh, uh- uhh, okay! Up we get, then, you think as you stand up like he said and take a look around at all the judging eyes, which normally wouldn’t phase you but here is a lot scarier than what you’re used to. This an entirely different environment to getting up at a modelling gig- you know nothing about working this kind of job! You’ve never done it, so, you’re afraid they’ll judge you right off the bat and make it difficult for you to ask questions. And you can’t keep bothering Glenn- he has more important things to do.

Oh god, you hear whispering. You peer around. Where is that coming from?-

“This is Y/N L/N! She’ll be working with Go back’s today,” Right, Go Back’s Easy enough; Glenn explained them earlier before the meeting started. “So if you see her in your area- be sure to say hello and see if she needs some help, K? Good. We’re jazzed to have you with us Y/N.”

“Thank you!” You quip quickly, then sit down and focus on Glenn again, hoping dearly at the same time that attention disperses from you immediately.

Glenn smiles, glancing down at his clipboard for any last-minute messages. “Okay! I think that’s it, so- “

The whispering from before suddenly cuts off. “Uh yeah, question?” Glenn stops short when a man in the back kind of rudely cuts him off, but sighs out a ‘Yes, Marcus?’ as the woman beside him - Dina, - rolls her eyes severely. Oh, you let a tiny ghost of a smirk slip over your lips. That’s kind of a reaction, isn’t it? “Yo- new girl.” What- me- w h y- You immediately get awkward again and twist around in your chair, but don’t really know who to look at. Luckily the tall brunette in the warehouse uniform is pointing, so you figure it out pretty quick that that’s who you’re looking for, and calm down. Mostly. 

Yeah? You raise one eyebrow. “Hi?”

He grins back to the right and the left of him, to his equally pleased buddies and pals, before raising a Vogue magazine- and it’s the issue on which you scored the front page. Jeez, that was months ago! “Is this you?”

A chorus of ‘Ohhhhh’ and general excitement travels around the room and for the first time ever, you’re half ashamed to admit that yes that is you. In your usual circle this is something to be proud of… but you get that it isn’t really like that, in non-modelling circles. In fact, it could be something to be embarrassed about.

Especially seeing that oh dude and his gang of Michael Myers fashion wannabes look like a hungry, dim-witted, wolves rather than plainly interested about your modelling career.

But, still, you smile politely and nod. Hopefully it’ll be forgotten before the afternoon, at least. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Nice.”

Hmm… you really, really hope that it’s forgotten soon, at least, as you turn back around to face the front again as Glenn sends everyone off to work. Because if not, then these boys are going to learn the hard way that models take self-defence classes religiously.

Or at least you are going to have a very uncomfortable day, which is just great. You groan inwardly at the thought, as you gather up your coffee from the table beside you and drop it in the trash can on the way out.

~

You’re just doing your own thing and someone

Comes out of the blue,

They’re like,

“Alright”

But he’s saying

“Yeah can I take your digits?”

And you’re like, “No, not in a million years, you’re nasty.

Please leave me alone.”

There’s already so many Go Back’s! You think excitedly, as you get to work looking for where things should be. You’re glad to have something to do- at your first job with Chuck E Cheese, before you got into the modelling thing, you were basically useless the first day because you weren’t allowed to grill yet, you didn’t know how to assemble, and they didn’t want you out on the floor for the birthday party that was happening, in fear that you would mess up royally. So you just sat around trying not bother anyone, and that felt terrible. So, wandering the aisles of Cloud 9 with a full shopping trolley searching for products and neatening things up? Sounds like a good deal to you. Yes please.

“Uhh, hi.”

You practically jump entirely out of your skin, hearing the voice right beside you and whip your head around to see a balding guy in a blue Cloud 9 jacket. Is this man licking his fingers!?

“Uh,” You step back with your brightest, most polite smile, picking something up from the Go Back’s cart and rounding it to put it between you and the man, before acting like you’re stupid enough to be putting barbecue sauce in the Barbie section, and then… “Oh, oops! Silly me!” You flash the guy a nervous look. “I’m still working things out… “

Well? Better to look like an absolute idiot, then be standing within grabbing radius of the creepy man licking his fingers that you’re all alone in the middle of an empty aisle with. “Um… so, what’s up? Did someone send you to find me, or… am I doing something wrong? You know better than me, after all!”

“No… “His gaze licks up your form and if it weren’t for all your ‘training’ in staying still and not feeling this kind of thing- you absolutely would have wigged out. “You’re doing fine… Just wanted to see you.”

Boy- if anyone else could see your face right at this moment, full of disgust and mild horror, you’re sure you would be YouTubes next hit. Or a meme. “Oh… “You nervously chuckle. “Um, well, I’m gonna… go… “You pull the trolley around so that you can back up out the back of the aisle and escape through stuffed toys, into the open but his hand comes down on the other end of the trolley- stopping it. Before you can stop yourself, verbal diarrhoea spews from your lips. “Glenn has my resume- there’s a photo on there you can have.”

“That’s okay I prefer them to be breathing.” Both his hands are on the end of your trolley now, tight so his knuckles turn white, and he’s breathing unnecessarily heavy. He’s even leaning over the trolley some like his body really can’t handle whatever terrible heat is plaguing it right now. Oh god, oh god oh god oh god… this is so gross.

“Well, that’s… u-understandable...”

He looks up into your eyes, now, and doesn’t blink. Who the hell is this guy?! “Say… “ Oh no, oh no- he’s coming around the trolley-he’s coming around-he’s close-too close-too close-mayday-MAYDAY- Slowly, in your face, he licks up his thumb, makes an ‘Mm,’ sound, and you deeply wince; So much so in fact that one of your eyes completely closes. “Could I take your phone number?”

You absolutely couldn’t have helped what happened next if you had wanted to.

“Eeeeuuuwwwwwwww no not in a million years, your nasty, please leave me alone!!” You exclaim in a high voice before abandoning the trolley and rushing off to customer service.

~

“No you cant have my number,”

“Why?”

“Cuz I lost my phone.”

By the time you got to the front desk, you had basically calmed down and were mostly just stressed that you left the Go Back’s behind- but still must look troubled as the guy manning the front desk makes a confused, half-concerned but mostly intrigued kind of face at you as you stop there. You’re about to explain your appearance - that or just shrug, not too bothered about reporting whatever mess that was. Not on your first day, at least. No way. - when his face relaxes, and he nods. “Ohhh. Damn, Sal got to you?”

Sal? Was that the guy’s name? You didn’t check. “Oh, was that his name? I was a bit too preoccupied by his eyeballs sucking out my soul, to notice his name tag.” Now that you’re thinking about it, though, you glance at this man’s name tag. Garret.

“Yep, that’s Sal. That’s just one of the wonderful things involved in working here that you’ll just have to get used to.” Garret grins, offering you a chill perspective with a side of cynicism. You sigh, truly feeling relieved that you’ve found a normal person and relax your back against the taller part of the desk.

“Brilliant.” The sarcasm drips off the tip of your tongue.

“You’ll have to deal with a lotta that here, though, looking like you do.” You turn your head to the side to look already exhausted just by the idea, at him. He shrugs. “Hey, I don’t make the rules. I just speak the truth.”

“God- I feel sorry for the other women working here.”

“Oh, no. They’re in a completely different wheelhouse to you. Sorry.” Garret leans on his forearms on the desk, and you roll over to lean on your shoulder and pay attention. “See, you’re a model- “

“I was a model,”

“You were a model- which through primitive male thought process makes you prime real estate. Whoever manages to ‘bag’ you, for lack of a better word I apologise, gets some serious bragging rights.” He shrugs, and looks vaguely apologetic but still some how shameless as this utter bullshit slips out of his mouth. “We can’t help it- some of us don’t even know we’re doing that, but we are. Actually, I’m probably the only one who’ll admit it… which… kinda makes me your best option. Self-awareness, and all that.”

Oh. A dry laugh comes out of you as you feel a text come through in your back pocket and pull out your phone. As you see that its not an urgent message, you immediately put the phone back and glance around for any supervisors before returning to your conversation with Garret. “Oh- of course it does.”

“Exactly!” He grins, and you can’t tell through his expression at all whether he’s genuinely this clueless or if he’s just shooting his shot. “So- “

“No, you can’t have my number.”

“Why?”

Deadass, in a very monotone voice, you say: “I lost my phone.”

Then the two of you just have a stare off for a minute. Garret because he just saw you use your phone, and you because you wont back down.

~

“Oh yeah, actually yeah I’m, I’m pregnant. I’m having a baby in like 6 months, so no. Yeah, yeah… “

“You know,” The chemist pipes up from behind the Pharmacy desk as you put back some pill boxes he said were fine to return to the shelves, and you glance over at him to show you’re listening, and check his name tag. “I myself considered a career in modelling, before this. People even say, now, that I could model.”

Oh boy. You think, fighting not roll your eyes. And how old are you? Early 30’s? I don’t think so buddy.

“Oh, well, I wouldn’t recommend it.” You flash him a nervous grin before returning to your shelving. “You’re good for, like, 3 years. But then you hit 22 and unless you look like Victoria Justice shared with you whatever youth fountain she got chucked into, then you have to find something else to do with your life- despite having nothing to fall back on.” Okay… so… I might be a bit bitter.

Tate chuckles - and oh boy, he sounds just like your old manager. Totally fake, -, hiding his hands in his lab coat pockets. “Yeah, you’re probably right… Besides, I got the better end of the deal, anyway. Doctor for the doctors, they call us.” They call Pharmacists that? Who? That’s news to you. “Ahhh, yeah… I’m doing pretty well for myself.”

“Yep.” Forcing a fake smile his way, you leave the shelf you were stocking and get closer to the desk to stock another, as Tate’s eyes follow you waiting for encouragement of some kind. Doesn’t he have a job to do?? “You chose well!”

“Yeah, thanks. I know.” Ffffff-f a r out. This guy! “You know, you and me, we’d make a good couple.”

Oh? Dear god? You pause your shelving in surprise at the bomb this man has just dropped so casually, fish oil tablets paused on their journey to the shelf mid-air. Could Garret’s crazy-pants theory have been right?

“Ohh,” You giggle nervously, returning to work a bit faster now. “I don’t know. I think for a pharmacist like you, I would envision, like… “An actual doctor? No, I can’t say that. “A personal trainer, or something. Keep you both healthy all-round, you know? Now that’s a power team.” As long as that personal trainer has humility enough for the both of them, at least.

“Mergh,” He makes a face, like ‘What the heck are you talking about??’, before shaking his head of the things you just said and leaning over the desk towards you. You keep packing, even faster now. Like the Flash. Go! Go! Go! Death Con 5!! “So, whadaya say? I could pick you up Friday after work, and we could head up to one of my timeshares?” He says that like it’s such a selling point! You think, fighting off the powerful urge to laugh but still feeling the panic deep in the pits of your soul. “Stake it out together for the weekend? Get to know each other?”

“Uhh… “Excuses! What are they? You slowly stop stocking, turning around to face him and crossing your arms. The man deserves to at least be faced as he’s rejected; You’re kind enough to give him that, at least. “I’d love to! But, the thing is… “Chewing your bottom lip, you think hard.

Ding Ding Ding!!

“The thing is, Tate… “You fake some nerves, now. “I’m actually, uh… “You look up, face relaxing. “Pregnant.”

Oh boy, the way that man recoils at that word, like a terrified, disgruntled, blonde hedgehog. You’re going to laugh so hard about it, later!! “Oh.”

“Yeah! Oh, I mean, yeah… I’m gonna be having a baby, in like, 6 months so… yeah… Yep.“ You shrug to him, as if its just so unfortunate. “Shame.”

~

She looks in her bag, takes out a fag, tries to get away from the guy on a blag,

Can’t find a light.

‘’Here, use mine.’’

‘’See the thing is I just don’t have the time.’’

Ahh, lunch. Now you can check your texts! Hmm, you look through your notifications and gradually lose excitement. Mum… mum… mum… phone bill company… friend… mum again…

Ah, the glamorous life of the famous.

You roll your eyes, and get to responding to your mothers texts about dinner and when you’ll be home and how your first day is going, not noticing the not-so-jolly, not-so-green-(unless-you-meant-pot) giant approaching you. When you finally finish responding to both your mum and your friend, you put your phone away and start unwrapping your lunch- a typical ham sandwich that you’re actually pretty excited about. That’s one good thing about your sudden drop in financial status; You can put in your damn sandwich as many pieces of ham and cheese as you like. Grinning excitedly, you pick it up and have it halfway to your mouth before another person - a very heavy, large person, - drops down beside you on the bench you’ve commandeered behind the store. You close your mouth without any delicious lunch inside it and look up, politely to the person who’s joined you.

And all you can think, is wow.

He could put you in a suitcase and walk off with you right now and have no problems.

That’s wow.

“Hi! I’m Y/N,” You introduce yourself, offering a hand for him to shake.

“I know.” Oh, well yeah okay that’s understandable. Glenn did introduce you to everyone this morning. Despite the man’s less-then-excited response, he takes your hand in his and shakes. It makes you all giddy inside, honestly. So b i g. “Names Isaac.”

Do you remember Isaac in the breakroom this morning? You wrack your brain for him, because surely if he was there you noticed him-

Oh. Yep, you remember him. He was one of that Marcus-Dude’s pals chuckling and whispering behind him. He was one of the men that had the magazine with you on the front, and if there’s one thing you know about men who carry Vogue in their locker’s it’s that they fit into only 2 groups- interested in fashion, obviously… and interested in the women. And this man clearly is not interested in fashion. Immediately, on this realisation, you feel disappointed- you really could have liked this man right off the bat…

But it looks like he’s just going to be another of the men at this store you have to get to know, before becoming friendly with.

“So,” He starts, and you fight off a wince. Hopefully, you don’t know what’s coming. But… the likeliness of that is not high. “You wanna go out, some time? I’m a big fan of your work.” He smirks.

“Oh, ha ha.” You laugh sarcastically, shaking your head and returning to your sandwich. You take a bite and- Ahhhhhh, so worth the wait. Oh my god. Food orgasm. “At least you’re honest!”

“Yeah, so is that a yes?” His face brightens a smidgeon, which is a lot seeing as he doesn’t seem to be totally all there, in the first place.

You look up at Isaac, and look apologetic. He was honest with you so its only fair that you’re genuine with him. “Sorry… “

“Ah- actually, I don’t know if this’ll change your mind, but I have 2 weeks to live, so… “

Never mind on that honesty thing, then.

Dull-eyed, you stare up at him. “… Uh-huh.”

“Its true! I have, uh, cancer.” He insists, nodding his head and forcing his eyebrows up his forehead all serious-like.

“Cancer.” Right.

“Yep.”

Right, time to look in the bag... You start to wrap up your lunch again - sadly, as now you’ll have to wait until the end of the day and the bus ride home to eat it, - and plop it back away in your bag, getting up and pulling out a cigarette instead- that should hold you over until the end of the day. “My lunch break is actually over, so I should go- Damn, where’s my light?“

Isaac rifles through his pockets until he pulls out an old looking neon orange lighter, and offers it to you. “Here, use mine.”

Oh, no. You stare at it like a deer in headlights. If you accept that, like you really want to right now because it’s been a month since your last smoke, then you have obligations to sit with him for another couple minutes, at least.

Aghh… You groan and whine on the inside, before making up your mind and flinging the cigarette into a puddle. “See the thing is, I don’t actually have the time-”

~

“Go away now, let me go.”

“Are you stupid? Or just a little slow?”

“Ughhh… “This one has been giving you looks all day, but had no courage until now to speak to you- but the thing is? He didn’t have the smarts, either, to take off his wedding ring at least before he decided to be a bastard and bother you. So you feel absolutely no regret about being exactly as dismissive or plain rude, as you feel. “Elias? Go away now.”

The nervous man, who’s been ringing his hands this whole time and stuttering through failed date requests that you pretended you didn’t understand because of his struggle, gets panicked. “Just let me ask!- Will, will you go out with me?”

“No.” You yawn, dropping a piglet toy into a basket.

“But!- “

Turning away, you start pushing your trolley along to get to the next aisle. “Let me go.”

“We can go wherever you like!”

Sighhhhhhhhh. You turn around and grant him an audience, putting your hands on your hips and raising you brows at the wedding band on his left hand.

“Are you stupid? Or just a little slow?”

~

“Please fuck off.”

Oh good god in heaven, they’re going bigger with their proposals.

“Y/N! Will you go out with me?”

This man, Corey, has grabbed the announcement phone now that you’re walking away, making you freeze like the dad possum in Over The hedge and seriously consider playing dead, too, as you slowly turn around to look at him again.

Oh, if only looks could kill- he would be so dead that even Vlad the Impaler’s victims would laugh.

This is your first day, and the fact that you’re being harassed by multiple stupid men is bad enough but now he’s calling attention to you like this? Glenn’s going to think you’re a troublemaker!! Jesus fucking Christ- you need this job! Corey continues to talk into the speaker phone, even as he looks into your eyes and sees his death.  “And… now… you’re looking at me like that, so uh… I’m just gonna… say please?”

… “’Please’ fuck off.”

“Yes ma’am-“  

~

“Go away now, I’ve made myself clear.

I don’t think so.

Nah its not gonna happen.

Not in a million years.”

Since the run-in with Corey and the following spike in your blood pressure, you’ve calmed down again. But now you’re looking into the two faces of a ‘Mateo’, who you apparently work with, and a ‘Castor’ who does not work here and is not shopping but is still in your face and is t h i s close to feeding that ugly tie to his cousin.

But, still, you’re going to stay graceful, because Castor constantly looks like he’s 3 seconds from pooing himself. “Now please go away, now… I think I’ve made myself clear.” By explaining, politely, that you aren’t looking for a man but thank you for the offer, Castor.

“Oh, but you haven’t heard what Castor does for a living! He’s in insurance,” Mateo explains to you, like this is some huge game changer. When you don’t react, he adds that there’s good money, insurance.

You almost laugh. Does this boy really think you’re such a gold digger? Boy- if I wanted riches then I could’ve easily become a C-Class actor who has no skills in the area, but is pretty so gets praised like she does- like a lotta my model friends.

Instead I’m here, at Cloud 9.

Come to your own conclusions.

But instead of saying that, though, you just shake your head nervously. “I don’t think so… “

“But!- “

“Nah… sorry, its… not gonna happen… “

“But Castor is- “

“Not in a million years… “

~

“Aw, no. I gotta go. My house is on fire.”

Now, at least this one is respectful, you think, listening to him talk about the products you’re shelving together. He had come over and offered to give you a hand when you looked confused, as a ‘Cheyanne’ had handed you a scanner earlier and then promptly ran off, despite your utter incompetence. You were so relieved that this guy turned up!!

“… so, you just punch in reduce .50, and scan! Its pretty easy, if you have it properly explained to you. I- I was actually in the same situation, as you! When I first started here, except I ended up, uh, reducing all the items in electronics to 15 cense rather than discounting it all 15 percent.” A grin spreads across your lips at the story, and thank god that Jonah had turned up before that happened to you and, with your luck, you got fired for it.

“Oh no!”

“Yeah- Amy, our uh, floor supervisor, was pretty cranky with me about that… “He laughs himself, resting his hands on his hips; Still looking nervous at the memory.

You look back down at the scanner you’re holding and shake your head. “Well at least you know, now! And thank you so much for coming to my aid, haha. I was so lost- you’ve been a huge help! A life saver, truly.”

“Yeah… “ He gives a cute little, reserved smile. “So, uh, its basically the end of the day! Hope you’re first day hasn’t been too strenuous. At the end of my first day, I know I was tired. But I got to go out with a couple of the other employees and have a drink, to destress. If-If you were free, we could… do something. Together.” Your eyebrows slowly raise up your forehead at that, and you turn to look up Jonah, sceptical. What was that? You sure have had a long day, and its about to get a lot longer if this boy is asking what you think he is. “Sorry! Sorry, that sounded weird. Um, I guess what I’m really asking, is… would you like to, I dunno, go out with me sometime? I know some great places.”

Oh, noooooo! You cry, on the inside. You thought you found a normal one!

Still, he is being so nice… The least you could do is let him down easily.

“Oh, Jonah, I actually… oh- sorry.” Your phone beeps in your pocket and you take it out quickly to have a glance - its just your mother… again, - … and suddenly get an idea. Feigning shock, you quickly put the phone away and put down the scanner. It’s time to clock out and go home, anyway, thank god. “I have to go! That was my mum, uh- I really have to go!”

“Wow, wow, wow, what’s wrong?? Can I help with anything?”

Oh… he looks so concerned. He’s sweet.

But before you can rethink your words, this living horror slips out. “My-my house is on fire.”

Oh god, you’re a horrible person.

~

“I’ve, I’ve got herpes. No- Syphilis!”

Oh thank god the day is over. Rolling your shoulders back, you kneel down at your bottom locker, open it up and take out your bag. Now you can go home and put on Gotham on Netflix, wear no pants and eat thin mints until you fall asleep.

When you get up, you aren’t watching out for a man to be standing barely half a foot away from you - Your mistake, obviously, - so you jolt right out of your skin when you see him and curse. What is wrong with these men? Does Cloud 9 offer complimentary staff ninja classes along with their lack of health insurance? Man, classy company. “Sorry!” You look up past the coveralls after stepping a safe distance back from him, and immediately feel dread deep in your chest. “Oh, hi. Marcus, was it?”

“That’s me! How was your first day?” He asks, seeming polite enough despite the fact that you’re cornered between tall boy and the lockers. And you’re too tired to try and slip away- this boy will get out of your way.

“It was good! Thanks for asking. I’m ready to go home and collapse, though.” You admit, shoulders dropping and a tired smile on your lips. Mmm… thin mints… bed… blankets… Cory Michael Smith… I can taste it… Marcus just needs to get out of my way.

“I hear that.” Evidently not quite as deeply, though, as he moves on pretty fast. “Listen- I was thinking if you’re into it we could… go out, some time.” He tilts his head forward to clarify, “On a date,”, in case that part hadn’t translated, and chuckles. “We could see a movie or get drinks, or something, I don’t know. How about tonight?”

T-tonight? The word nearly slips from your lips; All disbelief and tears and exhaustion, included. You’re so tired. “Um… you know, tempting offer, but um… “He looks so hopeful. It nearly changes your mind. “Not tonight.”

“OH! So like, tomorrow?” Oh christ- “Cuz I’m supposed to watch Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here with my mum, but… no, I can blow that off! So, tomorrow?”

You take a deep breath, not really knowing what you can say. “Marcus… “He raises his eyebrows, waiting for an answer. “… I have herpes.”

“Wait, what??” He steps back, nearly tripping over a table in his fear that just being near you will cause him to contract the disease, and you let your guard down in relief. Yep, for sure, definitely. If it makes him back off, then yes- you have herpes. You have a raging, festering case of herpes.

“Yeah! Or-“ Squinting, you pretend to sift through your brain. “Was it Syphilis?” This boys eyes basically bulge out of his head and you’re totally going to laugh about it later, but right now you have to get out of there. You waive your hand dismissively and walk on by him towards the door like you don’t have a care in the world. Before you leave though, you turn around a flash Marcus a big smile. “Either way, ew, right? Well, see you tomorrow buddy! Gotta go! Enjoy I’m A Celebrity with your mum.” Then you’re gone.

Tomorrow is going to be a much better day, once that rumour is properly spread.

[lovenhlboys]

From a Distance (E.Pettersson x Reader)

Chapter 5

Masterlist

Be added to series taglist

A/N: I have finally graduated!! now I have time so I can work on this until its finished, and trust me, it won't take too long, I'll release the other chapters on a faster, more regular basis since I don't have much else to do, and cause I've had the plan and ideas for the rest of this story for so long. I thank you for your patience with me and I hope y'all love it!! And as always Ash is my savior and I love her @imagines-r-s

change in POV is signalized by:

Y/N= regular ELIAS= italics

(any other info is on the masterlist)

Warnings: cursing, Mentions of Psych, baby & baby talk, loving of dogs, goalie being essentially psychic

Words: 3.3k

Summary: some reflecting on prior events happens.

Well, it has been quite the day for you. You never would have thought anything like this could have happened. “Freaking out” isn’t strong enough to describe your current state. You need to talk to someone, god you’re so happy right now. So you call Quinn.

“Hey, Quinny!”

“Sup Y/N/N?” he answers

“I’m picking up from work, and I'm about to head home, where you will be there too, with a bottle of our favorite wine and some take-out.”

“Got it, something important happened?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” you still couldn't stop smiling.

“Ok how important, expensive wine or REALLY expensive wine?”

“Uhhh in between,” you decided.

“Ahhh ok, can't wait. See you there, bye!!”

“Bye, Huggy”

You finish packing up and text Brock to tell him that you and Quinn are having a wine night, to make sure he knows to be somewhere else.

As you’re walking out, you call Holly.

“Hey, Babe!”

“Howdy!”

“God I always forget you interned in Dallas,” she says laughing.

“You pick that shit up quickly, I’m telling you. even the Fins were saying 'y'all'"

“So what’s up?” She asks.

“Are you free tonight, cause I have some very big news so it’s a wine night.”

“Umm, let me see if Bo wants to have the guys over and watch Gunnar” you hear her call her husband and ask him. “He said sure!”

“Okie Dokie! Text Quinn that you’re coming too, so he knows to get your usual from the take-out place” you tell her.

“Will do, and Y/N/N?" she says before you hang up.

“Yep?”

“Do you want me to grab ice cream?” She asks, already knowing your answer.

“Of course!”

“Ok, see you there” she hangs up.

You drive home jamming out to your music, as everyone should. You still can’t believe what happened today. It feels like it happened last week but it also feels like you never left that break room. Hopefully, Elias won’t mind that you’re telling Quinn and Holly. As long as you tell them not to say anything to the other guys, all should be well.

Once you get home, the dogs greet you at the door, “Oh hi! Hi sweeties! Oh yes, yes hi Coolieee, oh you’re such a cutie,” you drop your bags and get down on your knees to get on their level. When you get on your knees, Milo knows it means you want him to hug you, so he hops up and puts his paws on your shoulders. “Hi, hi, hi, oh thank you for the hugs. Oh yes auntie loves you soooooo much mmwwaaa”

Quinn is there and has everything set up and ready to go, so you change into your sweats and grab your blanket, and sit next to Quinn on the couch, grabbing your glass of wine and food before you sit down. Now you just have to wait for Holly

“Sooo, what’s the news?” Quinn asks you.

“Holly isn’t here yet, we have to wait.”

”Oh so it’s that good?” He raises his eyebrows.

“What do you mean?” You question, taking a sip of your wine.

“Well, when the news isn’t that important you usually don’t care if she hears it after me, or I hear it after her. But when it’s super important news, you have the other one wait.”

“Hmm, well then yeah. It’s pretty fuckin’ great, I don’t think I’ve stopped smiling for like 5 hours.”

Just then Holly comes in the door with Gus under one arm and a grocery bag full of ice cream in her other hand, “hi puppies, yes I have your friend with me”

“Oh! Hi Burton!!” You say with your puppy voice.

“Ok, why do you call him Burton? I never understood that.”

“It’s from one of my favorite shows!” You exclaim

“Y/N/N I don’t know if you know this but you, your brother, and Quinn all have like 50 “favorite TV shows” I’m gonna need you to say more than that,” she says to you as she grabs her food from the counter, and heads to the couch. She sits on the side of you not occupied by Quinn.

“Ok, rude,” Quinn sassed.

“It’s from Psych. One of the main characters is called Gus, but his first name is Burton, and the police chief and one of the detectives calls him by his full name which is Burton Guster, so there.”

“Got it.”

“Ok, Holly no more distractions,” Quinn starts, sticking his tongue out at her, she returns the gesture. “So what’s the important news?”

“Oh, you didn’t tell him yet! So it’s really important!” she says.

“Hmm, I guess I do do that,” you realize, “I would actually like you guys to guess” you take a bite of your food, smugly. Knowing neither of them would even have an idea of what to guess.

“Hmmm,” Quinn hums, he looks like he has a mischievous grin “does it have to do with a certain Swede?”

“Wha-“ you choke on your bite of food, Quinn is giggling at your reaction, “the fuck? How’d you know that?”

“Well umm, a certain brother of yours may have asked me if he should do that plan.”

“Why would you do that?’ you whined, upset at your friends for teaming up on you. You couldn’t imagine what you would’ve done if that plan didn’t work out the way it did today.

“Did it work?” He asked with a grin.

“That’s not the point, asshole!”

“See but it worked! He doesn’t hate you anymore, now you can flirt your ass off and make him see you as more than a friend” he tells you.

You laugh, he has no idea what happened in that break room.

“Ok, I’m out of the loop here, what happened?” Holly interjects

“Ok, well my idiot brother and apparently my asshole best friend came up with this plan-“

“Actually Marky and Thatch knew about it too,” he stops you from interrupting, “AND, to be fair, you can’t blame Brock for going to us. I mean I’m your best friend, and the goalies are just good at planning and doing crazy things”

“WELL. Those dicks that I call my closest friends and family, decided it was a good idea to lock me in one of the Canucks break rooms with Elias fucking Pettersson because he hated me and they wanted us to get along”

Holly starts laughing, “oh my god, they did not” she continues to laugh and Quinn joins her. You roll your eyes at them both.

“Yes, they did. I was not a happy camper. But it worked out and he doesn’t hate me.”

“See, I knew it would work! And like I said, now you can work your moves and get him to like you as more than just a friend.” He grins again.

You grin “Oh, also that’s the other part.” You take a long sip of your wine, both Holly and Quinn stared at you wide-eyed, waiting for you to finish, “turns out he’s a great kisser”

“I’m sorry,” Quinn said softly, he took a breath “WHAT?”

“Yeah, would you like more details?”

“Fucking- yeah,” they said simultaneously.

You went on to explain the events that happened in that incredible breakroom

“How the fuck did he keep that a secret, and why?” Quinn exclaimed, clearly confused that he didn't know something so big about who he considers one of his best friends.

“I don't know, but both of you have to absolutely promise me that you won't tell literally anyone else, ok? Not Bo, not Brock, not Demer, Stech, Marky, nobody!”

“Yeah, yeah that's fine,” Holly said, waving her hand in dismissal, wanting to get past that and know more. “So how do you feel?”

“Like the luckiest girl in the world,” you said while giggling with a big smile.

“Y/N/N. I’m so happy for you.” Quinn says with a genuine smile.”

“Ok, enough about me. How were your days?”

“Not as interesting as yours, but Gunnar and I spent the whole day out and about with Bo, and now I’m having a great wine night with you guys so it’s been a pretty amazing day.”

“Yeah, well I spent the whole day waiting for Y/N to come to kill me cause I thought she’d find out I had something to do with that whole situation,” Quinn says.

“Well let me just tell you, Hughes, if it hadn’t ended up the way it did, I may have had a few words for you.”

“I know, that’s why I was panicking the whole day”

“OH MY GOD” Holly shouted as she looked at her phone

“What, what’s wrong?” You ask

“Umm, you are going to LOVE this shit, Y/N/N”

She thrusts her phone in your face. When you look down you see a picture of Elias holding Gunnar, with a toy you hadn’t seen before. Elias looks so happy, looking down at the baby Horvat. Then there’s another alert on Holly's phone, “ohmygod,” you mumble. The alert is another text from Bo, it’s a video this time. You press play. In the video Elias is playing with Gunnar, using a high-pitched baby voice “oh yes you love your new toy that the best uncle in the world got you! Yes, you do cause I’m your very favorite, yes I am. You are just so cute, so lucky you got your looks from your mama, yes you are.”

From behind the camera, you can hear Bo, “Hey, have you looked at him, he looks just like me”

“Daddy is crazy, isn’t he? Yeaaaaah” Elias says to the boy.

The video ends and you see what text Bo had sent along with the picture and video

Bowie 💙: Yes, he got him ANOTHER toy. If he keeps this up, we’re gonna need a bigger house just for the toys lias gets him

“This boy is going to be the death of me I swear to god,” you say, handing the phone to Quinn, and placing your head in your hand. That video was literally the cutest thing you’ve seen in about 5 years.

You continue to talk, you end up explaining what Elias had told you about not doing anything else yet, and what he had said regarding that. You all finish eating and eventually decide on watching some ’how i met your mother’.

After they leave, you spend the rest of the night replaying the events from the break room in your head. Imagining what will eventually happen with you two. You truly can’t believe it. You’ve never felt this way about anyone and you’ve only known he likes you for about 12 hours. Elias Pettersson is going to be a special, if not the most special person in your life. So you pull out your notebook and a pen that you always keep next to your bed and you write your thoughts down.

First, you write the date at the top then skip 2 lines

Elias Pettersson, I think I love you. I know it’s too early to say and we’ve only had one day together, but I need to write this down.

It looks ridiculous and cheesy now that I’m reading it but if my gut is right, which it normally is, I just had to write it down. I had to tell you. If not in real life, at least just in this notebook. As cliche as it sounds, maybe I can show you it one day. I mean I do love myself a hallmark movie, so maybe this can be like one of those.

You sign it at the bottom, close your notebook, and place it back in your drawer.

You’re such a hopeless romantic and you kinda want to make fun of yourself, like you would do if you found out any of the guys did this kind of thing. ( And if you’re being honest, you wouldn’t be surprised if your own brother would do something like this. Your parents kind of instilled a love of romcoms in you guys at a young age.)

So once your thoughts have settled, you close your eyes and drift off to sleep.

Elias’s night wasn’t that much different. He arrived at the Horvat residence with some snacks for the boys, and a new toy for Gunnar, as always. Every time he sees one he knows Gunnar will like, he buys it...it’s a problem.

“Petey!!” Stech shouts as he gets up to grab the snacks from him.

“So how was your daaaaay” Thatcher asks from the couch.

“I’m sure Brock has inform you of how my day went”

“‘Inform’ us he has. But OUR plan is what caused this. WE worked very hard on it” Thatcher says, chuckling.

“Wait, who all knew about it??”

“I didn’t!” Bo shouts from the kitchen!

“And neither did this little boy, he would never betray me,” Elias says, grabbing Gunnar from Brock on the couch and carrying him into the kitchen, the other guys follow. “And guess what Gunnar!!! I got you another toy, cause I’m the best uncle you have, yes I am.”

“Another toy Lias?? Really, I’m going to need to make a whole mother room for all of the toys you get him if you don’t stop”

“But why would I ever stop when he is the best boy ever! He deserves the world, yes he does,” Elias says, looking at Gunnar the whole time.

“Ok, now it’s time for him to have dinner,” Bo says, grabbing Gunnar from Elias.

“So… all of you knew?”

Stech, Brock, Demer, and Marky all nodded, with a guilty look.

“What about you? Elias said, looking at Nils. Nils looked guilty and nodded slowly “my own son? Really Hogs?”

“I’m sorry, I just wants to help you!!”

“We all just ‘wants’ to help you, Petey!” Marky said, mocking the youngest Swede’s mistake. All of them would do that to both of them, make fun of them when they messed up, they just wanted to help them, it’s all in good fun.

“Ok, I know but what if it didn’t work, what would you guys have done?”

“Elias my dear, the point is that it did work. And now Brock won’t have an aneurysm every time you and Y/N/N are in the same room together” Troy says, placing his arm around Elias’s shoulder.

“Yeah Petey, all we wanted was for you to like her as much as we do!” Thatcher said.

“Ok, I never hated her, I just-”, he paused trying to come up with what he was going to say next, “I don’t socialize well, it’s hard for me to talk to people, ok?”

“Which is exactly why we did this. Y/C/N/N is a sweet girl, we just needed to give you both a push since you’re essentially the same person” Marky said.

“LITERALLY” Brock shouted, “ I swear, the more and more I hang out with you, Petey, the more I realize you and my sister are the same. Like sure, she and Quinny are best friends. And like they’re both similar like they’re both shy, awkward, nice, and stuff but you two have the same humor, need for attention, sassy bite, etcétéra etcétéra.”

“Oh my god, you’re totally right! And their fake self confident-ness thingy!!” The other guys shouted assorted affirmations to Nils’s comment.

“What do you mean ‘fake self-confidence thing’?” Elias was confused.

“Both of you do a something where you say stuffs like “well I’m hot, so..” or “cause I’m the best” and my favorite “because the people likes me better than you” but neither of you feel that way far down. You both just like to act like you more confident than you are really.”

“Damn, he called you two out, and he’s so right” Bo chimed in with a chuckle. “Ok, well now that he’s done eating, Marky, can you and the baby Swede go out and pick up the pizza?”

“Yes sir, captain sir!” Marky said saluting Bo.

The rest of them talked while they waited for Gunnars stomach to settle.

“Hey Petey, wanna go grab drinks from the store with me,” Thatcher asks.

“I think we’re good actu-“ Bo starts

“Petey” Thatcher insists with a look that says that’s not exactly the reason why he wants Elias to come with him. And he knows better than to say no to a goalie who gives him that look.

“Yep,” he gets up and follows Demer out the door.

They get in the car and that’s when it starts “so,” Thatch says, “how long have you liked her?” He asks.

“I- uh what? What are you talking abou-”

“Oh save it blondy, I have a 6th sense about this shit.”

“Damn goalies. At least Marky doesn’t know,” Elias mumbles under his breath.

“Oh he definitely does, he just hasn’t said anything for some reason” he laughs.

“How do you know he just doesn’t know?”

“Cause I know this shit, bro. He may have even been messing with you since he and Y/N/N are cuddle buddies and shit. Just to get you to make a move or something”

“HE MADE ME DO THE OPPOSITE! I thought they were together for the longest time until she told me TODAY” That made Thatcher laugh, you know, Elias’s pain and suffering is just HILARIOUS.

Once he calmed down he continued to talk, “Ok, well you didn’t tell us the whole story of what happened in there, so spill” he said as they walked into the store.

“We may have talked”

“....bitch that’s not it, keep going”

“And we kissed a little,” Elias said, face turning red.

“That’s my boy!” Thatcher clapped him on the shoulder.

“You're only 3 years older than me”

“And you're only a year older than Nils, who you claim as your ‘son,’ so shhh” he retorted, “so I assume you two talked about it after, actually knowing you two, that may not have happened,” Thatcher said as they checked out.

“Ha ha ha, yes we talked about it Douglas,” Elias said with an eye roll. “I just told her that I can’t do anything till I do something” he said as they got into the car again.

“What’s that “something” you have to do?” The goalie questioned.

“Talk to her older brother that may just kill me if I tell him so, I’m not too pumped about that.”

“Have you forgotten how much Brock loves you? You’re each other’s work husbands, I think if you tell him he’ll be shocked, but he’d be ok with it.”

“But you didn’t hear what Brock had said about his friend chad in high school! He beat him up and cut him out, I don’t want that to happen to me”

“Petey, if you feel as strongly as I think you feel about YNN then I think you have to tell her, or that would be an extreme disservice to you, her, and honestly my mental health, so you have some work to do.” He said as they finally walked into the Horvat house again.

“Yeah, Petey you have to work on some stuff, like your hair!” Brock quipped.

“Shut up, frat boy, not all of us can have a luscious flow like you.” Elias jabbed back, “oh hi, how’s my favorite person here? Is your tummy settled now, can I finally give you your new toy?”

“Yes, you can,” Bo says, handing his child off to the blonde Swede.

Elias took Gunnar down to the floor, where his new toy was, and played with him while talking in his baby voice, at some point Bo took a video and sent it to Holly, and also his insta story. But that’s ok, he loved his little ‘nephew,’ and honestly, his day couldn’t have gone better.

Tagist: @calgarycanuck @suffering-canucks-fan @2manytabsopen @lovethepreds @callllumhood @mellany1997 @yourlocalgranolagirl54 @all-time-fanatic @Fitnessfreak498 @mysoftboybowen @peachyotps @kale-makar @kentjohnsons @iwantahockeyhimbo @aeyyy-ohhhh @peteysimp @nhlindblom @mitchsmullet @dolphinahabsfan @starswin @heunderwoo @hockeymockeryandlove @peteysimp

[bqstqnbruin]

I hate it when you stare

Wow here I am with another part, another fic. Ignooooree my typooos. Is this more soft smut? No one told me last time if what I wrote counts so uhhhhhhh

Read the whole series:  I hate the way you talk to me and the way you cut your hair // I hate the way you drive my car // I hate it when you stare // I hate your big dumb combat boots and the way you read my mind // I hate you so much it makes me sick, it even makes me rhyme // I hate the way you’re always right // I hate it when you lie // I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry // I hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call // But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all

I really do have work to do for my class at 2:30 tomorrow but instead I finished this, so I hope you like this!

_______________________

“How is it bullshit? Everyone can tell that we’re in love with each other.”

“So, what, because other people believe it, that automatically means it’s true?”

--------------

Evelina was visiting home for the weekend for her mom’s birthday, which meant that you had the apartment to yourself. From Friday after work until Sunday night, you were free to do whatever you wanted by yourself. Or, you thought you were going to be doing whatever you wanted until your boss texted you saying that he wanted your project finished by Monday so you could present it that afternoon. That meant you were posted up on the couch, your hair tied in a bun on top of your head, a mug full of coffee, another of tea, and a cup with water all in front of you, the blanket normally on the back of your couch now draped over your shoulders. It was a full call to the hungover days you had back in undergrad when you woke up late and were struggling to finish the work you had due the next morning.

“It’s me!” you hear a familiar voice call from the door, snapping you out of what might have been the first and only roll you had been on working on the project.

You look up to see Matthew coming over the couch, plastic bags in hand to plop down on the table. “Remind me to change the locks.”

“That would mean you have to get up to let me in, though,” he sends a wink in your direction.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him, even though you felt butterflies throughout your entire body at the sight of him looking so comfortable next to you. It was just because he’s a guy, not because it’s Matthew. You let out a quiet sigh as he fiddles with the remote to your TV. “Who says I wouldn’t leave you in the hallway? Plus, I thought you were supposed to have practice today?” you ask, trying to focus more on your project than on him.

“We’re done, and we don’t have a game for three days for once, so we’re resting up. I figured, why not come see my favorite girl?” he says, resting his hand on your shin once your drape your legs over his lap. 

“Because Taryn is in St. Louis so you settled for me instead?”

He scoffs, slowly running his hand up and down your bare leg while his eyes fixate on the television screen. He had to be able to feel the goosebumps that he was causing with his touch. “Fine, my favorite girl in Calgary unless Taryn is visiting, are you happy?”

“Am I ever happy when I’m around you?” you tease, lifting only your eyes from your screen to look at him. Still staring at the TV, you can see the smile on his face, but it almost looks like his jaw is clenching, like he’s fighting saying something back.

“And how could I not be happy around you when you treat me like that?” Your eyes linger for a second on his smile before scanning the rest of his body. Even under the long-sleeved dry fit shirt he was wearing, you could see the outline of the muscles that graced his abdomen. His arms looked like they were begging to rip the seam of the shirt, and you wanted nothing more than to take it off of him and just let them free. “Do you like what you see, babe?” you hear him say, snapping you out of the thoughts you were convincing yourself meant nothing as he was looking at you out of the corner of his eye. 

“I’m trying to picture you as a more attractive guy,” you lie, “It would be so nice if Elias were here, wouldn’t it?” 

“If you’re implying that you want a threesome, then I don’t think I could do it with a teammate,” he laughs, his fingers tightening around your shin. Would Elias be better than Matthew? Any guy would be better than Matthew, you tell yourself. He’s your best friend, and nothing more. 

“What have I said about being crude?” you ask him, fixating your eyes on the way he’s biting his bottom lip. “I think I’m gonna go get my headphones so I can do this project.” You bolt from the living room to your bedroom, leaving Matthew there by himself while you search for your phone in a panic. 

“Hey, is everything ok?” Evelina says on the other end of the phone call as you try to search for your AirPods in the mess that was your room.

“No, Matthew is here.”

“And that’s bad because?” she asks, drawing out her last word.

Groaning, you drop your phone on your desk, prompting Matthew to call to you asking if you were ok. “I’m fine, don’t worry.” Turning back to Evelina, clearly in a panic that she could hear in your voice, “Matthew is here and I think I’m horny.”

“You’re always horny for him because you’re in love with him.”

“I’m not in love with him and I’m honry because I haven’t been touched by a man in like, three months. It’s starvation.”

You hear her groan on the other end, her parents voices in the background. “Hold on, I need to go into another room,” she says. “Ok, so you really told me two days when you got home that you and Matthew nearly fucked in public  in the liquor store. You have been touched by a man. He was also practically feeling you up at the bar a week ago, might I remind you.” 

“I don’t love him,” you say, unprompted, “And he never even kissed me.”

“Says that hickey that you somehow didn’t notice he gave you?” she says, you turning to your mirror to touch the mark she was talking about. You honestly didn’t know it was there until she said something to you when you walked in the door. “If you don’t love him, why don’t you just tell him to leave?”

“I want company and he’s the only thing I have when you aren’t here. Really, this is all your fault.”

“That was so sweet until you blamed me. If you don’t want him to leave then what’s the problem?”

“Horny,” you say at the same time. “Either do something about it or control yourself, babe, but I’ve gotta go. Miss you, love you,” she says, hanging up when you finally find your AirPods.

Pulling up your playlist so it’s already playing when you get to Matthew, you don’t even look at him as you take your computer back in your lap and throw your legs in his. You can feel his eyes tracing the outline of your body even under the baggy sweatshirt you had on from a college you never went to. 

You had worked for what was probably a solid half hour, Matthew mindlessly rubbing his hand on your leg like he did before, you needing to do everything in your power to stop from thinking about and wanting more. You were interrupted by Matthew reaching over and tugging on the hem of your shorts. “Are you really listening to Christmas music right now?”

“Is it that loud?” you ask, turning the volume down immediately.

“No, I can read your lips. You were mouthing ‘Feliz Navidad,’ and ‘Sleigh Ride.’”

“Oh, then, yes,” your cheeks flushed with embarrassment that you didn’t even realize you were doing that. 

“It’s March, babe.”

“Ok, but Christmas music is fine year round.”

“No?” he questions.

“So I’m going to tell you why you’re wrong,” you start, moving your computer to the table so you don’t drop it, provoking a laugh to escape from his lips, “While I don’t agree with all things in Catholic and the broader Christian doctrine, there are things I can agree with basically because they are up for interpretation, so I interpret them in the way I like. Take, for example, the ninth commandment: love thy neighbor. Some people take it as a literal ‘love thy neighbor’ as in ‘be a good neighbor,’ to the ones who live next door, but I think it’s a matter of caring for those around you, neighbor not being the person immediately next to you wherever you live, but just other people in general.”

“What is your point?” he asks, a devilish grin spread across his face.

“My point is that the Bible, which is the end all be all of Catholic doctrine according to some people, is up for interpretation and people use it the way that benefits them, no matter how wrong they normally are. In Hebrews 13:15, it says, “Through him let us continually offer up a sacrifice of praise to God, that is, the fruit of lips that acknowledge his name,” thereby, justifying and promoting listening to Christmas music year round. It praises Jesus, who is one of the persons that make up God, and doing year round is continuous.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“Hey, if people can be assholes and use a 2,000 year old book to try to wrongly justify their bigotry and homophobia, why can’t I use it to rightly justify my listening to christmas music all year?”

“Are you Catholic?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean I can’t learn about it and keep the things that I like with me. I’m not Jesuit but I follow their ideals like ‘care for the whole person’ and ‘be a man or woman with and for other.’ And Evelina’s parents are very religious, so we kind of put up a front whenever they visit to please them. They still think we go to Mass every Sunday.” 

“Is that why there’s sometimes a crucifix by the door?” he asks, you nodding along. “And that weird Jesus magnet where he has a chefs hat and it says ‘fish and bread are served’ underneath him?”

“Yeah, I think her dad superglued that to the fridge because no matter how many times we’ve tried to get it off it won’t budge. Plus it’s a reference to another Bible passage.” 

“I went to a Catholic high school, remember? I already knew that.” You can’t help but return the smile he was sending your way, this time your eyes flicking down to his lips, you unsure if his were doing the same. You snap out of it, biting your lip and making eye contact with Matthew, both of you breathing slightly unevenly at just thinking about what you could do with each other. Was Evelina right that you two loved each other?

No, she couldn’t be right, because you didn’t love him. You pick your computer back up to get back to work, not saying another word as Matthew turned back to the TV. You hit a deadend, finding yourself back to staring at Matthew’s perfect face while his eyes narrowed and a small smirk formed on his lips at something funny on whatever movie or show he was watching. 

“Ugh, fuck,” you groan, Matthew’s head snapping to your direction as you cover your face with your hands. “I don’t want to do this anymore.” 

He reaches over and pulls your hands from your face, intertwining his fingers in yours. “Take a break, I brought food for us.” 

“You didn’t cook it yourself, did you?” you ask. The last time he had made food for you, you were sick for a week from what you’re sure was food poisoning from something being undercooked.

He laughs, the pad of his thumb rubbing your palms. You could feel your breathing get shallow by this, trying to ignore it while he’s talking to you. “No, I got it from the store down the road, already made. Mac and Cheese!” he says, pulling it out of the bag.

You roll your eyes at his stupidity. “Matthew, we’ve been sitting here for over two hours, why would you leave that on the table instead of in the fridge?”

“It’s still warm!” he argues, opening it, “Oh and it smells so bad.” You burst out laughing as he cringes, closing it immediately. “I’ll order something else.” 

You get up to go throw out the now rancid mac and cheese in the kitchen. “Hey, where do you want to order from?” you hear Matthew call, walking into the kitchen behind you.

The list. 

It’s on the fridge.

Practically throwing yourself at it to try to tear it down in time, you rip it off the fridge and fold it up in your hand just in time for Matthew to come in. “Are you ok?” he asks you, noticing your slightly faster breathing and your hands behind your back.

“Yeah, the smell was just bad,” you lie to him, shoving the list in the band of your shorts. “And I was looking at the Jesus magnet.” 

“That thing is so creepy,” he says, both of you looking at it. Knowing Matthew, you try as discreetly as possible to move the paper to your front so he can’t feel it as he inevitably presses his front to your back, his arms draping over your shoulders. Without thinking, you reach up to touch his hands as he rests his head on yours. “It’s way too white to be Jesus.”

His arms move their way down your body, settling around your waist as he starts to nibble at your ear. “God, you are so sexy,” you hear him let out.

“You’re awfully handsy lately, aren’t you Matty?”

“Oh come on,” he says, turning you around to face him, practically pinning you against the fridge, “You know we’re always like this with each other.” 

You smile at him, cupping his face in your hands as you run the pads of your thumbs along his cheeks. “We have a weird...” you start, trying to figure out the right word to describe whatever it was you had with him, “friendship,” you settle on, not exactly liking the word yourself as your tried to hide the cringe you were sure was appearing on your face. 

He swallows hard at that word. Even relationship would have been better, even if it were more broad than ‘friendship.’ At least it wasn’t such a narrow word. It felt like even if you didn’t finish the list you didn’t know he knew about, you would never see him as more than a friend. “Well, that’s what makes it my favorite friendship.” 

The two of you stand there for a minute, holding each other and gazing into the others eyes. You could feel your breathing slow down studying Matthew’s facial features again, thinking only of how perfect they looked to you in that moment. “We should figure out where we’re getting food from,” you say, dragging your hands down his chest before dropping him all together. 

He could have stared at you like that forever. He really couldn’t think of anyone more perfect than you, anyone he would want to look at besides you. “What are you in the mood for?” he asks, moving over to the counter. Opening your fridge, you remember you still have the list folded in the band of your shorts, throwing it in before grabbing some water out. “What did you just throw in there?” Matthew asked you, having watched your every move.

“Uh, Evelina and I have this weird list that we’re putting together, it didn’t feel right to have Jesus looking over it all of a sudden,” you tell him, “But now that you had mac and cheese on my mind, I kind of want that.”

“Oh, no, you’re not changing the subject that easily,” he says, trying to reach around you to open the fridge. 

“No, come on, it’s mostly Evelina’s and I don’t know if she would want you seeing it,” you lie, batting your eyes at him and trying to contort your face to make it look like you would cry if he tried anything else. He couldn’t see the list of things you hate about it. He couldn’t find out about it. 

He sighs, knowing he wasn’t going to win this one. “I ordered you mac and cheese but I’ll pay for it if you tell me the subject of the list?” he tries to bargain. 

“Uh, it’s a list of kinks,” you lie, not knowing what else to say, and usure why that was the first thing that came to mind.

His eyes go wide, pretending to be shocked. It was the list of ten things you hate about him. It had to be. He grins anyway, trying to hide the pain he felt knowing that the list was already started, and probably nearly finished at this point, “Are any of them your kinks?” 

“Yeah,” you start to lie to him again, a grin on your face, “One of them says, ‘When Matthew leaves me alone.’”

He scrunches up his face, pretending to be hurt by your comment as he walks back to your living room. “Oh you know just how to break my heart, pretty girl.” You follow him, plopping down next to him on your couch. 

You pick up your computer, snuggling into his shoulder as he wraps his arm around you. “I have no desire to do this project.” 

“Why don’t we watch something on TV then and you can work again after we eat?” he suggests. You nod, putting the computer back down, surrendering to his pout. You feel him kiss the top of your head, scrolling through the channels. “What about Lilo and Stitch?” he asks when he finds it on one of the channels. 

“Ugh, I love this movie, but the American treatment of Hawaiians is awful, and I just can’t help but think about it every time I watch,” you say, thinking you were being annoying. “Sorry,” you apologize. Evelina was used to your rants, even if you were sure she normally tuned them out. You didn’t think Matthew wanted to listen to another rant from you. 

“Don’t get me started?” he asks, referring to the game you and the guys played at the bar.

“Don’t get me started on the American colonization of Hawaii. The Cookes’ went to Hawaii and pretty much obliterated the royal bloodline. The king of Hawaii had the Cookes build boarding schools for the royal children, with good intentions that they would be able to educate his children on royal customs to effectively rule their land. Instead, the Cookes took the Hawaiian customs and told them they were wrong, imparting their own customs on them, instead. They wanted he land for America, they wanted to eliminate the Hawaiian culture and make them as American as possible,” you say. “The Hawaiian people were a very sex positive people, but oh no, American Catholic education and their ‘no sex is the safest sex’ ideal stopped the children from living the lives they grew up expected to live. If a boy was found in a girls room doing anything in these boarding schools, they would beat the children as punishment, and probably other things that weren't even recorded. There are actually a decent number of Wikipedia pages that have had this information erased, like when you go back into the edit history. The sources, as they claimed, weren’t valid, but in reality they weren’t the Cookes’ American-centric description of these schools. They even went so far as introducing sports into the schools as ‘an antidote to the worst evil of all: sexual promiscuity,’” you comment, drawing a laugh from Matthew. “Because we all know how much athletes hate sex, right?” 

You look up at Matthew, him beaming down at you as Hawaiian Roller Coaster Ride starts ironically playing in the background, “Yeah, we hate that,” he whispers. You swallow hard, trying to ignore any feelings that might be coming up at the sight of Matthew biting his bottom lip. 

“American’s always just insert themselves where they don’t belong,” you finish, settling your head back onto his shoulder as he pulls you closer to him. 

“Why do you know all of this?” he asks.

You shrug, not really sure how to answer, “I don’t know. When I’m doing work I see one word and it sends my mind into this never ending tangent and I end up looking up stuff online and reading for hours.” 

“You really are the smartest person I know,” he says with a sigh, “Why hasn’t Ev told her parents about hiding the Catholic stuff until they come?” 

You shrug, “I don’t know. I never asked, she just told me it was something she needed to do, so I did it with her. That’s her own cross to bear,” you say, taking a minute to realize the really bad pun you just made. “Ah! See what I did there!” you practically yell, Matthew groaning.

“On that note, I think I need to leave,” he jokes, getting up off the couch.

“Oh, come on, no!” you beg, taking him by the hand and trying to drag him back down to the couch. “I don’t want you to leave,” you let out as he pulls you off the couch. 

“Really?” he asks you, sitting back down on the couch, your hands still connected.

Standing over him you nod as he pulls you into his lap, straddling him. He pulls you as close to him as you can, your hands wrapped around the back of his neck. Your mind flashes back to the liquor store, the feeling that came over you as he worked his way along your body like you had a feeling he was about to do again. 

“Come on Matthew, you know this isn’t something we do,” you tease, even though you can’t help but look at his lips, the urge to kiss him creeping up on you as you tried desperately to suppress it. If any guy had taken you into his lap like Matthew just did, you would want to do the same thing. You were just desperate for a man, not desperate for Matthew. 

“We can’t do anything?” he teases, going for your neck again. You let out a moan, praying that he doesn’t leave any more marks that you’ll have to cover up later. 

“Wait,” you say to him, pulling him off of you. He looks slightly upset, not sure what to do next. ‘Ah, fuck it,’ you think to yourself, pulling his shirt off over his head, tossing it to the side and returning the favor of the hickey he gave you. You suck on his skin, listening to the moans that escaped from his lips this time, feeling him grow hard the longer you were at it. He clenches his hands on your butt, pulling you even closer to him. You work your way up his neck and to his jaw, his grip getting tighter the closer you were to his lips. You had no idea what was coming over you and causing you to want to do this, but nothing in that moment felt better. Nothing in your life had ever felt better as you kissed his face the way he did to you the other day, hearing him moan more and more with every connection you made. 

Your lips are millimeters from his, both of you practically begging the other for connection when you’re startled by the sound of Matthew’s phone ringing. You both laugh, foreheads pressed together. One more second and it would have happened. “I think that means our food is here.” 

“Perfect fucking timing,” he mutters, not loud enough for you to hear as you get up to go grab the food. He couldn’t believe you just did that. He checks his neck in his phone camera, seeing it littered with the red marks you had left for him. He reaches up to touch them, smiling for some reason. There’s no way this list would work against him, would it? 

You come back, him practically throwing his phone so you don’t see what he’s doing, settling down on the couch with each other eating the food. Your mind starts racing with thoughts about what just happened. There was no way you really wanted that, did you? Well, you wanted a man’s touch, but it didn’t necessarily have to be Matthew. It could be any guy. 

‘I have another thing for the list,’ you text Evelina, your eyes moving between your phone screen and his hands holding his food, careful not to look up at his face.

‘Good, god, what?’

‘I hate the way he stares,’ you send her, finally looking up, not taking your eyes off Matthew as the two of you can’t help but stare at each other.

[cozycryptidcorner]

The Mad Prince, Chapter 13 (slightly nsfw)

tw: alcohol/drinking, drunken consensual groping.

“What are you doing?” Clementine asks, almost amused.

You’re busy rummaging around all available cabinets in the kitchen, several of them open, plates, glasses, and other kitchenette stuff laid out on the counter. While you’re pretty sure there’s a far better kitchen below your feet, this one appears mostly for aesthetic and midnight snack reasons. You, though, have a very intentional way of searching, fingers nimble as you run your hands over the inner panels, just one.

“I’m bored,” is all you say, as if that’s the only explanation she needs. Unsatisfied with what you’ve found so far, you begin to put everything back, sealing the cabinets firmly on the latch. Jumping down from the upper counter, you continue on your quest on the lower compartments.

Once you resume your rummaging, it doesn’t take you too much longer to find a strangely shaped bottle, glass long and ornately spun around a strange purple liquid. All you have to do is unlock the seal at the top, and the scent of the thin, violet liquid makes your eyes water. You haven’t had a single thing to drink with any kind of percentage since the Starward Matchmakers™ took you into their loving flock, and to say you’ve been itching for a goddamn shot would be an understatement.

“Holy shit,” you half gasp, half wince. Whatever is in the bottle smells like paint stripper, your body is already trying to cough back up the liquor you haven’t even had a chance to drink.

“What are you going to do with that?” The shell slips as a touch of her real personality peeks through, her face scowling before she catches herself.

“Drink it, duh,” you can’t read the label, the large, swooping lettering elegant and filled with opulent promise.

“Is that a good idea?” Clementine prods further, arms on her hips.

“Oh please,” you glance over your shoulder just to make sure no one else is eavesdropping on the conversation, “if I couldn’t keep my mouth shut while drunk, I’d never have a job. Besides, I have a super fun idea.”

“Super fun,” Clem echoes, eyebrows arching.

“Come on, bestie, let’s go find two other players.”

It doesn’t take a lot of time to locate the prince, in his own makeshift office he’s turned one of the rooms into. The desk has a holographic screen hovering just slightly over the slab of dark metal.

He looks at the crystalline bottle in your hand, then back up at you. “Yes?”

“I thought we could have a fun game night.” You say, gently swirling the bottle around and offering it up like a vicious cat bringing its master a dead thing as a gift. “Involving liquor, of course.”

His eyes widen as his brow arches, a quizzical gesture, you’ve come to learn, and you feel his gaze flicker over your shoulder and land on Clementine, who is probably doing her best to appear like she thinks that this idea is the motherfucking best. Then he looks back at you. “And what games are you thinking?”

“Well…” you try to wrack your brain, “I was thinking poker, but I’d be fine with blackjack, diamonds five, lemon lemon…. Or like, old maid. Monopoly, even, if you like.”

The prince blinks. “Most of those are forms of gambling.”

You feel Clementine’s aggressive aura on your back, but you offer up a nonchalant shrug. “I suppose so, but like… we don’t have to play for money or anything. Winner or loser, doesn’t matter.”

There’s a beat of silence, you can see the synapses firing within his brain as he thinks over the suggestion. Then, calmly, he suggests, “I suppose that there are things we can gamble other than money.”

“I like your style!” You shake the bottle, “I was thinking about inebriation.”

”Babe,” Clem says, her voice slightly grated, “fun idea… but no.”

Oh, now it seems like the prince is very much interested, but only on account of Clem’s quick attempt to shut it down. “What do you mean?”

You’re quick to talk over Clem’s continuing protests, “instead of gambling money, the loser of the round takes a shot. Uhhh, but since your body’s like three times bigger, you get to take two.”

“Oh, I get to take two?” He asks, cocking his head with a slightly amused look. And he’s not immediately refusing, either, you knew he wouldn’t, but you supposed he wouldn’t actually consider it so seriously. “Is this something humans do?”

“Yes,” you say, nodding, “for fun.”

“And you would like to play it with me?”

You nod again.

He mulls it over, looking back at a now-silent Clem, and says, “and will you be playing.”

“I suppose,” she says, pursing her lips.

“We were also hoping that Elias would play as well,” you say, almost slyly, “to make it an even four.”

“I will let him know.” He says, completely serious, as though he’s talking about affairs of the state, and not about getting drunk while gambling.

“Okay,” you say, bouncing on the edge of your toes in excitement.

“Okay,” he echoes, as though tasting the word on his tongue.

“See you later, then,” you take a step back, trying really hard not to smile.

“Oh my god,” Clementine mutters as you turn around, quietly enough for only you to hear. “You two are ridiculous.”

“I hear most couples are,” you whisper conspiratorially back at her as the door to the office closes.

“And here’s to thinking you were at your wit’s end just a day ago,” she says, and you can feel the motion of her eyes rolling even though you’re not looking at her. “I can already see you making out with him in your head.”

“Okay but also consider: inebriation makes for honest conversations,” you say, running your fingers along your scalp, “and I plan on having a very calm and collected conversation about things like how many people he thinks are planning to kill me, while you, my dearest and most precious friend in the entire universe, are going to be keeping Elias distracted with your fantastic tits.”

She chokes, scrabbling for words, voice cutting in and out as though her brain is fried. “He does not think my-”

“You may be trained to clock someone’s fighting style twenty klicks away by the way they shake their ass, but I,” you turn around and walk backwards to drink in her glaring face, grinning, “have been teaching myself to recognize carnal lust on sight.”

“Princess,” she says, her voice full of warning, “you’re on thin fucking ice right now.”

“See you later!” You sing, escaping into your room before she sees fit to smack you into the next century.

---------------------------------------------_

“Okay,” you say, shuffling the cards between your fingers, “rules are simple.”

To your right side, the prince, and to the left, Clementine, with Elias sitting across the table. The bottle of liquor is in the center of the table, four shot glasses in front of each person as a grim reminder that you’ll have to drink the moment you lose your hand.

“So the loser of each hand has to drink the shots placed in the betting pool,” you say, cheerfully, “except for Aksanos, who has to take an extra two because his blood alcohol level is more difficult to raise since he’s bigger than my first studio apartment.”

Their first mistake: letting you deal.

“We bet with alcohol shots based on how confident you are with how good your hand is.” You begin to deal out cards, mentally counting to five for each stack. “High card is when you have no matches, two of a kind is when you have two of the same numbers, three of a kind is the same but with three-” etcetera, etcetera. The winner isn’t the important hand, here, it’s the loser. “Folding in this context means that you take the shots you threw into the pot. Any questions?”

“I don’t understand why I have to be here,” Elias says, holding his cards like this is a game of Go Fish.

“I mean any questions in regards to the game rules?” You skip over him, just for the sake of being annoying.

“What does the winner get?” Clementine asks, lounging with one arm swung over the back of her chair. “I think the person who wins first the most should get something.”

“You mean besides an intact liver?” You ask, taking a peek at your cards. Nice, unless everyone has a really fortunate hand, you should be alright this first round. “I don’t know, I’m not exactly in a position to hand anything out.”

All eyes turn to the person with the fattest wallet, and, to his credit, the prince actually looks like he’s pondering the question. “A favor,” he seems to conclude.

“From you?” Clementine asks, sounding suddenly like she’s ready to put her competitive hat on.

“Yes.”

“And what if you’re the winner?” She asks, prodding.

“I suppose that my prize will be peace of mind.” He says, looking at his cards. “Since I won’t have to offer up my services otherwise.”

“Awesome,” you say, reaching over and pouring the potent liquor in every single one of your shot glasses, sliding one into the center of the table. “Let’s begin.”

When you first pitched the game, you thought your only real competition would be Clementine. After all, you’ve seen soldiers like her lay waste to the poker tables before, especially since ceasefires make for bored tacticians with little outlets for their strategies. As predicted, Elias continuously seems to either fold or lose, he doesn’t seem to have much of a grasp for the game in general, nor does he even care to try. The prince, however?

He starts out slowly, cautiously. Like he’s testing his boundaries. He folds once or twice, watching you closely as he throws back his shots of purple liquor. After you’ve leapt into a significant lead, the thrum of hot alcohol from your folds burning through your blood, he seems to take a sharp turn and starts winning, as in, beating you as time eats into the night.

As you shuffle the card stack once almost every hand possible could have played, you observe him closely. He’s staring at your hands, intently, watching the way your thumb flicks one half into the other, head shifting slightly as you twist your wrist to part the deck once more. Almost in an accusation, you don’t look down at your hands as you shuffle, knowing this movement by heart, and then begin tossing everyone their cards.

Elias doesn’t even look at his hand as he folds, face and ears a mottled blue as he nurses a glass of water. Clementine is ‘resting her eyes’ for ‘just a minute,’ head slumped over on the table, her bra hanging from the side of the chair (when did she even take that off?).

The prince has already learned to only look at his cards once, hand over the backs, then gauges you for any sort of reaction as he pushes his filled shot glasses in. Luckily, though, the more you drink, the less your face works, so all you offer up is a resting bitch face that would kill any human man, matching him without hesitation.

You lay your cards out, revealing a four of a kind.

He lays his out, revealing the same hand… but with straight aces.

Four shots. You have to take in four shots.

“Careful,” he says, as though he has no cares in the universe, “I hear alcohol poisoning is a terrible way to go.”

You drink the first, wiping your mouth with your sleeve and refusing to give him the satisfaction of wincing from the burn of the liquor. “I’ve had worse.”

The second shot is harder to drink without making a face, you think your nose twitches despite your attempts not to move.

Your body is sending warning signals to your head as your fingers wrap around the third shot glass, not exactly nauseous yet, but with the knowledge that you definitely will be if you finish what you started.

“I fold,” the prince says just before the liquor hits your lips.

“What?” It takes you a moment to process what he just said.

“I fold,” he repeats, pushing his winning hand to the center and grabbing the remaining shot glass.

“You can’t fold after you’ve played the round,” you say, though your body screams in relief at not having to finish the shots.

“I don’t remember that being in the rules,” he says, “besides, it’s not going to be fun if you’re passed out on the table like your friend here.”

“-’m wrake,” Clementine mumbles, her words so slurred you can barely recognize their meaning.

You wait for a beat, then put the glass down and push it in his direction. “Fine. Here, don’t forget the extra.”

“I would not dare,” he says, amusement in his tone. True to his word, he pours another shot, drinking all three in quick succession.

For a while, you didn’t think he was getting drunk, blaming his more spidery bits for his supposed immunity to alcohol, but the more you stare, the more you notice unusual symptoms in his body. Like the flushed skin around his eyes and nose. Or the way his shoulders slant as he sits. How he’s started to rest his chin on his hand.

Slowly, you begin to shuffle the cards, keeping an eye on how he seems to be watching you with more intensity than before, and you realize something. Oh, oh, for fuck’s sake, you should have noticed it before, but now that he’s drunk, he’s not hiding it so much.

“You’re counting cards,” you accuse.

“And you’re playing with a marked deck,” he responds just as snidely.

You hesitate for just a moment because you hadn’t expected to actually get caught, and then you realize; oh. OH. That’s how he started making a heavy-hitting comeback, he figured out the almost nonsensical pattern on the back of the cards is actually a code.

Fuck.

And then you think further, hands folded like you’re praying. Yes, your mind is clouded with drink, but you’re still capable of weighing the pros and cons of an extremely critical concept. It’s not about the how he figured it out, you decide, but the fact that he quickly adapted, continued playing, and even started winning… without saying anything. He could have demanded a new deck in the face of fairness, but he didn’t.

That’s so…

So…

“Hot,” you say out loud.

“What?” He sounds confused.

“I mean,” you lean back in your chair, clarifying, “if you’re going to continue being so smart and attractive, I’m going to have to have sex with you.”

Elias coughs into his glass, bless him, you forgot he was even there, with his eyes bugging out of his skull. ”Keias,” he almost sounds like he’s begging, “please excuse me for the night, I’m afraid in order to best serve you, I will need to rest and recover.”

“You are dismissed,” the prince says, face a shade of blue you didn’t think he was capable of having.

And oh boy, does Elias leave like the entire goddamn room is on fire, though with the efficiency of an incredibly drunk individual. Even though his first few steps are wobbly, he still manages to flee the thick sexual tension your aura is probably emanating through the air, shooting out the door and disappearing into the ship.

Mercilessly, as soon as the door shuts, you turn back to the large drider at the receiving end of your arousal. To his credit, he seems to be so unused to blatant invitations to use someone’s body like a goddamn carousel that he’s at a loss for words. On the other hand, you have a variety of positions you would like to try out if what the anatomy charts they showed you back at the Starward Matchmakers™ are accurate.

But first… you need to take some measures to dull the oncoming hangover.

“Let’s raid the kitchen,” you say, knowing the sudden change of pace will give him whiplash.

“I’ll call someone to carry her to bed,” the prince says, gesturing to Clem’s body, “someone who isn’t inebriated.”

“Excellent idea,” you say, knowing full well you would drop her halfway through the hallway and somehow end up breaking both your noses in progress.

A servant is ridiculously quick to retrieve her, as though they had been lying in wait just outside the door at the prince’s beck and call, but you find yourself not caring about that creepiness factor in the face of food.

“Shall I call the chef?” He asks as you push through the doors leading into the kitchen.

“Nah,” you say, “they’ll need all the sleep they can get for the breakfast we will collectively want tomorrow. I can cook, I’m not an animal.”

Already, your vision blurs as the last two shots fully hit your system. Even with the glass of water you absolutely chug like a dehydrated lava scrapper, you know it’s going to be a hot minute before you start seeing straight again if you don’t start shoving carbs down your throat. So, quick as you can, you start rifling through the many different cabinets and the three (?!) refrigerators to locate something that your drunk stomach positively craves.

“Normally,” you say, “during my nights out, I go to one of those hover-stands that park out by the clubs and stuff specifically for the drunk hungry people leaving. I don’t know how to describe just how good Abuelita’s Tacos are when it’s three am, and you’re stumbling out of the club, exhausted.”

“And is that something you often do?” He asks, voice slightly slurred.

“It’s a good way to meet people,” you climb up one of the counters, rifling through bags of food with labels you can’t read. “Especially if you’re freelance. You never know who needs to transport cargo if you don’t start asking around.”

“Mmm,” he muses, “and do many pilots tend to frequent bars for customers?”

“Only the ones that aren’t in a guild or privately hired,” you say, hopping down from one counter and heading for the other.

“And you’re not?” He’s wheedling you for information, but you’re comfortable with offering up more than usual.

“Do I strike you as someone who likes being told what to do?” You ask instead of answering. “Oh, my god, the guilds have so many rules. Cut your hair like this, wear these clothes, go to those places, don’t do drugs. Gets old fast when someone is in charge of how you live your life.”

“Hm, we will have to agree on that.” The way his hands are cradling his head is… cute, you think. “Unfortunately, sometimes we don’t have a choice.”

“Yeah I’ve heard that your mom’s a mega-bitch,” you say, surprised that you’ve never outwardly spoken against the queen before.

For a moment, you think you’ve gone too far, but then he laughs. He laughs. And it’s a beautiful laugh, you think, head empty but for the warmth of the sound. Sweet. Gentle. Nothing like the stories of a cruel, maniacal shriek, you have to stand there, speechless, committing that fucking delightful voice to memory.

“What?” He asks when he notices you’re uncharacteristically still.

“You’re cute,” you say, resuming your hunt. Aha, bread! Finally! Your stomach gurgles with joy, and your liver sighs with relief.

“Oh,” you can hear a bashful tone tangled with his words. “Thank you. It’s not every day I am observed to be so.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll just tell you every day from now on.” You find a knife and a slab of plastic you assume is a cutting board, and unwrap the bread from the clear wrapping plastic. Everything in your body screams for protein, so you begin to rummage through the fridge for anything that smells vaguely like it will satiate the craving.

Once you bring a pile of stuff to the counter, the prince says, almost like he’s taking a gamble, “you’re not exactly what I was expecting.”

You start cutting slices of bread. “You mean today? Or just in general.”

“You were such a meek little thing when we first met,” he says, almost dreamily, “I was afraid you would be so easily crushed by my enemies, and so I tried to protect you like a little, delicate flower.” He holds his hands out, as though simulating how he might hold the aforementioned plant.

“But?” You prod, adding a slab of… meat? Maybe. Cheese? Also maybe. It’s a gauntlet of stuff you’re adding to your strange sandwich.

“But, I now see that you’re a manipulative, lying cheat.” Even though those words should make your heart sink, he says them with such fondness you don’t feel an ounce of rejection. “It takes a very smart person to outdo my careful planning, and you’ve done so many times.”

You lick your thumb clean of a spread you found in the door shelf, finding it strangely savory. “And… you like that?”

“Absolutely,” he says with no hesitation. “You challenge me in all the best ways. No one does that, not anymore.”

Trying to come up with a response that doesn’t involve crying on the floor, you slide the finished sandwich in his direction. “Oh.”

“That wasn’t very romantic,” Aksanos seems to realize, eyes snapping back into reality. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to sound so terrible-”

You kiss him. Hard. Without the tentative shyness you had kissed him with before. Oh, no, this kiss is hungry, it’s starving, it’s full of desperation and adoration, laced with heated attraction and stifled desire. It doesn’t take long for you to introduce a tongue to this equation, and even though you don’t think he’s familiar with that concept, he’s a fast learner.

The cold metal of the counter presses up against your ass as you use it for leverage, lifting one of your legs and slinging it over his waist, pulling him closer. His hands come to rest on your hips, gilded claws pressing through your clothes, you can tell that he’s unsure of what your boundaries might be. So you help him out, breaking the kiss long enough for you to find the hem of your shirt and lift it up over your body. Just as quickly, you unclasp your bra, tossing it to the side.

He stares at your breasts like he’s never seen a pair of naked tits before, and you suppose that anatomy differences between your species might be throwing him for a loop.

“Wow,” he says, and immediately looks like he regrets it.

You laugh softly, tracing his jawline with your fingers. “Thanks, I grew them myself.”

And then you’re kissing him again, guiding his hands up to your chest as a way of encouragement. He’s careful and slow, the cool sharpness of his claws ghosting over your skin, lips and fangs so eager to please. There’s a heat building between your thighs, one that the seam of your pants only marginally relieves as you grind up against his waist.

“Give me your hands,” you manage to whisper, breaking away from him long enough to draw breath.

He’s a tad confused but obeys.

“I’m going to show you where to touch me,” you murmur, “but those knives strapped to your fingers need to be off.”

“Good idea,” he breathes in agreement.

You take his dominant hand in both of yours, taking a quick moment to kiss the heel of his palm. Then, carefully, you reach for the piece of clawed jewellery on his index finger, picking at the clasp with your fingernail until it comes loose, pulling it off and setting it to the side. You keep your hands as steady as you drunkenly can, knowing each individual ornament is worth more than what you would make in a year.

Next, pants- you need to get the last barrier between him and you off and gone. Hands shaking, you manage to undo the button just above the zipper, clasping that tiny piece of metal between your fingers-

The door opens to someone who looks like they immediately regret every single life decision that’s led them up to this point. And, in fact, they look like if you and the prince weren’t staring at them at this very moment, they would duck out and act like they never laid witness to this mess.

“A- a thousand and million apologies-” they begin.

“State your business.” Like a switch is flipped back on, he’s a regal and terrifying monarch again.

“It’s first shift for the kitchen staff, my keias, I didn’t- if I had known-”

You look up at the clock, realizing just now how late- or early, really, it is. If you were still on the planet, the prince would be getting up to start his duties soon, so... conceivably? A cook would need that head start for a fancy breakfast.

“Yeah, thanks,” you say, twisting your body to protect your nakedness as you find your shirt. Though, through your panic and drunkenness, you can’t seem to locate your bra. Oh well, the sooner you’re out here, the better. “Sorry we wrecked the place, this should have been a bedroom activity, anyways.”

And then you drag the sole heir of Lolth’s monarchal throne out of the kitchen before he decides to kill that poor cook.

[comphersjost]

All For You | 5 [Finale] ➸ Brady Tkachuk and Matthew Tkachuk

firstly, i want to say thank you all so fucking much for the love, the support, the countless asks, comments, and reblogs on this series. this is an epilogue of sorts - mostly focusing on matty’s POV - as well as a tribute to the first part that started this all. enjoy my loves <3

4 times Matty knew he loved you, and the one time he knew you loved him.

word count: 6.8k+

warnings: some smut, not super descriptive, angst, elias and noah being little shits, lots of elaboration on events previously mention in the series :)

part one

part two 

part three

part four

masterlist

I. 

The game was brutal. You curled up on your couch to watch it, your body tense the entire time. You lost track of how many times Matt fought someone on the ice, whether he went after someone on behalf of one of his teammates, or when he was being targeted. To say the least...Matt got his ass handed to him.

The game ends with the Rangers shutting out the Flames. You keep the TV on, anxious to see if Matt was going to be interviewed. He wasn’t, but you caught glimpses of him behind Mark Giordano as he answered questions in that monotone hockey voice. Matt looked like a wreck from what you saw, bruises forming on his face and hair an absolute mess. 

You shake your head and turn the TV off, immediately reaching for your phone. You text him without thinking, not realizing what you did until you see ‘delivered’ under the messages. 

you: i’m sorry about the game :( you: anything i can do? you: ice cream or something? 

You panic when the read receipt pops up almost immediately. You'd only been in Calgary for about a month, and only hung out with him a couple of times - and that was with constant reassurance from Brady that you weren't a burden on him. Either way, there's no way he would trust you that much right? 

Three short consecutive buzzes sounded, snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts. 

matthew: can i come over? matthew: if that's cool with you matthew: no worries if not ik you said you haven't totally unpacked 

You can't help the smile that tugs at your lips at the last text. Maybe he really didn't see you as just his brother’s best friend. You quickly type a response back. 

you: of course you can !! you: and fyi i did unpack you: sorta 

matthew: am i supposed to believe that???? matthew: be there in like. 20 matthew: i still gotta shower lol

you: then shower it up stink monster you: see u sooooon you: any snack/drink requests? 

It takes a few minutes to get a response from him, and you assumed that he showered during that time. Over the past month Matt almost never lagged when it came to responding to texts, except for practices and games. 

Your phone buzzes again, but this time it’s a Snapchat notification from Matt. You click on it and the app switches. Tapping on the red square reveals Matt, seemingly fresh out of the shower with his thumb up. That caption reads “fastest shower time on the team? yessir”, another caption underneath reading “no longer a stink monster”.

You laugh and respond to a photo of the top half of your face, typing out “yeah yeah answer my text stinky”. He opens the snap immediately, and 30 seconds later you get a text from him. 

matthew: yo tbh if you have popcorn 👀👀

you: ur in luck i do!! the super buttery kind tho :/

matthew: my fave matthew: don't tell anyone on the team tho 

You pause for a moment. You hadn't even met anyone on the team, only heard them in the background of the few phone calls you'd had with Matthew. Did he want you to meet them? 

Shaking the thought out of your head, you react to the message with the laugh reaction and assure him you won't. He texts you to let you know he was on his way and suddenly you panic again. Matt hadn't been in your apartment since your first week in Calgary. Even then it wasn't really your apartment, it was just an empty place filled with boxes. He had helped you build all the furniture that had arrived, but since then you’d only hung out with him at restaurants or bars or coffee shops. 

You don't know why the idea of him in your space makes anxiety wash over you, and you have to remind yourself that Matt is someone you grew up with. He's your best friend’s brother and someone you've known your whole life, but for some reason you still felt like you had something to prove to him. 

There's a heavy knock on your door before you can pull yourself out of your head enough to make sure everything in your apartment is clean and tidy, and you almost want to scream but you figure it would be weirder than having a slightly messy living room. 

When you open the door for Matt, the first thing you notice are the two forming bruises on his face. The second thing you notice is how tired he looks, his smile genuine but still not reaching his eyes. 

“Hey,” you breathe out, “Come in.” He bumps your shoulder softly in a silent greeting as he slips past you into your apartment. 

“The place looks great, Y/N/N,” Matt says softly, admiring the decorations and photos you’d placed around to make it feel more like home. You're glad he isn't facing you and can't see the surprised look on your face at hearing him call you by your nickname. 

“Thanks Matty,” you say, your anxiety fading when he turns to smile at you again. “I’ll get the popcorn, you can pick a movie or a show or something, if you want.” You chuckle softly as he all but collapses on your couch, stretching out as you make your way towards the kitchen. 

Matt’s eyes follow you as you disappear through the doorway, the sound of the microwave starting just a few moments later. If he wasn't so tired and bruised he would pay more attention to the nervousness bubbling up inside of him. It had been a long time since he really hung out with you like this - the last time he can remember was probably his senior year of high school. Brady had been gone on a class trip for one of the few classes you hadn't taken together, and Taryn was still too young for you to relate to her. So for a full week you showed up at their door and flopped on his bed, or vice versa, claiming that you were bored and were there to stay. He remembers pretending to be annoyed, but inside he was practically screaming, overthinking every little thing that he said to you. 

His teammates would chirp him if they knew - Matt had known that for sure. What, a hotshot hockey playing senior getting butterflies over a sophomore girl? Oh, he would be torn apart in the locker room. That's why he didn't kiss you then. It was stupid, really, now that he thought back on it, but he was 17 then, and his teammates’ opinions were more important to him than taking a chance with his brother’s best friend. 

But now you were here. In Calgary. And he was here, in your apartment.

He feels 17 again, your sweet voice floating from the kitchen asking him if he wanted anything to drink. He replies that he only wants water, and decides to take you up on looking through Netflix. He settles for a random episode of Parks and Rec when you come back to the living room, a bowl of popcorn in one hand, and two glasses of water somehow held in the other. 

You make a face at him and shove his legs out of the way with your foot, placing the bowl and glasses on the table. You laugh when he groans and moves his legs out of the way so you can sit, before moving them back onto the couch to tangle with your own. Matt reaches for the bowl of popcorn as you snatch a blanket from its spot on the back of the couch and drape it over both of your legs. 

“Still cold all the time, Y/N/N?” Matt teases, nudging his foot against your knee as you laugh sharply. 

“Haven't changed a bit, Matty,” you throw back immediately. Your heart skips a beat when he laughs, a really, loud, genuine laugh, head thrown back and everything. You can't help but think that it suits him more than the tired smile he wore when he showed up at your door. 

“You really haven't,” he says with a grin, eyes finally sliding back to yours. His hair curls over his forehead, but you can't look away from his eyes. The intensity of his stare makes you shiver, and you pretend it’s from the cold, pulling the blanket towards you more and looking away. You ignore his grumble of protest, but he lets you do it anyway. 

“You haven't changed either, you know,” you say quietly. He stays silent, only shifting in his spot to get more comfortable. 

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, your eyes on the TV and his on...well his eyes are on you. He thinks back to all the times he wanted to make a move on you. Countless hours he spent beating himself up for letting the opportunities slip through his fingers because of his stupid pride. 

He's not 17 anymore, he could kiss you right now. He could wrap his arms around your waist and pull you into his lap, kiss you until you're breathless and absolutely begging for him. 

But he doesn't. 

Not when you look like this, so comfortable and warm and here. He can't kiss you when you opened your home to him after a tough loss. He can't take advantage of you like that. 

So Matt trains his eyes on the TV again, sneaking glances at you here and there as he all but shovels popcorn into his mouth so he doesn't say something stupid. He doesn't realize you've fallen asleep until he sneaks another glance at you, this time looking for just a little longer than a split second. 

Your eyes are closed, cheek smushed into the cushion and your chest rising and falling with soft, even breaths. He realizes then how tired you must be, it’s nearly 11:30 and he knows you have to be up early for work. He can't tear his eyes away, can't help but take advantage of being able to stare at you without getting caught. 

God, you're so cute like this, he wishes you were in his arms instead of on the other side of the couch. He wants this to last as long as possible, but your head is tilted at an awkward angle, and he doesn't want you to go to work tomorrow in pain. 

Instead of taking his time looking over every inch of your adorable sleeping face, he gently untangles his legs from yours, grabbing the empty bowl and cups and heading to the kitchen. Once he's done washing them and placing them on the drying rack, he heads back to you, pausing in the doorway for one more moment to just look at you. 

He finally convinces himself that he’s stared enough, it’s getting creepy now, and you need to go to bed. Matt makes his way back to you, squatting down and gently placing a hand on your arm. 

“Y/N/N?” he says softly, rubbing softly up and down your arm. 

“Hmm?” you hum softly, blinking slowly with blurry eyes. 

“You gotta go to bed,” he murmurs, and he can't stop himself from brushing a piece of hair out of your face. “You have work in the morning, c’mon.” 

You whine in protest and your eyes flutter shut again. You're too comfortable, too warm to get up now. Matt sighs, resignation setting in. He slowly peels the blanket off of you, folding and draping over the back of the couch like before, before sliding his arms underneath your back and knees and lifting you effortlessly. 

You mumble something unintelligible as you bury your face in his chest. Matt says nothing as he finds your bedroom, depositing you on your bed as soft as he can, and tugging the duvet out from under you and then back over you again. 

“You can't go home,” you mumble again, louder, grabbing his hand feebly before he can walk away. Matt freezes at the implication, even though he knows the thoughts spiraling in his mind are unlikely in your barely awake state. “S’late Matty, you can't go home.” 

“Y-you-you want me to sleep here?” he stutters, and you nod, blissfully unaware of the rampage of emotions in Matt’s head.

“Guest bedroom’s furnished,” you slur, voice thick with exhaustion. “Don't go home. S’late.” With that, you're fast asleep again, and Matt - well -

Fuck, Matt thinks. He's fucked. And he knows it. 

II. 

Based on the look on Noah’s face, Matt knows he's going to get one hell of a lecture as soon as you're out of earshot. He'd finally taken you to meet his teammates, and he was really starting to regret it. He knows that you're beautiful, he'd just rather not watch his teammates stare shamelessly. He really is glad he told them warned them to keep their hands off though, using the excuse that you were his brother’s best friend and there was no way he would let those hooligans go after you. 

But now that you're actually meeting them, Matt knows that they're going to call him on his shit. His team knows him better than that. 

His hand is resting against the small of your back as he leads you to a booth towards the back of the bar. He slows down before he gets within earshot of the table, leaning in to ask softly, “You okay?” 

You glance up at him with a nervous smile, but nod anyways. “Yeah,” you assure him, “I’m good, I just hope they like me.” 

Matt laughs at that, shaking his head at your confused expression. His laugh fades as you raise an eyebrow, looking at him expectantly. “They'll love you,” he finally clarifies, “Promise.” 

“Promise?” you say skeptically. 

“Promise,” he confirms, and the grin on his face is infectious, you can't help but smile back at him. “C’mon,” he says, pushing you lightly until you reach the table. 

“Matty!” exclaims one of the men at the table. A brunette, from what you can see in the dim light, and a face that makes him look 14. At his drunken greeting, the rest of the men and women at the table turn to look at you and Matt, making you shift uncomfortably under their collective gaze. 

“Aaand he’s drunk already, this is Brady and I’s friend, Y/N,” Matt introduces you, his hand sliding from your back to squeeze your hand comfortingly. He introduces each of the people at the table - the baby-faced one was named Johnny - before nudging the blonde that looked like a Disney prince until he moved over to make room for the two of you. 

“Hi,” you say, smiling shyly around the table. “It’s nice to meet you all, Matt’s told me a lot about you.” 

“Hope he wasn't talking shit,” Prince Charming teases with a slight accent, flashing you a bright smile. What was his name? Elias? 

“Oh he talks the most shit,” you banter, a sly smile tugging at your lips at Matt’s incredulous protest. “Always going on and on about how annoying you guys are - mmf!” Your teasing is cut short by Matt’s hand covering your mouth. Without thinking you lick the palm of his hand, laughing when he snatches it away again and off of your mouth. 

“That's gross,” Matt complains, wiping his hand on his jeans. 

“You asked for that,” you shoot back, elbowing him lightly when he rolls his eyes. 

“You know, I’m starting to regret this,” he grumbles, fighting the smile playing on his lips, “you’re just as annoying as them.” 

“Be nice Chucky!” Noah pipes up. You recognize him from the few times you’d stopped by Matthew’s apartment but had never stayed long enough to actually get to know him. 

“Yeah, Chucky,” you taunt, “better be nice to me, I know where you live during the off-season too.” The table erupts into laughter at that, and you accept a fist bump from Elias. 

“I like this one, Matthew,” Giordano says, “You better keep bringing her around.” 

You flush at the compliment, having heard how highly Matt speaks of his captain. 

Matt feels you relax into the booth, the tension in your body since your arrival finally draining at the approval from his team. He leans down slightly to murmur in your ear, “I told you they'd love you.” You smile at his words, tuning back into the conversation that had started up again. 

“Matthew,” Elias suddenly says, drawing your attention away from the intense discussion about whether or not hotdogs were considered sandwiches (the group was split almost 50/50, by the way). “Let’s go get more drinks. Noah?” 

You scoot out of the booth to let the two of them slip out, heading to the bar with Noah in tow, sliding back in to find yourself seated beside a beautiful blonde girl. She laughs when you say timidly, “I’m sorry, could you all tell me your names again?” 

She introduces herself in a thick accent as Annica, Elias’s girlfriend, and the other girls do too, before quickly striking up a conversation. “Do not worry,” she says kindly, “I forgot most names the first time I met too.” You laugh at that, before some of the wives and girlfriends start to ask you about yourself. 

“How do you know Matthew?” Brittany, Sean Monohan’s girlfriend, asks curiously. 

“I grew up with him,” you explain. “Brady’s my best friend, they live across the street from my family.” 

At the same time that you’re getting to know the girls at the table, Elias is slapping Matt upside the head. 

“Dude!” Matt groans. “What the fuck?” 

Noah rolls his eyes at Matt’s faux-obliviousness, “Dude, that girl is a smokeshow.” Noah manages to dodge Matt’s fist aimed at his arm, smirking at the defensiveness. “Just your friend huh?” he chirps, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

Matt groans again, “Yes, just a friend, the hands-off rule still applies.” 

Elias snorts, unconvinced, leaning back against the bar to observe you interacting with the team and WAGs. “She’s funny, and fits in well,” Elias remarks. “And Noah is right, she is a smokeshow.” 

“I know,” Matt grumbles. “Don't you have a girlfriend?”

Elias throws his head back and laughs. “Annica pointed out when you walked in. Anyway, she's yours, clearly.” 

“Dude.” 

Matt was getting really sick of the chirping coming from his teammates. To be fair - they were right, but he couldn't let them know that. But as he follows Elias’s gaze to see you talking animatedly to the girls at the table - all of their attention trained on you - he can't help the soft smile on his lips. He's right, you do fit in well. 

He wonders how you'd look wearing a jacket with his name on the back. 

Noah’s voice snaps him out of his daydream. “I'm just saying man, you already look like you're halfway in love with her, so get on that.” 

“No,” Matt snaps finally, before his expression drops slightly. “Besides, our parents are fully convinced that she and Brady are gonna end up getting married or whatever.” 

Noah and Elias both wince at that, giving him sympathetic glances. Matt rolls his eyes, snatching half the round of drinks the bartender had deposited in front of them, and heading back to the booth, knowing that Elias and Noah were hot on his heels. Thankfully, he makes it before they can say anything else that might inspire Matt to do something stupid. 

But as he slides back in beside you, watching you interact with his teammates - his family away from family - he can't help but think about how wrong Noah was. 

More than halfway, Noah, way more than halfway. 

III. 

Matt’s lifelong habit of running away from his feelings just didn't seem to apply to you. No matter how much his feelings grew, how much they scared him, he still stayed. He still hung out with you, and texted you constantly. He still brought you to every team event under the guise of not wanting some random girl with him, and that he'd much rather have you there. 

When you told him about your feelings for his brother, it stung. So Matt did the only thing he could - not run away, he could never run from you. He crushed the hurt away, pushed his feelings down down down until they were just a whisper at the back of his mind. 

But then he made a mistake. He made an enormous, colossal, devastating mistake. 

He kissed you. 

He was wine-drunk, and so were you. Maybe that's why you let him. Maybe that's why you kissed him back. It was easier to believe that it was a drunken decision than let himself have any hope. 

You'd been at his apartment for dinner, something that had become a weekly occurrence now. Matt couldn't deny that he liked this, having you to himself without anyone Brady to steal your attention. 

You'd ordered in today, boxes of Thai takeout littering the counter. Matthew hadn't bothered to clean up after you were both done eating, insisting that he’d take care of it later, and for now you could just hang out. So that's what you did. 

The two of you sprawled on his couch, forgoing wine classes to just pass the bottle back and forth until both of you were giggling. Your cheeks felt warm from the wine, and you felt good. You felt relaxed and at home. 

You're thrown into another fit of giggles when Matt reminds you of the time Brady had fallen asleep after a game when you had all gone out for ice cream. He had ended up face planting directly into a scoop of his barely-eaten vanilla ice cream in the car on the way home, immediately snapping awake at the cold dessert hitting him directly in the face. 

Through your laughter, you say “What about the time you were trying to impress - hic - that girl - what was her name, Brenna? - and then you -” you cut yourself off, laughing uncontrollably at the unimpressed look on Matt’s face. He knew exactly what you were talking about, and it was easily one of the more embarrassing moments of his life. When you can catch your breath again you finish “- and you were staring so you slipped and fell on the ice!” 

Matt groans as you keep laughing, before a devious idea comes to mind. You know that look on his face all too well, your eyes widening as your laughter dies down. 

“Matt-” you start as he starts reaching for you, turning into a shriek when his hands reach their destination. “Matt, no!” 

His fingers finding your sides and tickling you mercilessly. 

“Matt!” you gasp, squirming to escape the torture. “I’m sorryyyyy! I won't mention it again, I promise!” 

He pauses for a moment, eyeing you suspiciously. 

“Promise?” he asks, his hands not leaving your sides even when you nod. He hums when you promise, distracted by your closeness. The wine made his mind fuzzy, and the feelings he's been harboring for so long come bubbling to the surface. 

Matt is terrified he's going to say something he’ll regret - especially with the knowledge of your feelings for Brady - so he does the only thing that will shut him up. He does what he was too cowardly to do when he was 17.

He kisses you. 

A surprised moan escapes your throat, but then you sigh, leaning into him and leaning into the kiss. His hold tightens around you as he tilts his head to slot your lips together. Your hands come up to run through his messy curls, making a noise of appreciation at how soft his hair is. 

Matt can't help himself, he leans back to his side of the couch, tugging you with him and into his lap. One hand leaves your waist to cup your jaw as you straddle him, his teeth tugging at your lip before sliding his tongue into your mouth. The hand on your waist comes down to your ass, a strangled moan breaking the kiss as his hand pushes you impossibly closer to Matt.

Matt reconnects your lips immediately, addicted to the feeling of finally kissing you after all these years. Through the haze in his brain he thinks that this is probably a bad idea, but fuck does he love it. 

You whine needily and break the kiss, rocking your hips against Matt and making him gasp. 

“Fuck,” he rasps, his hips jerking upwards to grind into you. Your eyes flutter open for a moment, shuddering at the dark look in Matt’s eyes. You think of saying something - anything - but Matt’s hand curls around the back of your head and pulls you back in to meet his lips. 

You tug at his hair as he kisses you, letting him move your hips into an undulating motion against his own. Matt's mouth drags away from yours, your whine turning into a soft moan as when he kisses along your jaw and down your neck. You shiver when you feel his teeth graze the column of your throat. 

Matt kisses every inch of exposed skin, unable to help himself from sucking a deep purple mark into your skin just above your collarbone. 

“Matty,” you whimper, grinding down harder against the growing tent in his sweatpants. Matt decides that your whimpers and moans are his favorite sound, and vows then that he’s going to do everything in his power to pull those noises from your body. He can't get enough of you, the way your hands roam over his shoulders and through his hair and the desperate way your grinding against him. You say his name again, this time a soft sigh as he keeps kissing at your skin, the hand on your ass sliding up and underneath your thin v-neck. 

“Baby,” he grunts against your skin, running his nose up along your neck. You whimper at the pet name, and Matt gets impossible harder under you. “Baby,” he whispers again, pulling back to look you in the eye. “Tell me if you want this, angel.” 

You nod frantically, leaning in to press your mouth on his again. 

“Please,” you mumble against his lips. “I want this. I want you.” 

Matt moans at the words, wishing that it were true in every context. Instead he wraps his hands under your thighs and stands, making his way blind towards his bedroom. He tosses you on his bed unceremoniously, kicking the door shut behind him.

You look up at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, reaching for him again, aching for his touch. Matt crawls over your body and brushes the hair out of your face as he hovers above you. 

“Matt,” you whine needily, wrapping a hand around his neck to pull him down to kiss you again. 

As Matt strips you of your clothes as well as his own, he lets himself pretend this is real. He fucks you with brutal, merciless thrust of his hips, and pretends like this isn't going to be a one-time thing. He lets himself feel while you cry out for him and arch your back as you cum. He calls you baby and acts like this isn't a drunken mistake you’re probably going to regret in the morning. 

And when you're both spent, his arms curled around you as you give him a dopey, sleepy smile - looking like a real life angel, he thinks - Matt lets himself pretend, for just a moment, that you love him too. 

IV. 

He hates this. 

Matt hates this. 

He hates the feeling of your body shaking against him, uncontrollable sobs wracking your body. Brady had left that morning for Ottawa after Autumn had reached out to him, asking to give their relationship another shot. And Matt hates him for it right now. 

He hates the sound of your crying, the tears spilling onto his shirt. He hates that you feel like this, heartbroken and miserable. 

Matt hates how responsible he feels for this. He was so sure that Brady reciprocated your feelings, telling you over and over again that he was positive his brother loved you too. In hindsight, he might have been projecting, but to him, it was impossible not to fall in love with you.

The thing he hates the most, though, is how selfish he is. How he can't help but think of how good it feels to hold you again. 

Another sob rips itself from your throat and Matt’s arms tighten around you, pulling you so that you were flush against his chest. He buries his face in your hair, whispering “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over as you break down in his arms. 

He barely registers the feeling of you shaking your head against his shoulder. 

“Not your fault,” you mumble through your cries, shaking your head more vigorously. “It-it’s not - it’s my fault - I thought -” You cut yourself off and bury your head in his shoulder as your bawling continues. 

“It's not your fault,” he insists as one hand comes up to cup the back of your head, running through your hair in soft strokes. “It’s not, it’s not your fault, you did nothing wrong.” 

Matt holds you like that for what feels like eternity, your sniffles and cries coming slower and slower until they stop. He still holds you tight, tracing patterns over your skin and running his hands through your hair soothingly. He whispers gentle words in your ear, comforting you the best he can. 

Eventually you pull back slightly too look up at him, making Matt mourn the loss of feeling every inch of you pressed up against him. You look tired, sleepy, but most of all, you look sad - and it kills him inside. 

“Thank you,” you whisper hoarsely, making Matt’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. 

“What for, angel?” The nickname doesn't go unnoticed by you, and you can't help the warm feeling that worms its way through your heartbreak. 

“Everything,” you shrug, not wanting to really say the truth. Matt takes it for an answer, even though you both know it’s really not, and smiles gently, brushing hair out of your eyes like he's done so many times. “M’sorry about your shirt,” you mumble, and Matt laughs at that, his head thrown back.

“I've got plenty of shirts,” he teases, thumb sliding back and forth over your jaw comfortingly. As his laughter fades, his gaze becomes locked on yours. You look like you're in deep thought, at war with yourself, and he barely refrains from asking you what you're thinking about. 

“Okay?” Matt asks gently, eyes softening when your eyes focus on him again. You open your mouth as if to say something, before closing it again and nodding slowly. “Y/N/N?” 

Before he can really ask what's going on, you're throwing your arms around his neck, your lips colliding with his. Matt can't help but melt into the kiss, cupping your cheek as your lips move together. He hadn't felt this in so long. 

Oh, he missed this. He missed the feeling of your mouth on his. Missed kissing you until you were breathless. Missed the way you fit perfectly in his arms. 

He moans gently, nearly delirious with his need for you. 

A pang of guilt shoots through him, making Matt pull away even as you whine and chase his lips. You look up with wide eyes and a slight pout, before you seem to realize what just happened. 

“Fuck, I’m - I’m sorry,” you gasp, scrambling to escape his embrace. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to - that was fucked up - I’m sorry -” 

Matt’s grip only tightens, grabbing your chin to make you face him. “Hey - hey,” he says sharply, making you stop struggling and look at him. “It’s okay, I promise, we just - you're not in the right - we can't -” 

“I know,” you cut him off, “I know, I'm sorry.” 

“It's okay,” he assures you again, before asking you softly, “Do you want to go home?” 

You weren't sure which home he meant - your family’s house across the street or Calgary - but either way you shake your head frantically, clinging to him tighter at the idea of being alone with your broken heart right now. 

“Okay,” he soothes gently, “That's okay, I’m gonna go shower, okay? You wanna change?” You glance down at your clothes - sweatpants and a t-shirt - and shake your head again. 

“This is fine,” you say timidly, your voice small and sad and widen the hole in Matt’s heart. 

“Okay,” he murmurs, setting you gently on his mattress and tugging the duvet over you. “I won't be long, I promise.” You nod sleepily, your eyes already fluttering shut as you acknowledge him, as he backs away slowly. 

Matt has to clasp a hand over his mouth in the shower, muffling the noises out of his mouth as he weeps. 

He almost wants to laugh at the irony of it all. You love Brady. You love him and your heart is breaking because of it. And so is his. And even as Matt puts on clean pajamas and crawls back into his bed beside your sleeping figure, he still feels like he might start to cry again.

But then you mumble his name, your voice thick with sleep as you reach for him. Your hands feel small against his chest as you fist the material of his shirt and tug him towards you, sighing contently when his arms slide around your waist. 

You fit so fucking perfectly, Matt thinks, with your body tucked into his like this. His eyes linger on your face for a few moments, taking in the peaceful look on your sleeping face after hours of anguish and emotional turmoil. As he begins to drift off, his last thought before he falls into slumber, is how he's never been more at ease, more happy, more in love, than when he's with you. 

+1 

Matt has never been in so much pain in his entire life. The moment his eyes fluttered open, still blurry from sleep, he snapped them shut again. It was too bright. Why is everything so bright? He only knows one person that keeps the blinds open when they sleep and that was - Matt’s blood runs cold. 

“I like it when the sun wakes me up,” you’d said when he asked you. “It feels less like an alarm clock and more of a gentle reminder, you know?” 

He didn't know, he really really didn't, especially with the pounding in his head. But he has to know for sure, so slowly but surely, he opens one eye and then the other. Matt’s heart rises to his throat when he realizes where he is. 

Part of him thinks he might die on the spot. But the other part - the selfish fucking part of him - whispers that waking up in your bedroom is what he's been dreaming of for months. 

But then it hits him. The pain. 

Not the pounding headache, no - this was worse. This was so much fucking worse. It was worse than the day in his parents’ basement when you walked away from him all those months ago. Worse than the night he came home and found you naked in Brady’s bed. This pain felt worse than anything he'd ever felt before. 

It’s excruciating. He feels like someone had punched a hole in his chest and torn out his heart. The ache in his chest surpasses the throbbing in his head. 

Matt feels like he's going to cry, the desire to curl up into a ball and disappear overwhelming him and he wants to cry. 

How did he even get here? 

Matt doesn't remember most of last night, little snippets here and there. He remembers your Instagram post, the cutest fucking picture he's ever seen of you holding and ice cream cone and laughing, a smudge of the frozen treat dotted on your nose. He remembers grabbing a bottle the moment he got home. He remembers Noah and Elias, remembers seeing their lips moving, but doesn't remember what they said.

Before he can stop it, there are tears slipping down his cheeks. Matt is so fucking sick of crying. He's tired of feeling like this. 

And he hates that he knows that it's his own damn fault. 

The idea of seeing you again - of you seeing him like this - makes his skin crawl. He promised to leave you alone after the game, and he’s ashamed that all it took was an Instagram post and a little too much liquor for him to come crawling back. 

The selfish part of him pipes up again. You can't help it. You love her. She's yours. 

Being here, in your apartment, your bedroom, makes Matt dizzy. He needs to leave. Now. 

He’s in such a rush to leave, roughly wiping at the tears on his face, he almost doesn't notice the pair of pills on the nightstand, a glass of water set on a coaster beside them. He hesitates for a moment, but decides that he doesn't want to feel like a trainwreck for the rest of the day, and downs the pills with a gulp of water. 

There's clattering in the kitchen, preventing him from a stealthy escape. Matt is shocked when you don't let him leave, head spinning with exhaustion and confusion and really - just your presence. He can't stop staring at you. Even like this, in a hoodie and leggings, Matt thinks you're the most beautiful fucking thing he's ever seen. 

This is too domestic. He shouldn't be here. This is too intimate. Too much. 

This isn't for you. Brady is the one who should be here. Matt flinches when the thought slithers into his head, but before he can make it out the door, you're turning from the stove and practically yelling at him to sit. You sound like his mom, he thinks, but sits anyways. 

When you ask him about Autumn, Matt thinks he might die. Right then and there, he wishes the floor would swallow him whole. But instead of that happening, his stupid fucking mouth moves to vomit out the words before his brain catches up. “I was sick of seeing him hurt you, I watched him hurt you for so long, Y/N, I held you while you cried and I - I never want to be the one to make you feel like that.” 

This was the most you'd spoken in months, and even through the pain of seeing you again, Matt can't help but be overcome with relief. You didn't hate him. Matt feels dazed through the rest of the conversation, just barely focusing as a result of your presence addling his brain even as you snap at him to shut up. Until - until - 

“..Brady and I are not together…he’s not it for me.” 

Matt freezes, the words rattling inside his skull.

Not it for me not it for me not it for me 

Matt shoves half a piece of French toast in his mouth, barely chewing it before swallowing and repeating your words back to him. You laugh at his bewilderment, your fingers curling around his own as you speak. 

He's going to kill Brady, he decides as he finishes off the rest of his toast, immediately. His little brother is a menace and it’s finally going to catch up to him. 

But he needs to hear you say it first. He needs it.

Then Matt is tugging you to stand up, and your hands are wrapping around his neck as he gets closer. 

And you say it. 

“I love you too Matty.” 

And then he's kissing you. 

Finally - finally - he's kissing you and you love him.

You love him. 

Matt feels like he wants to cry again, this time for a completely different reason. The pain he'd felt this morning starts to drain away as you press yourself closer to him, hand slipping up to card through his curls. He pulls back to look at you for a moment, grin so wide he thinks his face might break. He leans in again, giving you one, two, three, four more kisses. With every kiss, Matt feels a piece of his heart returning to its place. 

“Say it again,” he pleads, eyes fluttering closed as you whisper against his lips. 

“I love you, Matthew, more than anything, I love you.” 

And later, when you're giggling against his mouth on the couch as his fingers graze your ticklish sides and you're whispering the three words over and over and over again, he knows it's true. 

He's it for you, you're it for him. 

Matt loves you. 

But more importantly, you love him.

FIN (for real this time)

[whumpingcrow]

Pt.15 "Torture Abroad"

CW: creepy/intimate whumper, divorce mention, parent death mention, drugs/alcohol mention, foster care, beach setting, noncon/dubcon (explicit, 18+), general NSFW and sexual themes/language, broken bone mention, stockholm syndrome-type themes, self injury mention, bat used as a weapon, injury/gore (explicit), knife mention, taser mention, bondage/chains, torture with a bunch of different weapons, bystander watching torture, hallucinations, fire mention, panic attack, tics/tourettes (let me know if I missed anything!!)

"You're going to love it here," August was saying, one of his hands wrapped lazily around the wheel and the other placed on Elias's thigh, "I'm gonna show you so many beautiful places."

Elias was looking out the window at all the deep green trees and lush scenery, in utter disbelief that he was actually here. "You're really from here?"

"Yeah, after my parents got divorced my mom took me to America. I come back all the time though." He turned and smiled at Elias, squeezing his thigh gently. "Beautiful, isn't it? I'll have to teach you some French."

Elias nodded in agreement at the suggestion. "I cannot believe I'm in France." With literal Satan, he thought, then shifted in his seat uncomfortably. The car was nice, a deep red that Elias thought fit August well enough. It was something fancy and foreign, and August had laughed at his surprised face when he walked right up to it in the parking garage of the airport. At first, Elias thought he was going to steal it, but then August had the keys in his hand and inside of the car was a wallet that had one of his older licenses in it. Elias noticed that he drove it with ease, like it was where he belonged, behind the expensive leather wheel, driving much quicker than he probably should be on the winding roads. For a moment, he found himself thinking about how attractive it was, and the realization made him incredibly ashamed in himself, so embarrassed and disgusted that he felt physically sick at it.

They drove for awhile longer, then they arrived at a huge house on the side of a hill, overlooking a beach. When Elias stepped out of the car the chill breeze swept through his clothes and hair, and he took a deep breath. It was beautiful, and he guessed that if he had to be anywhere with August, it may as well be here.

He jumped as August grabbed him from behind, looping his arms around his waist and pulling him close. He placed gentle kisses against his neck, humming with content. "I'm so happy you're here, angel."

Elias sighed and tipped his head back against August's shoulder. "It's so pretty," he breathed, "just... breathtaking."

August chuckled and pulled off of him. "Come on, we'll go sight seeing later," he teased, taking his hand and pulling him down the drive to the house.

It was even more beautiful on the inside; there were large, open windows that the sunlight danced through and soaked over everything it landed on, intricate designs carved and painted on the ceiling and walls, and huge, exquisite paintings that were probably more expensive than everything Elias owned combined.

"This is your house?" He asked August, who was already making himself busy opening a bottle of wine in the kitchen. Elias could see from his spot in the middle of the living room that the kitchen was just as glamorous.

"It was my father's, yeah. He left it to my sister and I after he died. Maybe you'll get to meet her, if she comes around." His voice was lightly conversational, like he was talking about the weather and not his dead dad, but really Elias would have been more surprised if he'd let any emotion into the sentence.

Elias took the wine glass as it was handed to him, looking down at the dark red with his lip caught in his teeth. He couldn't help but chuckle softly, cueing August to frown at him. "What is it?" He asked.

"It's just... I dunno, my whole life I was just tossed around foster homes and group homes and this...this is something I never would have thought would happen." He laughed again, shaking his head. "I mean, I'm drinking wine in France. It's just weird."

August nodded his head, looking thoughtful before finally saying, "I didn't know you were a foster kid."

Elias shook his head, instantly wanting to change the subject. August had seen him crying, begging, screaming, bleeding, August had seen him dead, but talking about his past with him seemed way more vulnerable than all of that. He didn't want August to know about his selfish parents who decided that they loved drugs more than they loved their twitchy son, he didn't want him to know that Elias didn't have any friends until he was in high school because he moved foster homes and schools faster than he could blink, he really didn't want him to know about the way he used to stay up late trying to find his parents online so he could try and contact them, try to convince them to take him back, and cry when he couldn't find them. August had control over him in so many ways, and Elias was going to make sure that touchy, personal information was kept that way. August would never know him that intimately, if he could help it.

He tasted the wine, trying to stay in the moment. He focused on the lush fruitiness of the drink instead of the looming fear of being alone with August. He focused on the way the light illuminated some of the dust floating around the room instead of the despair he felt about being away from Tyson.

"Do you wanna walk down to the beach?" August asked him, stepping closer to him as he spoke. "It'll be dark soon, we can watch the sun set."

Elias smiled at him, drinking some more wine. He wished it was something stronger, being sober around August was just so unbearably frightening. "I never would've pegged you as a romantic," he chuckled, "this wine must be strong, huh?"

August shook his head, taking Elias's wine glass from him and setting them both down on the side table next to the couch. "I've just been too stressed out to be romantic." He looked Elias up and down with a grin, then scooped him up into his arms, laughing at the astonished squeal he let out.

He carried him out of the house and down a short walkway to the beach, setting him gently in the sand once they were close to the water. After Elias straightened himself out, he stared up at August with wide eyes. He looked like he was waiting for something, expecting something, and when August took his hand in his own he flinched a little.

"Why do you look so bothered, bunny?" He asked, stepping closer and running his thumb over the back of his hand. He knew, just from touching it, that this was his injured hand, the one he'd broken with a hammer. The tendons and bones hadn't healed right, they felt mangled and torn up when he pressed against them. The way Elias's face twitched at the reawakened pain was absolutely mouthwatering, August tried to imagine the noises he would make if he very slowly broke it all over again.

Elias plastered on a strained smile, looking out toward the waves wistfully. "I'm not used to you being so gentle with me. Trying to uh...to not let myself get so wrapped up in it."

August sighed at the words, trailing his fingers over Elias's cheek, leaning over and kissing him softly. "You're so smart," he cooed, "but don't worry you're pretty self too much, I'll be careful. You're more fragile than I thought."

A trembling breath shook Elias's shoulders, but he knew that if he allowed himself to cry he would be in trouble. So, he pressed himself flush against August and kissed him hard, desperate for something to numb him. He hadn't finished his wine, he hadn't had any drugs in who knows how long, and the only other thing he knew would distract him from the fear for a moment was...handing himself over to the very thing causing it.

At one point they ended up down in the sand, clothes tossed aside carelessly. Elias forgot how great sex could be, when he wasn't being choked or beaten or butchered. He was waiting for August to turn on him any second, for his tender touches to turn to harsh, aggressive punches, or his sweet words to twist into hateful insults. It would happen any second, it was a miracle it hadn't already. He couldn't even believe how much August seemed to be enjoying it so far, Elias wasn't bloody or bruised up or even crying yet.

"Ah, my angel," August hummed, his lips against Elias's neck, "oh God you feel so good."

Elias gasped, arching his back against the sand. He clutched at August's arm hard, whimpering softly. He was baffled when August began to jerk him off; he hardly ever touched him like that towards the end, before things got messy, instead trying to fuck him until he came, until he was shaking and in tears, begging for help, for friction, for something. He moaned out at the touch, writhing just a little underneath him.

"Ah, fuck, August," he breathed, "jesus christ!" August pressed closer against him, kissing gently at his throat, moaning against his skin.

Once August finished, he pulled off of him, and Elias thought that was it. Yet again, left bothered and unfinished. He sighed and tipped his head back, trying to steady himself. It was ok this way, he had gotten through it without any new bruises or cuts, he wasn't hurt, he could deal with blue balls. But then, August was kissing down his torso, over his hips, on the insides of his thighs. When he started to suck him off, Elias whined loudly and reached down to tangle his fingers in his hair. He could feel August's hands holding him steady, those strong, rough hands that were hovering on the edge of being gentle and inflicting pain on him. It would happen any second now, this time Elias was sure, with how his fingers were tight around his hips.

"Au-August!" He moaned, writhing underneath his grip. He hated hearing himself moaning that name, hated that he was receiving pleasure from someone who he wanted to hate so badly, someone who had hurt him and the people he cared about. Once again, he was repulsed by himself, and he would have pushed August off of him if he wasn't right about to-

He gasped sharply as he came, shaking in August's hands. His breathing was labored as he relaxed, looking up at August as he crawled back on top of him. He felt tears in his eyes, that heavy guilt and disgust in himself weighing him down, pressing him into the sand harder than August was. August took his face in his hands, running his thumb over his cheek gently.

"You're so beautiful, bunny," he hummed, "I missed having you all to myself."

Elias frowned, turning his head to the side so he didn't have to look at him anymore. "It's so weird without you." His voice was faraway, and when August pulled away from him he sat up. "No one understood. I was just fucking up all the time and no one would punish me and I just felt...I felt..." He trailed off, shaking his head. What was it that he felt? He was glad to be away from August when he was, right? So what else could he have been feeling besides relief? Why, when he was looking back on it now, did it all seem so shitty and hopeless?

August sighed, petting his hair gently. "That sounds hard, angel. I hate thinking of you all alone, so lost."

"I had to hurt myself," Elias whispered, "no one else would so I had to do it myself."

August fell silent, then he pulled away and looked at Elias for a long time. The look on his face was undecipherable, Elias couldn't tell if he was disappointed or delighted at what he told him, and he only grew more confused when he let out a short laugh and stood up.

"Come on, little one. Get your clothes on." As he spoke, he pulled his own sand covered pants back on, and Elias got up and did the same. August took his hand and led him back up to the house, now eerily silent.

Once they were inside, August sat Elias down on the couch, wordlessly walking down the hallway. Elias was overwhelmed by his sudden quietness, August always had something to say about everything, and Elias hated not knowing what he was thinking about. It was the same as when Elias told him what happened to his face in the car, the deafening silence that made him feel like any minute August would flip out and just start screaming. As he waited for August to come back and do just that, he grabbed the glass of wine that was taken from him earlier and downed the rest of it.

"Come here, Eli!" August was suddenly calling. Elias stood up with a groan, shuffling down the long hallway. He peered into the rooms he walked past, frowning when he didn't see August in any of them.

"Where are you?" He heard the sound of floorboards creaking distantly, but the all the rooms were too big to really distinguish where the noise came from. When he thought he heard some shuffling in one of the rooms, he ducked into it and looked around, sighing when he was met with silence and an empty room. "August?" He whined.

He cried out when something solid slammed into the back of legs, making him crumple to the ground with a thud. He turned to see August standing over him, a wooden bat swinging carelessly in his hand. Elias scrambled away from him, eyes huge and already full of tears.

"Wh-what are you doing?!" He cried. August stayed silent still, and Elias grew even more panicked as he got closer. He just wanted August to say something, anything at all, so that at least he wasn't as confused. The bat swung again, this time cracking against his shoulder. Elias screamed in pain as he hit the floor, his body lit up in a blinding ache. August dropped the bat soon after, then yanked Elias up to his feet.

When Elias couldn't stand and collapsed against him with a sob, August merely grabbed a fist full of his hair and forced him to stand straight. He couldn't stifle his sobs, they weren't even his own at this point, his pain and fear were ripping them out of him violently. "Ple-please stop!" His legs were weak and battered, but every time he wobbled and nearly fell again, August's hand tightened and twisted harshly in his hair and he forced himself to straighten out again.

August dragged him out of the bedroom and down the hallway, not waiting for him when he stumbled and tripped. As they approached a flight of stairs, Elias's panic grew further. He couldn't even walk right as it was, how was he supposed to conquer stairs?

As it turned out, though, he didn't have to try to wobble down them, because once they got to the top, August unceremoniously shoved him down the hard steps.

He landed hard at the bottom, breathless and dazed from the pain. He choked on broken gasps, his chest tight from not being able to breathe. When he heard August's steps coming down the stairs he let out a hushed whine of fear.

"That looked painful," he remarked, crouching down to inspect his face, "I thought you'd catch yourself."

Elias finally gasped in a breath, groaning in between coughs. August hoisted him up again, giving him more support since he really couldn't stand on his own this time. "Ah fuck," he sniffled, dropping his head toward his chest, "ow..."

After a few more steps, Elias's arm was yanked up above his head, earning an agonized howl. He felt cold metal wrapping around his wrist, snapping shut. When he looked up, his arm was raised above his head by a chain bolted into the ceiling. As he stared at it in horror, August secured his other arm as well, then let go of him completely.

Elias's shoulders and wrists were screaming, he couldn't stand on his own, and without August he was left drooped over, dangling by the chains. He began to rethink everything that happened before that moment, trying to figure out what he did wrong to warrant this painful and humiliating punishment. Had he spoken out of turn? Was it because of his behavior on the plane? Or because he had almost refused to come with August? He started to cry again, quiet whimpers now in replacement of his loud, panicked sobs from moments ago. When he ticced, a whole new pain coursed through his body.

"I'm s-so fucking sor...sorry!" He choked out, looking up at August as he cried. "Please August, please, I'm sorry!"

August grinned at him, at his desperate begging, at how ruined he looked, slumped over under the chains. "You're so gorgeous, Eli," he praised, turning away from him and beginning to dig through a bag against the wall. He pulled out a large camera, and Elias let out another hopeless sob. "You're so much prettier than Allen, you know that?" Elias didn't know why he would say that, he didn't care about Allen or how pretty Allen was or which one of them August liked more, he couldn't care about anything stupid like that, not when his world was painted bright red with suffering. He snapped a picture, and Elias flinched at the flash, just as he always did. "Stay still, bunny."

Elias did as he was told, hoping if he pleased August enough he could be let down. The flash went off a few more times, and as August lowered the camera, Elias collapsed in on himself with a quiet, agonized whimper. "Please Aug-August, it hu-hurts so bad..."

August began to dig through his bag again, and Elias screwed his eyes shut, trying to breathe through the pain. His shoulder, the one that took the blow from the bat, was on fire now, his fingertips numb. When he felt August's palm against his waist, he relaxed a fraction. It was over, he told himself, August was going to let him down and comfort him now. But then something cold was pressed against his ribcage, and just as he opened his eyes to see what it was, a burning pain jolted through his entire body. He convulsed at the shock, his teeth hurting from how hard he bit down. It seemed to last for hours, and when it finally stopped he collapsed further, now exhausted and in an insurmountable degree of pain. It couldn't get worse than this, and if it did Elias thought he just might die.

"Oh, you're so quiet now, little one," August sighed, grabbing his face and forcing him to look up. Elias caught sight of a small handheld taser in his other hand. "Doesn't it hurt?"

Elias sobbed, nodding feebly. "No m-more."

August smiled at him, then tased him once again. This time, Elias let out a guttural, agonized scream, writhing against the chains. This time it went on for so long that when it stopped, Elias passed out, only held up by the chains. When he came to, he looked up at August with tear stained cheeks and hopeless eyes. He wasn't begging anymore, couldn't get the words out, but the look on his face was just as good. August could have stared at him for hours, for days, if he kept making that face. He would give up food and water and oxygen and sunlight if it meant he could stay down here in the basement with Elias and just look at him forever, observe every inch of his body and how it reacted to the pain, memorize all the different ways he could scream and beg, taste his tears and see if there was a difference in the ones from torture and fear. He wanted to know Elias, inside and out, in all the most vulnerable ways, in ways that no human should ever know another.

But he couldn't do that, he had plans. That would have to wait. And besides, they had all the time in the world now, with no one knowing where to look for them.

"I've gotta run to the store, ok?" He said, his voice teasing. "You wait here and be good, and I'll let you out when I get back." He ruffled Elias's hair, watching his face sink further into despair.

"No, please! God please let me down it hurts!" He tugged against the chains, panic ripping through every muscle as he thrashed against his restraints. It was useless, August was already walking away, ignoring his pleading.

It felt like he was gone for hours, and Elias had a headache from the stress and how much he was crying. He was so exhausted, the pain was so intense he couldn't think straight, it was all a jumbled mess blurred together by the delirium of his injuries. Every now and then he forgot where he was, had to lift up his head, which felt like it was made of lead, and then remind himself that he had somehow found himself in a basement in France. Of course it would end up like this for him. Of course he would finally leave the country and go somewhere nice just to end up chained up in a basement.

When he finally heard footsteps on the stairs, he began tugging at the chains again, eager to get out before he even saw August. He didn't notice the other voice until August was at the bottom of the steps, a stranger at his side. Elias froze in confusion for a moment, then the insane aching all over his body pushed past that and he pulled at the chains again.

"August p-p-please let me down please I can't ta-take it anymore!" His gut twisted when August and the man laughed at him, and he had to try really, really hard to not start crying again.

"You look tired, angel," August teased, then turned to the other man, "je pense qu'il très fatigue." (I think he's really tired.)

The man nodded along with him, looking him up and down in curiosity. "Oui, mais il est beaux. Oh, regarde sa précieuse petite tête." (Yes, but he is beautiful. Oh, look at his precious little head.)

Elias let out an agitated sob, going weak at the hopelessness. He didn't know what they were saying, just that they sounded like they were talking about an animal they were discussing purchasing. August stepped forward. Elias noticed he smelled like booze, then he noticed his lopsided smile matched the one the man behind him was wearing. They were both drunk, and that meant Elias was undeniably fucked. August ran his hand through Elias's hair, pleased at the broken cries it caused. "Exhaustion looks so good on you, Eli." With that, he turned away and grabbed his bag, the same one he'd been hiding his camera and taser in, the same one Elias had kept wondering what other torture devices where hidden in while August was gone, prompting Elias to scream again.

"No! No more, please, please August!"

His begging was futile, August closed in on him quickly with a huge butcher knife, sliding it teasingly against Elias's chest before actually using it. When he started slicing into him, it seemed rather reckless and Elias was horrified he was going to do something irreversible to him. After he got bored of the knife, he sauntered back to the bag to look for another instrument.

Elias was covered in blood already, and he realized that his legs were completely useless by now, the chains in the ceiling were the only reason he was upright. He heard August say something in French again, and when he looked up to try and be as much apart of their conversation as he could, he saw that the stranger he had brought down with him had his phone held up, recording all of it with a satisfied grin on his face.

August used a belt, next, causing Elias to positively shriek in pain every time it made harsh contact with his already cut up body. Every now and then, he would stop what he was doing and step close to Elias, whispering so that only he could hear him, saying "you're so perfect like this, my love," or "you have no idea what it does to me when you scream like that, bunny" and it made Elias want to throw up.

He must've used everything in his bag on Elias. He'd hit him with the belt, cut him with a knife, shocked him, beat him with brass knuckles, burned him with a torch, and those were only the ones that Elias was present enough to understand what was being done to him. After all of that, he got lost in the waves of pain and the sounds of his own screams and begs, and then he was unaware of whatever tool August was using to cause it all.

They left the room without a word, or maybe they did say something and he was just too drunk on the pain to notice, when they were done, leaving Elias alone and trembling and lightheaded. His body felt fuzzy and disconnected from him, but the pain was still all too real, too intense. A flash of light caught his eye from the side, and it was nearly impossible to lift his head enough to see what it was. His vision was swimming at the movement, it made him instantly nauseous, and he had to squint really hard to be able to see clearly. When he was able to focus, he was even more confused. Was it...a fire? As soon as the thought crossed his mind, the tiny flame started to grow bigger, slithering up the wall on the other side of the basement. Elias wasn't sure of the when or why or how the fire started, all he knew was that it was getting bigger so fast and he was chained up and couldn't move and he was going to be burned alive.

"August!" He tried to scream, his voice so strained and broken up that it was hardly audible. He doubted that August heard him, and then he was even more horrified. The fire was getting closer and he couldn't even call for help, there was nothing he could do. Then he wondered if August had done this on purpose. It made sense, he had chained him up and hurt him so bad that he couldn't move even if he wasn't chained up, made him scream so loud that no one could hear his cries for help, then he lit a fire so he could kill him. It was a well orchestrated plan, Elias had to give him that, and he never even saw it coming.

What he did see coming, though, was the fire, now climbing up the ceiling and creeping across the floor toward him. As much as he could in his broken state, he scrambled back toward the wall, the chains rattling uselessly above him. He was going to die, he was going to die and there was no saving him this time.

He was surprised when he heard himself scream another time, he must've been so scared he forced his shredded vocal chords to work for a moment. "August please help me!!" He shrieked, closing his eyes tight so he wouldn't see the flames that would engulf him any second.

When he felt hands on him, he let out a measly, horrified squeak, cowering away from it, thinking it was the flames he was so horrified of. "Elias what is wrong with you? Why are you screaming?" That was August, talking to him now. But why was August here if he was trying to kill him? And why was he asking him why he was screaming?

When he worked up the courage to open his eyes, the fire was gone, August was standing in front of him. Elias gasped a few times, he didn't realize he'd been holding his breath. "The...August..." He sobbed as August began to take the chains off. "There was a f-fire. A hu...huge fire, in the corner." He collapsed right against August's chest as soon as the chains were off, felt his arms wrap around his ruined body to catch him before he fell right to the floor.

August lowered him to the floor, then pulled away and pushed his hair out of his face to inspect him further. He was frowning as he looked into Elias's panicked eyes. "Oh, you poor thing, you're hallucinating," he spoke like he was talking to a child with scraped knees, "there's no fire, angel. It's all ok, you're ok."

Elias looked around the basement again, there was no fire, no burn marks anywhere. "B...But I saw it." Thanks to the final scream he'd let out, his voice was just barely above a hoarse whisper. "I saw it, August."

August sighed heavily, then he stood and hoisted up and over his shoulder. Elias whimpered at the harsh movement, but he didn't mind the pain so much when he realized that August was taking him back upstairs. He was so relieved when he realized that going upstairs meant that the punishment was over, that he wasn't going to be engulfed by flames or simply left to dangle under the chains all night. It was over, he told himself. He counted to ten, it was over. He was set down gently on the couch, it was over. August was speaking to him, but he wasn't listening because it was over, and that was all that mattered.

[overdramatic-queer-antagonist]

Stop The Apocalypse Out Of Spite

I kept seeing these Martin gets raised by Lonelyeyes fics and thinking ‘this is way to healthy’ so here’s Lonelyeyes son Martin being an uncooperative bastard like he deserves.

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Ao3    Next

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fic under cut

Martin is a nice man. Really, he is. He helps old ladies cross the street, volunteers at the local animal shelter, and all that jazz. People expect his parents to be equally polite, retired probably, with a home with a beautiful garden somewhere in the suburbs. This was not the case. Let's just say finding out that his parents were two billionaires who argued for sport was a top tier relationship ender. And yet, Martin's failed relationships didn't come even close to why he resented Elias and Peter.

To start with, they were plain evil. Not abusive. Like, supervillain, "eat this poison apple" type people. Also, there was the arguing thing. They had this weird game. They would fight, divorce, Peter would fuck off on the Tundra, and then remarry, rinse and repeat. He, honest to God, didn't care about their weird kink if they didn't so clearly want him to participate. When he had first moved in, he tried to stay in his room as much as possible. Not seen, not heard, that's what had worked with his mum. But they weren't having any of that, and pretty soon, he was a part of their little game. Then there was the whole thinking money equates to love, although he felt kind of guilty about that one. At least he had money. But the worst thing by far was Elias's insistence that Martin work for The Institute.

He had only really done it to shut Elias up, of course. He was planning on quitting the next week. Saying, "he tried, but he doesn't think it's for him. Plus, he feels so bad knowing that he has a leg up on all his coworkers." And all that bullshit that Martin and Elias both know was posturing. But he went up to Elias's office to resign only to find that he couldn't. Not like Martin discovered that he really loved the job, he was hired as Elias's assistant and did absolutely nothing all day, but he literally couldn't. Elias, of course, was smirking triumphantly at Martin when he found himself tongue-tied. That was the one time he called Elias Jonah. Never again. The pride on his face was immeasurable.

There were some alright things about them, though. Martin never had to worry about money, and they would usually leave him alone, probably The Lonley's doing, but whether it was Peter or himself doing it was a mystery to Martin. His job at the institute wasn't the worst. The pay was ridiculously high (another thing Martin hated: nepotism), and it was clear that Elias had only hired him to gloat. He didn't actually care what Martin did during his day.

Well, that's not entirely true. There was one thing Elias truly despised him doing. Elias couldn't stand him hanging around the Archives. Ergo, that became Martin's new favorite spot. He didn't like the first Archivist, Gertrude. She always seemed like she couldn't decide if he was an idiot or a spy. She never once seemed to consider that he might actually be able to help stop Elias. She was doing a great job pissing of Elias, though, so he stuck around. And then she disappeared. Elias was the culprit, no doubt, and he had a pretty good idea of where her body was. He didn't care about that rude old lady nearly enough to even consider going down there to look, though.

He liked her replacement. Jonathan Sims. He was ignorant, for one, which was refreshing. The less Jon knew the less his glares stung. He knew nothing about what was actually going on, so there was no actual malice in them. It was cute. Jon also had a very entertaining habit of forgetting that Martin was Elias's son. Whenever he was relaxed enough or drunk enough (thanks, Tim), Jon would rant about how much he hated Elias. Martin found this cute too. Maybe he just thought Jon was cute. Usually, Jon would pause suddenly, realizing who he was talking to, no doubt, and prepare an apology of some sort before being interrupted by Martin complaining about Elias more than he had. Martin would bring tea to Jon and his assistants, Tim and Sasha, and pretend for a second that they were safe. He liked it.

Then Prentiss attacked. He was worried all day, hilariously enough, not about Prentiss. That would be pretty simple to stop, and even Elias would be sure to try and prevent it from actually killing anyone. No, it was that fucking table. He wasn't stupid. He listened to every tape. He knew (not Knew he took a lot of pride in that) that the NotThem was connected to it. Jon and Tim had each other, but Sasha was all alone or worse, with Elias. So he managed to 'get separated' from Tim and Jon and hurried to Artifact Storage.

Just as he'd expected, there was Sasha, face to face with the NotThem, paralyzed. He may have panicked a little bit, but he liked Sasha. So he did what he had to. He grabbed her and dragged her into the Lonely.

Which brings him to now. In the Lonely, praying he can anchor Sasha enough, with Sasha standing in front of him, snapping out of her daze.

"Oh my God, Martin!" she said, rushing to hug him and sounding relieved, "Thank you! Thank-" She stiffened. Here it comes. Martin thought. "Martin?"

"Yes, Sasha?" He heard himself respond shakily.

"What are you?" Sasha asked calmly and, to Martin's relief, not letting go.

Martin laughed nervously, "Well, I'm Polish on my mother's side."

Sasha smacked his arm, "You know what I meant."

"... I'm gay? You already know that, Sash-"

"Oh, my God! Stop deflecting. I'm literally begging you!" She laughed, pushing off of him.

"If I had an answer, I'd tell you, Sash." He answered, honestly, "But if you're asking if I'm still human? Yes, I guess."

"Great. Can you get us out?"

"Oh, sure. Any suggestions?"

"Can you get us to Tim and Jon?"

Martin paused, "Maybe? I don't really know where they are. I don't serve the Beholding. They're in the tunnels, though. So I'll try, but I can't make any promises."

Sasha blinked, "I understood half of that."

Martin laughed and held out his hand for Sasha to take, "Yeah. We have lots to talk about."

Sasha took it, and Martin took a deep breath. Focusing on the sense of belonging he felt in the Archives (cliche, he knows, not his fault his patron is a sucker for the power of love), and pulled himself and Sasha out. They did not find themselves with Tim and Jon. They did, however, find themselves in the tunnels, staring at the year-old corpse of Gertrude Robinson with three bullets in her chest and a sickening lack of eyes. They both screamed and ran out of the room as fast as possible. They ran fast, not bothering to look behind them and not even noticing the lack of worms, only stopping to breathe when they flew out of the trapdoor into the Archives.

Sasha was the first to speak, panting with both fear and exhaustion, "Was that?"

"Yes," Martin responded, trembling quite a bit himself.

"Do you know who?"

"Who else? Elias."

[jonspurpleskirt]

Down the Spiral

Tim Stoker & Jonathan Sims, hurt/comfort

Summary: Michael loves playing with the Archivist and so after Not-Sasha is taken care of and Jon is back at the Institute murder charge free it reveals that he has Sasha stashed "savely" in its halls. All Jon has to do to get her out is go through the yellow door. ____

Everything just kept getting worse. That thought hadn't left his mind since the confrontation with Elias. It kept him from his work, making him stare at the statement he had wanted to record hours ago. Something impatient within him tugged to finally get on with it, but his eyes just didn't see the words in front of him and the insides of his head kept resembling a barren wasteland.

There was nothing good in his life anymore. There was nothing good in any of their lives anymore. He had ruined everything. Dragged everyone into the cage with him and locked the door because he hadn't known any better.

If he had just known...

But he hadn't and now they were all trapped here. Nothing waiting for them outside and nothing but hostility meeting them inside. At least that was the case for Jon. He didn't know if Tim and Martin still spoke, still sometimes joked with each other. If Melanie had made friends with Basira perhaps, or god forbid even Daisy. The two of them shared a frightening amount of bloodlust.

He doubted it, though. Whenever he dared to emerge from his office these days the atmosphere in the shared space of the Archives was tense. One or more of them were always gone, Basira more often than not sitting somewhere reading.

Neither of them did much work these days, Jon mused. It was funny that once upon a time that thought would have made him angry.

Jon sighed, glancing over the statement for the upteenth time, saying to himself that now he would finally start and do some work, when loud cursing and several crashes made him jump out of his chair and run towards the door.

He ripped it open with the wrong hand, the burn left by Jude Perry sending a stab of pain through his arm.

Basira, Tim and Melanie were for once all there, and had taken on various defensive poses. They didn't grace Jons dramatic entrance with even the slightest of glances, but the being that called itself Michael grinned and cooed as though it didn't have a knife, an axe and a gun pointed at it.

"Archivist! Just whom I wanted to see~ It is quite hard to get a grip on you, you know. I've been meaning to have a little chat with you for a while now."

Jon squeezed his eyes together to ward of the headache Michaels multiple voices and impossible features always gave him. He breathed through the pain, before looking at the Distortion again, squinting to be able to make out something that resembled a coherent form.

The image still swam in front of him, Michaels smile literally blinding, teeth flashing with too many deeply saturated colours.

"Hello Michael. What do you want?"

"Awww you don't sound excited to see me at all! I've got more of a reaction from your assistants."

The thing pouted, but the grin reappeared fast when it heard the click of the safety of Basiras gun coming off.

"Aha I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The voice it used screeched like nails on a chalkboard and a microphone with its volume set too high. Weapons clattered to the floor as everyone scrambled to shield their ears from the sound. Jon felt a trickle of blood running down the side of his neck and winced.

"There. Better. You people are so rude." The laughter that followed was worse than the voices before, high pitched and low, aggressively amused.

"Michael." Jon hissed and it stopped.

"Yes dear Archivist?"

"Why are you here?"

"Ah." A misplaced chuckle, alltogether fake and a hungry grin. "I've heard you've dealt with Not-Sasha! Congratulations! Do you want the real one back now?"

"What?"

Tim had recovered fast and somehow had already taken up the axe again. He looked more than prepared to chop Michaels head off with it.

"Oh hello! I forgot you were here, too. How did you like my hallways?"

"Fuck you! What are you talking about?!"

Michael shrugged, or what could be perceived as a shrug. It was hard to tell when there seemed to be three sets of shoulders all in various places they shouldn't be.

"It is as I said. I took Sasha into my hallways so she could flee from the thing in the table. And now that Not-Sasha is gone I'm willing to trade her."

"Trade her for what?"

Jon had a bad feeling about this, but he let Tim lead the conversation. Better he ask the questions. Jon didn't want to accidently use compulsion and make Michael angry.

"Why for the Archivist of course! I'm terribly bored at the moment. No good prey out there. And I'd love to see how my hallways work against someone from the Eyes ilk."

"So it would be a game to you." Jon was careful to not word it as a question.

Michaels blinding smirk hit him square in the chest and left him heaving. "Yes, you could see it that way."

"Jon." Basira warned, inching toward him.

Melanies lips were pressed into a thin line, her eyes never strayed from the Distortion, even when tears started to run down her face from the strain. She kept quiet, but it was clear that she would attack if she felt it to be necessary.

"And that exchange."

"Yes." Michael dared him to ask.

"What would it look like."

"No static! My you are truly making an effort! It goes like this. You come here and step into my door and I let Sasha out."

"Jon we can't trust him." Basira hissed.

"I'm an it, actually." Michael purred.

"Whatever."

"I know. I want to see her. Melanie, you know what Sasha looks like. We'll both verify."

"Hmmm, sounds like a deal. Come here."

Jon scowled at the crooked finger beckoning him to come closer. Michaels horrible 8 bit laugh echoed through the Archive again.

"Don't be shy. I won't stab you this time, I promise!"

"What." Tim sounded about as done as Jon felt.

He'd rather not have to explain himself though. He was glad Tim wasn't directing his ire at him at the moment. So he quickly crossed the distance and came to stand stiffly beside Michael, tensing when the entity curled three of its impossible long fingers around his elbow.

"Marvelous!"

Another door that had appeared in on of the shelves banged open and out of it stumbled a woman with clammy tanned skin, big round trendy glasses and warm brown wavy hair, her grey eyes open wide.

Tim stumbled forward to catch her, trembling about as much as her. "Sasha?"

He looked to Jon for confirmation, who had to fight back his own tears. "Yes. Yes."

"That's her." Melanie whispered her own affirmation.

Before the smile on Jons lips had time to fully form he was yanked back, the yellow door slamming shut behind him. It felt like being dragged into a whirlpool while high on LSD and if Michaels realm would have permitted it Jon would have lost what little food he had eaten that day right then and there.

As it was he had to endure the minutes or hours he had to get used to the shift in reality, unsure if he was standing, laying down or sitting. When his head eventually stopped spinning and his eyes and other sensory input systems agreed to work again he found himself standing at a deadend. The door and Michael were gone, but the air was still filled with joyous laughter.

"Welcome to my humble abode little Archivist! I hope you like getting lost~"

Jon frowned at his surroundings that seemed to tilt and wobble under his every step. He was sure Michael was being extra distorting with the surroundings it had thrown Jon into. Jon didn't want to give it the satisfaction of knowing how much that bothered him. Although he doubted he could hide his terror from it.

Time didn't matter in the Distortions halls. It all melted together, turning and twisting into a bizarre fever dream. Jon relaxed as much as was possible with the horrible migraine that had formed behind his eyes. This actually wasn't so bad. He would probably just wander around aimlessly until he would either die from hunger or thirst, Michael would grow bored and kill him or he actually found the exit.

Jon very much doubted the latter. He had no real grasp of his supposed powers and the Beholding only opted to drop in a fact or two about the colours that normal humans shouldn't be able to see.

When he didn't grow tired nor hungry or thirsty in what he presumed was quite a while a new fear formed beside the pounding in his head. What if he was stuck in here forever?

But even that terror dulled over what didn't quite account for time. The hallways got tamer. They were still decorated with garish colours and wallpaper, bits of furniture strewn about here and there. But they had stopped being all wobbly and impossible.

Well they were less impossible. Jon thought as he walked through a wardrobe only to emerge from a mirror into a room with six walls, three doors, a window and a painting.

On and on it went until he felt deep in his bones a rhythm to it all. There was a spiral pattern to the twisting turns of the rooms and hallways. Inverted and containing a lot of deadends, but it was there and all Jon needed to do was follow it.

Down and down he went, even when the path lead him upward or turned him upside down. His head started to feel blissfully empty for once. No worry, no greater goal. He could just exist here in this weird home and wander. He might be as lost as he had been in the real world, but at least here he wasn't hurting anyone.

Electrical lights flickered on and off before turning to torches casting pink shadows across the chessboard walls. He startled out of his haze when he heard the clacking of heels somewhere to his right, a thought thundering into his mind, shattering all other not thoughts that hadn't resided in there.

"Helen!"

"Jon?"

"Helen! I'm here. Stay where you are!"

Jon skidded around the corner and there she was, still wearing her business dress and jacket, chin length brown hair curling around her ears. She was sobbing before he could even get to her and soon he had an armful of crying real estate agent in his arms.

They held each other tight and just weeped for what felt like an eternity, but was still too short.

"I was so scared." Helen sobbed as she drew back just enough to fix her gaze on Jon. "I thought I walked out of the Institute, but instead I found myself back in these horrible hallways and I couldn't find a way out this time, but I just couldn't stop walking, you know? I needed to find some way out. And Jon, Jon! There's an end here. It's close I just know it! You believe me right? That's why you're here? You're also looking for the end?"

Jon rubbed up and down her arms to calm her. "Yes. Yes Helen. I'm so sorry. Had I known-"

"It's alright." She gave him a watery impression of a smile. "It'll be all alright soon. I hear it whispering. Come."

"Now that was quite the show." Michael suddenly stood between them and they sprung apart. It had its arms crossed and a deep frown carved into what could have been its face.

Jon couldn't exactly make out its eyes. And yet he was sure there was a spark of fear there.

"It was nice to play with you." Michael adressed Helen. "But I feel you overstayed your welcome."

A door appeared behind her, standing in the middle of the hallway, no walls around it.

"There is the exit. Shoo."

She looked at Michael with wide, glassy eyes. "No. No I can't. I need-"

And with a sudden, horrible clarity Jon knew what would happen if she didn't leave now. A door locked from the outside. The body of Michael Shelley destroyed. Helen lost.

"Helen. Please believe me when I say that this is better. Don't heed the call. It will only cost you."

Her flitted between Jon and Michael, hesitating. "Why?"

"Michael was human once, too." Jon whispered and understanding bloomed behind her eyes.

"Oh. But can I be sure?"

"I can." Jon assured her. "You can open that door. It's save."

She swallowed. "Okay. Okay. Are you coming with?"

She reached for him, but Jon shook his head. "No. I don't believe my game is quite finished yet."

He looked over to Michael to make sure. The Distortion looked back at him, frown lightened by a pensive look. It didn't feel the need to correct him.

"Okay." Helen said again, sounding like it was everything but. "You'll be fine, though?"

Jon gave her the best smile he could manage at the moment, which wasn't much. "I think so, yes."

"Good then. I'll... see you around. Just. Not here, I guess."

"Yes. Take care Helen."

"You too."

The door clicked softly shut behind her, taking with it the swift breeze of fresh air and gentle midday sunlight.

Jon sighed. "That was... something. Thank you for letting her go."

"Hmmm."

Jon felt a deep satisfaction at how uncomfortable Michael seemed to be at the moment.

"I guess I shouldn't continue to walk down, then?"

"You were walking straight."

"It's all the same here, though, isn't it?"

"Stop that." Michael frowned harder, drawing itself up, terror apparent in the way it shook, after images pulsing off it in waves.

"What?"

"Knowing me."

"Sorry."

"You could just walk back up again, you know." Michael muttered, friendly facade all but forgotten. A near death experience would do that to you. Jon could sympathize.

He nodded, indulgent. "I guess I could."

Michael heaved a sigh that sounded more like the blare of an airhorn. "I'll show you out."

Jon didn't deem it necessary to tell it that it could just manifest a door like it had done with Helen. He got that Michael probably needed a hot minute to digest what had just happened. And for once Jon was more than content with providing some company.

It was Michael who talked first, essentially giving Jon its statement. Jon saw the fierce anger burn behind those multicoloured eyes and was reminded of Tim and his fury at Jons betrayal.

"How much of Michael is there in you, then?" Jon carefully asked, voice so soft it was barely there in order to keep any sort of compulsion out of it.

"That's not the right question to ask Archivist. Because there is no answer to that, that would stay definite. How much of you is in those tapes you record? It's your voice in there. How much of you is actually you? There's no meaningful distinction."

"That doesn't sound right."

"That's because you're too deep inside your head." Michael laughed. It wasn't as grating as usual.

"Thank you for keeping Sasha safe, by the way." Jon whispered into the screaming silence that had enveloped the two as they meandered through the endless expanse of hallway stretching out in front of them.

"You are no fun."

"Pardon?"

Slim fingers crawled like worms across his shoulder. His head spun with a sudden dizzying motion, feeling oddly light. His skin tingled with confused nerves at the points of contact. Unconsciously he leaned into the touch loosing himself in the sensations. The Distortion was less scary now that he knew it. It was actually kind of sad and he might have formed a small grudge against Gertrude for it.

Michael huffed beside him, caught between grinning and frowning. Jon wondered which emotion the Spiral wanted to portray and which one actually belonged to what was left of Michael Shelley.

"That's what I mean. You're not afraid at all! You're enjoying yourself. That just won't do."

It nudged him forward and oh, there was a yellow door there. Jon stepped up to hit and hesitated, hand hovering over the handle.

"What is it now?" Michael grumbled behind him, pout evident in its voice.

"I... I'm not sure if... I'm not sure if it's alright for me to get out."

Michael blinked at him in surprise. Jon shouldn't have been able to see it, but the motion was reflected in front of him.

"I just don't know if it's a good thing that I'm out there. Something is going on with me and at least in here I'm not hurting anyone."

"You... don't want to get out? You like it here?" Shrill, disbelieving laughter filled every nook and cranny of their space, drilling into Jons head and hollowing out his skull. Michael was bent over in a spine breaking way, arms wrapped twice around it and shaking with manic chuckles when Jon turned to frown at it.

"Two people in a row wanting to stay." It giggled, rightning itself. "I really need to redecorate this place." It shook its head, smile sharp yet soft. "No Archivist I will not drag you around as deadweight. Not when you aren't even making an effort of being afraid."

Jon squeaked as he was lifted, knife hands nicking the skin on his cheek and temple. With a heavy thump Michael kicked the door to the Archives open, startling Tim awake, who had been slumped over the desk, facing the door.

"We're baaack!" Michael crooned. "I'll leave you to decide if the Archivist should stay." He dumped Jon into Tims lap, who was barely awake enough to grab at Jon before he slid off.

"But Jon, when you next step into my door I will not let you back out again. See you around~"

Jon tried to identify the exact moment Michael had left the room. It was a futile attempt and not at all enough to distract from the fact that he was currently still inhabiting Tims lap.

"I'm sorry I'll-" Jon tried to stand up, but the arms around him tightened and he was squashed unceremonously against Tims body.

"Jon"

Oh no. What had he done now? He just got here why was Tim already so mad? Was he mad? Oh good lord he was crying. Jon awkwardly turned so he could sling unsteady arms around Tims neck, letting the man bury his head into his shoulder.

"Uhm hi?" He'd really rather go back to Michaels hallways now, please. This was already starting out to be a situation much more terrifying than wandering forever in a fever dream.

"You absolute bastard!"

"Sorry?"

Tim laughed and it was a strange sound. Too normal after who knew how long in Michaels domain.

"No you don't get to apologize. Not when you don't even know what you've done." Tim stood, Jon scrambling to get his feet under him so he wouldn't crash.

Standing on even, unmoving ground was like coming back on land after a year at sea. Tim shaking him did not help his coordination.

"You've been gone for over three months. Over three months, Jon! We had to blow up the circus without you. Elias was pissed! But Sasha managed to McGyver together a remote control for the C4 and it was amazing! Pressing that button was probably the best thing to happen in my life!"

"Wait slow down." Jon mumbled, trying to keep up with Tims flood of exposition while simultanously trying to get Tim to stop shaking him. He was going to be sick at this rate.

Tim didn't seem to hear him. "And then everything was over and Sasha was there, but you still weren't. And that bloody door stayed here all the while, mocking us. It wouldn't open. We tried everything minus blowing it up, figured you wouldn't have liked that. Tried to hunt down other Spiral locations, but no odd door would open to us."

Tim took a huge breath and stopped shaking Jon, his grip tightening when Jon tried to put some space between them.

"We didn't know what to do. And then about a week ago Helen came in to tell us about what happened in the hallways. She's fine by the way. Apologized for waiting so long before coming by. She was sad to see you still missing, left her contact details and wants you to call her when your feeling like the world makes sense again, whatever that means."

Jon knew exactly what it meant. He was sure it would take him a while to make sense of anything that wasn't strobe light effects, after images and nausea. He would have liked to elaborate on that and point out that he really should sit down oh my god everything was spinning.

"We figured if she was out you'd come back, too. And we didn't want you to stumble into an empty Archive so we took turns watching the door. Do you know how hard it was to keep Martin from hogging all the night shifts? The man hasn't slept more than a wink in months I tell you. He looks about as bad as you so if you don't let him hug you and fuss I will play the most embarrassing prank I can think of on you next April Fools day, you hear me?"

Tim shook him once and Jon had to cough and force the bile back down his throat before he could answer.

"Quite."

"Good."

There was another shaky exhale and a much more tentative hug. "You look like shit, come on you can crash at my place."

"I too have a flat, Tim." Jon felt the need to remind him, but let himself be led to the front doors and to Tims car, grateful to finally be allowed to sit again.

"You just came back. No way am I letting you out my sight and give you the opportunity to vanish again. Sasha and Martin would have my head."

Jon frowned down at his hands, flinching when the car sprung to life and grabbing for an empty take out bag, just in case. Tims behavior deeply confused him. The last time he had mother henned him like this was back in Research. Did Michael accidently drop him in a different dimension?

"We're there."

How did Tim get to the side of his door? When had they started to move? When had they gotten to Tims flat? Good lord time didn't make sense anymore.

Jon half stumbled out of the car and followed Tim into his apartment.

"Make yourself comfortable boss. I'll get you some tea, yeah? And food. Try not to fall asleep on me yet. And don't wander off."

Where would he even wander off to? Jon wanted to ask. He forgot about that as soon as his body hit the hard surface of the couch. At least the pillow was nice enough to cushion his fall. Letting out a pitiful groan he levelled himself up again to take his glasses off, rubbing at the spots where the plastic had dug into his skin.

He was glad that Tim seemed to have calmed down during the ride. Maybe doing something had helped. Tim had always been an action guy, needing an outlet for all the pent up energy.

It all felt so surreal. Here he was, out of the hallways, in Tims flat, with Tim being nice to him and the apocalypse over and done with. He would probably get an earful for missing out on that one later. Probably from Melanie. Maybe from Basira and Daisy.

Gods they were alright. He was gone for so long and they were all fine. Maybe a bit more traumatized, if Tims behavior was anything to go by, but alive. And in this economy that was probably the best outcome they could get.

"Sasha, how is she?" Jon asked as soon as Tim came back into the room.

A rainbow coloured mug and a bowl of instant noodle soup was placed on the coffee table in front of him before Tim answered.

"She's amazing. I mean she's doing well. She was in way better shape than you coming out of there. But I guess you didn't exactly go in at the heighth of your power. She said she was afraid for awhile, that Michael would keep her forever. But she was also curious how the hallways worked and she kinda got lost trying to figure them out? She chatted with Michael whenever it popped up to gloat. It kept her updated pretty well actually, which is kind of creepy. I think out of all of us she had it the easiest."

"That's... that's so good to hear." Jon breathed.

Tim chuckled. It sounded suspiciously wet. "Yeah. Come on sit up and eat your shitty soup."

Before Jon could move on his own an arm curled around his waist and hoisted him into a sitting position.

"I can move myself, Tim." Jon grumbled, leaning heavily into Tims side either way. Just for the contact, he told himself. He could totally sit upright if he wanted to.

"Of course boss."

Tim turned on the TV as Jon ate, the soothing chatter of news reporter talking about the weather filling the air. Jon was half dozing, unsure if he had eaten much at all when Tim moved him again.

"You want to clean up before going to bed?"

Jon took stock of his body, weighting his options. It was as if his muscles only now began to realize the amount of miles they had walked. His scars itched and pulled and the cut on his throat as well as the burn on his hand pounded against the confines of his mangled skin. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, a bit of vertigo still throbbing in the back of his skull, while his ears still echoed faintly with piercing, inhuman laughter.

"No?"

"Okay. Sit tight boss I'm gonna get you a blanket."

Sit tight... Where did Tim think he would go, if he wasn't even up for taking a shower?

"You got better, too." Jon said in lieu of a thank you when a heavy blanket got draped over him.

"Hm. Blowing up a building helped."

"Ah yes, arson. The best therapy of all."

Tim laughed at that. "You'd be surprised. But actually I did get a therapist at Sashas request. I blew up at her a few times in between and she didn't take it well. I wanted to be better for her."

"Good." Jon mumbled, half asleep. "That's good."

"Yeah. Sleep well."

"Hmhm."

He woke up in the middle of the night. Or was it day? It was dark, but the curtains were drawn so he couldn't be sure. It wasn't to a full body flinch like he was used to waking up with. Just a slow, disorientated blinking into wakefulness.

The flinching came later, followed by a yell when he made out a blurry shape sitting in the arm chair mere inches away from him.

"Good Lord, Tim! What are you doing?!"

"Making sure you're not getting kidnapped." Was the brightly given answer.

"That's creepy." Jon grumbled, rubbing his eyes and settling his glasses back on the bridge of his nose.

"Well you're not the only one allowed to be spooky."

"M not spooky."

"Suuure. So Martin and Sasha will be by in a bit. Wanna tell me what all that about going back through Michaels door was about?"

Jon sighed. "He- it just threatened me."

"Really? Cause it kind of looked to me like it was kicking you out."

"I have it on good authority that I can be rather annoying, yes."

Tim crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at him. "Does that mean I and the others need to make sure you take the right doors from now on?"

"No?"

"That's not very reassuring, Jon."

"Why do you care all of a sudden?" It was said out of exhaustion and Jon immediately regretted it, seeing Tims face fall. "I'm sorry I shouldn't have said that."

"No." Tim took a shuddering breath, mussing up his hair with the hand that wasn't clutching at his own shirt. "No, that's fair. I've been an ass to you before... Fuck before you literally fed yourself to the Spiral in order to get Sasha back."

"You don't have to feel guilty about that."

"I do! But that's not just it. You've missed a lot. And I got better, but I'm still so angry most of the time. But when you were gone I was also fucking terrified. For Christs sake Jon we were friends once. And I just let you barter your life away like it was nothing. I was happy. When Sasha came back and you were gone I was even happy for a while."

Oh no he was crying again. They both were. He knew because Tim had gotten up to draw back the curtains before dropping onto the couch at Jons feet.

"I... it didn't last long. Call me selfish, but after a while all I wanted was for us to be complete again. You know the original four. It took me a bit to realize that I was mourning."

Tim barked out a broken laugh. "I've probably not slept about as much as Martin."

"You should then. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere at the moment."

"I can't. Every time I try I panic that you will be gone when I wake up."

Jon mulled that thought over in his head, an odd tingle flooding his body. "Lay down with me then?"

Tim stared at him for a moment, biting at his lip and barely stopping before drawing blood. "That... that sounds like an idea. Yeah. Let me draw the couch out first."

They could have just gone to bed, but Jon just about managed to drag himself to the armchair. And Tim hadn't offered so Jon wouldn't pry.

Tim collapsed on the couch and immediately reached out an arm and made grabby hands. Jon huffed out a small chuckle and obliged, trying not to seem too eager.

"We'll have to get up again when Sasha and Martin visit." Jon noted, snuggling into Tims chest with a sigh, whole body thrumming at the none violent contact.

"Sasha has a key." Tim muttered into his hair, spitting out some of the loose strands right after.

Jon shook his head. There seemed to be quite a lot he needed to be caught up on. And as they tangled their legs together Jon found that for once the future didn't look as threatening as it usually did.

[pensivetense]

A List Of (Mostly TMA) Fic Recs Sorted By Vibe

Not an exhaustive list by any means, just a few favourites that caught my fancy. I shortened many of the summaries for space.

I’m going to pin this here and update it as I go.

Also, I’m pensivetense on ao3

MELANCHOLY VIBES

for when you want to feel comfortably muted

(sad but not utterly bleak endings here)

Hope, Etc. (Dickenson, et al.) by yellow_caballero

Jonathan Sims, six months after the Unknowing, wakes to find himself without a daemon - without humanity, without a soul. It’s a cursed half-life, but existence as a shell without a heart isn’t so bad: between solving the mystery of a persistent illusion cast over his friends and some light pseudo-cannibalism, a life as a monster is better than no life at all. At least, it would be, if it wasn’t for the fucking Owl.

A freaking. Amazing. Daemon au. Ties the lore of Dust with TMA lore very satisfyingly, but is mostly about Jon navigating what it means to be human, or, in the absence of that, a person, and doesn’t require prior knowledge of His Dark Materials. Cannot recommend highly enough.

after one long season of waiting by nuinuijiaojiao

Annabelle is not used to having nice things. or, Annabelle heads to Upton House, muses a little, and gets some well-deserved rest

I love survivalist Annabelle and also the concept of the Web as kind of a horrible Patron, actually.

i love you. I want us both to eat well. by SmallishWormMasterOfTheUniverse

At the safehouse with Martin, Jon decides it's time to quit statements once and for all. The Eye disagrees. Martin just needs Jon to be okay. It's quite possible that nobody is going to get what they want.

Scottish Safehouse Era, Jon and Martin coping with their respective Entities... really, really good.

the friend by doomcountry

He always greets a new spider when he meets it. It’s instinct, born in childhood, the same way he instinctively counts magpies, or flicks salt over his left shoulder. A little harmless superstition. A bit of politesse.

A great Martin character study with eldritch spider horror included. The imagery regularly haunts me (in a good way).

autumn’s rare gift by bee_bro

Annually, the two meet, renewing the binding ritual where it had all started. The procedure simple: a waltz.

Singlehandedly made me ship Gertrude/Agnes so there’s that. It’s so bittersweet and bee_bro’s writing is, as always, incredibly poetic. (I’d recommend everything they write, actually.)

smile, you’re trending by Goodluckdetective

During an encounter with another Avatar of the Eye, Jon faces his past, Martin takes a turn at playing Kill Bill and Basira has a second look at the monster she’s determined to see. For three people associated with the Eye, they could all use some perspective.

Features an original Eye Avatar character who’s a YouTube personality; she is infuriating and inspired and genuinely frightening and I cannot say enough good things.

Humility by The_Lionheart

have you no idea that you're in deep?/i've dreamt about you nearly every night this week,/how many secrets can you keep?

An OC centric story but don’t let that put you off, it’s amazing. Very heavily focused around Jonah Magnus and the other Avatars as they change through the years. Also, I’d die for the OC.

oh, for one sweet second without the eye series by faedemon

Beholding does not like in the way humans do, but it likes its Archivist all the same.

I’m just so fond of the way this is done stylistically. I have a great weakness for dialogue only/dialogue heavy writing, not to mention all of the wonderful character beats and interplay of humanity/inhumanity for Jon and Melanie.

Rewind by WhyNotFly

It takes eight days of forced confinement for Jon to start hallucinating. [...] It’s Martin, though, that his exhausted brain conjures, because of course it’s Martin. After all this time, of course it’s Martin.

Jon willingly allows himself to be confined rather than hunting for statements, and examines his relationship with Martin.

for a firmament series by supaslim

There is beauty in destruction. There is art in becoming. In which Jon becomes the Archive, and the Archive becomes Jon.

Part two posted this morning and uhhh. Good. Also if you’re here for weird eldritch body horror (I am), this one’s for you.

ONES THAT JUST HURT

for when you want to feel sad

(somewhat bleaker endings here/everyone is NOT okay)

Feste by yellow_caballero

If asked, Martin would say that he became the shadow director of the Magnus Institute by accident. But nobody ever asked, and nobody ever cared, and it was in this way that Martin stopped lying to himself. Or: break free, Martin. All you have to lose are your chains. And your sanity.

Oh, this one totally didn’t go the way I expected it to. A study in isolation. Could go into the category above, as the ending is not bleak, but the tone of the whole is somewhat more depressing than most there.

Ghosts of Love by RavenXavier

Nothing made Martin more grounded in the world than yearning for Jonathan Sims.

Lonely!Martin that really captures a sort of visceral ache. Hurts me and yet I keep rereading.

i do desire (we may be better strangers) by godbewithyouihavedone

For ages, it only knew how to worship, taking human bodies and living off the fear of those who remembered. It never knew love until it became Jonathan Sims. Now it must fight against every instinct to save Martin Blackwood. Archivist Sasha, Not!Jon/Martin, and the worst kind of Fake Dating AU.

Oh, this one just made me sad. The poor not!them, which is something I never thought I’d say.

Apple Of Your Eye by fakeCRfan

In which the Eye is fond of Martin. Perhaps a little too fond for comfort.

Somehow manages to be both sweet and horrifying—the characterisation of the Eye is incredible. ‘The Eye loves Martin’ is a scenario that’s so utterly doomed to failure and yet the writing is packed with so much pathos that I just want them all to be happy. A fantastic use of themes of agency and choice, and the single best use of Beholding as a source of horror I’ve read.

The Last Press by copperbadge

Jon Sims is awake, and has begun preparations for the Rite of the Watcher's Crown. Peter Lukas, who woke him, would be content to rule at his side. Martin is very upset about all of this, and the Lukases aren't thrilled with it either.

I really can’t say anything without spoiling the end and it’s so good. An alternate take on the Watcher’s Crown. Not a pairing that I ever thought would work for me, but this made it work.

watch the blood evaporate by 75hearts

It starts, like so many things in Jon’s life have started, with a nagging itch of curiosity. Jonathan Sims uses his healing abilities throughout s4. Read the tags.

Dear God please read the tags. But this is some high quality pain if it’s for you.

the lighthouse series by low_fi

Peter Lukas is a lighthouse keeper. One evening, he gets a call from a cryptic overseer tasked with monitoring his work.

This is such a vivid and yet subtle story—from the setting to the emotions portrayed, it creeps up on you slowly. The ending was like the gentlest possible gut-punch. The sequel just completed, and yeah, just as wonderful. This one is very much LonelyEyes but I listed it here because it is just exquisitely painful.

SATISFYINGLY HOPEFUL VIBES

for when you want to feel cozy

Clutching Daffodils by Gemi

Martin has always liked the idea of love at first sight. It’s such a romantic idea, the whole thing of it. Seeing someone and instantly feeling that strange, twisting feeling deep inside that every single media likes to obsess over. Of knowing you are in love within the day, petals falling from your mouth and warmth filling your chest as love burrows deep, vines twisting through your lungs. He always liked the idea of it. And then Jonathan Sims starts working at the Magnus Institute.

Somehow manages to be lighter and fluffier than most hanahaki fare, despite the setting. I’ve reread this one a lot.

the least he could do by Prim_the_Amazing

Martin should in fact not pick this man, specifically because of how attracted he is to him. It would be the responsible thing to do. Except he’s already following him. And he’s hungry.

Fluffy vampire au which everyone’s probably already read, but was too good not to mention.

rather interesting by bee_bro

Jonah Magnus realizes that, for some reason, when he comes in contact with weed, Elias Bouchard's consciousness will come into his life banging pots and pans.

Oh boy. So these are all favourite fics but this one is a favourite amongst favourites. The way Jonah is characterised (i.e. incredibly sensitive to scrutiny) is my favourite depiction of him, and the slow-burn between him and Elias is far sweeter than it has any right to be. Also, it’s hilarious.

The Magnus Records series by ErinsWorks

In a world parallel to that of the Archives and the Institute, a supernatural sanctuary stands against a cruel and uncaring world: A world of bureaucracy and tyranny, of murder and carnage, of loneliness and surveillence, of plague and death. But in this world of fear and misery, 14 entities born of the hopes of the world have emerged. And one of them has made their home here, at The Magnus Sanctuary. Perhaps, the employees within may lead happier lives than their counterparts did in the Archives.

This is just so goddamn pure. The author writes a really imaginative, fleshed-out alternate world and alternate Entities with engaging, well-written short statements. All of the character voices are absolutely on point, and it’s overall absurdly hopeful without ever feeling overly saccharine. I love this series so much, you guys, you don’t even know. I want to print it out and paste it on my wall. I love it.

HARD APOCALYPSE

for when you want to feel dark and angsty (and eldritch)

Most of these are shorts/oneshots because it’s just that kind of genre, y’know?

Ashes to Ashes by marrowbones

A conversation at the end of the world.

Oliver Banks is one of those minor characters that I am overly attached to. Love him here.

Employee Benefits by equals_eleven_thirds

The Magnus Institute offered some normal employee benefits: a pension plan, holidays, travel subsidies, free lunch on the last Friday of each month. Rosie makes it work.

This manages to hit that perfect sweet spot of satisfying and hilarious. Rosie gets to torment Elias, as she well deserves.

a rose by any other name by Duck_Life

Part of Jon blooms in Jared Hopworth’s garden.

This one was sad and honestly too gentle to really belong in this category, but I love it.

Eye to Eye by Dribbledscribbles

In which Jonah Magnus attempts a post-apocalyptic pep talk.

Unreliable narrator at its finest, and the implications are suitably horrific.

commensalis by doomcountry

The tower is endlessly, impossibly tall, but Jon’s work is taller.

If you’re here for the eldritch imagery, then this has some of the best.

SOFT APOCALYPSE

for when you want to feel gently triumphant

apocalypse how series by sunshine_states

Humanity adjusts. The Entities have Regrets.

Some nice vignettes set in a kinder apocalypse.

ceylon series by Sciosa

The one in which Jonathan Sims decides that no, actually, he isn't going to let the world just end.

I include this only for the sake on completeness, as everyone has no doubt already read it.

rituals by doomcountry

Martin is the first person to knock on the Archivist's door since it arrived, fully, into its little waiting temple. The Archivist saw him coming from down the hall, but decides to feign interest when the knob turns, and Martin—still a little bit smaller, a little more translucent than before—stands uncertainly just outside the room.

This one’s a little less focused on the world at large and more on JonMartin specifically.

we raise it up by savrenim

Jonathan Sims reads a book and saves the world; although maybe the real salvation is the friends he makes along the way; (although perhaps the world itself and the darkness that exists behind it isn't quite as out to get everyone as it seems).

More ‘soft revolution’ than ‘soft apocalypse’, but has the same vibe. A time travel fix-it. Incomplete but worth it if this is a mood that appeals to you.

Scarred Ground by DictionaryWrites

“You see," Elias said softly, "people always have this idea that only living things can be scarred - and they're right, of course. But a building is a living thing, Martin. And the ground can be scarred, too." "I don't have any scars," Martin said. "Yes, you do," Elias said. "You just need the right light to see them.”

Falls somewhere between ‘Apocalypse’ and ‘Soft Apocalyse’ but I’m putting it here because I feel like it. Also technically a LonelyEyes fic. I found it hard to follow at first but it’s worth sticking with; things will eventually begin to make sense and come together.

LONELYEYES

for when you want to feel lonelyeyes

marrying anguish with one last wish by procrastinatingbookworm

In which Elias isn't Orpheus, and Peter isn't Eurydice, but Elias brings Peter home anyway.

Lives in my head rent free forever. My favourite lonelyeyes fic.

ouroboros by Wildehack

“You know,” Jonah says, a muscle in his calf quivering agreeably where it’s slung over Mordechai’s shoulder, “it’s really quite--fortunate--that I don’t care for you at all.”

Oh, this one hurts in the best possible way. The endless cycle of their relationship, the way it comes full-circle... yeah, good. Actually, no, this one might be my favourite. It’s a tie.

Breaking all the Rules by Thedupshadove

Elias proposes a somewhat...unusual wager.

Soft lonelyeyes? In my recs? It’s more likely than you think. Short, sweet, and... sweet.

Threefold by Sprinkledeath

Peter Lukas breaks three rules.

I’m just a slut for mythology allusions I guess.

Luck Be A Lady Tonight by prodigy

In 2014, Elias Bouchard takes a rare trip outside of his comfort zone. Peter Lukas wastes a bunch of money. You'd be surprised how many things can go wrong for two beings of cosmic power.

I love the sense of the history of them you get while reading this.

love is just a word (the idea seems absurd) by kaneklutz

"Something's wrong. It's stopped hurting" An avatar of the Lonely and an avatar of the Beholding walk into a bar relationship. It was bound to blow up in their faces.

Short, sweet, painful. Excellent exploration of their priorities.

Victor by penguistifical

elias tries something with his powers that he hasn't attempted before

The one where Elias tries to raise the dead. Not incredibly LonelyEyes centric but that’s still the pairing.

Simon Says by penguistifical

“Peter asked me to drop by and have a word with you, and, so, here I am.” Simon chuckles at Elias’s disbelieving stare. “Well, he asked in his own way. He’s not a complicated man, you know. He either comes from your arms looking like a stroked cat that’s been given a dish of cream or looking like he’s been in that toy boat of his out in an unexpected storm. He was far angrier than normal, so I daresay you weren’t cream today.”

I mean personally I’d just go ahead and rec all of penguistifical’s LonelyEyes fics but this is a standout for me.

AROMANTIC AND ASPEC MOODS

for when you want to feel Seen

The Aro Archives series by WhyNotFly

These are all just really really good. From Aro!Peter to two different aro-spec versions of the Scottish Safehouse to a long and beautiful aro hanahaki fic, this series is uniformly wonderful. The two Scottish Safehouse ones (Torn Edges and Murky Water) are my comfort fics.

and now all fear gives way by j_quadrifons

Before he can think it through, he murmurs, "Is that what it feels like? Being in love?" Martin's hand stills in his hair and Jon's stomach drops.

This one just. Wow yeah this is how it be. Another absolute comfort fic of mine.

Sweet As Roses by Prim_the_Amazing

Jon takes Martin by the shoulders, leans up on the tips of his toes, and kisses him.

I’m going to be honest—I didn’t know where to put this one. But it ended up here because the real standout of this fic for me is the portrayal of Sasha, and especially her portrayal as an aro character. So I’m putting it here. Mind the content warnings with this one!

HUMOUR

for when you want to feel delight

The Torment of Sebastian Skinner by Urbenmyth

After the Eye's victory, the statement givers are trapped in their horror stories, living them over and over again. Naturally, this works out better for some then for others.

Premise? Delightful. Execution? Fantastic. I read this one to cheer myself up when I’m sad.

Unlucky by VolxdoSioda

Jon’s dice betray him

Short, sweet DnD au, and the reason I cannot get DM!Elias out of my head now.

Voracious by beetl

A bird hits the window. Jon experiences The Flesh's thrall.

“Dead Dove: Do Not Eat” but make it literal.

The Stupid Endings by Urbenmyth

There are a lot of very deeply thought out and creative AUs on this site. These aren't among them. These ones are how the story could have ended, if Jonny Sims was a dumbass.

These are just uniformly hilarious, I cannot recommend them highly enough.

PODCAST CROSSOVERS

for when you want to make one of those “if I had a nickel for every time...” posts

The Sabbatical by morelikeassassin

Nicholas Waters is in need of an all-knowing eldritch entity beyond the confines of human imagining to help with his latest ritual. He'll have to settle for Jonathan Sims, who happens to have nothing better to do.

Crossover with Archive 81 (s3, specifically). Both fun and bittersweet.

The City And Its Sorrows by cuttooth

“What makes you think your friend is in Eskew?” David asks. He feels he can risk the scrutiny of the city that far. “I read that this is a place people end up when they get lost,” says the man. “This is a place people end up,” David agrees./The Archivist comes to Eskew.

Contemplative piece, and I love the way it presents David’s relationship with Eskew, the way he finds it horrible and hates it and yet belongs to it, is almost proud in the way he shows to to Jon. Great little vignette of two people oppressed by eldritch powers, intersecting.

Hiatus by bibliocratic

My name is Jonathan Sims, and I am in Eskew. (Jon gets lost in a Spiral city. It is not as easy as escaping.)

This one is far more focused on Jon than David, and is honestly more Eskew-weird than Spiral-weird. In the best way. Told in Eskew episode style, and is very good.

Sweet Music by Shella688

Eskew has a music to it, if you know how to listen. The percussion beat of thousands of footsteps, the melody in the squealing of the trains overhead. Today, the music of Eskew comes in the form of nine musicians, playing outside my office. My name is David Ward, and I am in Eskew.

Not TMA, but since a lot of Mechs fans go here—this one’s a Mechs/Eskew crossover. Short and simple, mostly David Ward centric, just a little well-written one shot I had to mention because I enjoyed it but it doesn’t have much traffic. Nice portrayal of the Mechs from an outsider’s perspective, and how genuinely strange and frightening they’d come across (especially if you’re already being haunted by and eldritch city). If you like Eskew-style storytelling, check it out!

NOT TMA

...but good enough that I physically cannot make a recs list without including them. Here!

[piratejct]

* 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐭, 𝐜𝐢𝐬 - 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 + 𝐡𝐞 / 𝐡𝐢𝐦 | you know 𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐰, right? they’re 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, 𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 by 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐦𝐞, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫, 𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is 𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝟐𝟖𝐭𝐡, so they’re a 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐨, which is unsurprising, all things considered.

NAME: elias eskew  NICKNAME(S): el, ellie D.O.B: august 28th, 1997 AGE: 23 BIRTH PLACE: york, england CURRENTLY RESIDING: irving, north carolina  SEXUALITY: homosexual OCCUPATION: drag queen & employee at rockin’ and rollin’ 

tw: homophobia, bullying, anxiety, depression. 

BACKSTORY: 

born in york but grew up nyc. has an older brother, a twin sister and pretentious, rich parents who believe that their way is the only way. sadly, their way is all about being homophobic and unnecessarily demanding, so.. that’s why elias was pretty much kicked out of the household when he was fourteen. 

well, okay, not kicked out, because legally you can’t kick out a teenager and still have an ace reputation among your peers, so they did the next best thing and sent him away to irving, to live with his aunt. then, of course, they proceeded to tell whoever asked that boy was very unstable and needed special attention that they couldn’t provide at home because they’re always #working&flexing. it was a big bunch of “oh my god, we love him so much but there’s nothing we could do for him here and of course we want all the best for our sweet, totally not homosexual son, so he’ll have to be there until he’s less homosexual troubled.” 

went great. amazing. no, seriously, it couldn’t have been better for elias because while he missed his sister a whole fucking lot, his aunt actually turned out to be a super cool lady? she didn’t push him to play sports or not fuck around with make up. she even supported his theatre dreams and came to see all the school plays he was in, so, uhhh.. jokes on you, mom and dad.

irving is pretty much where elias blossomed. unlocked at least 52 achievements. went to high school, got badly bullied for being feminine and incapable of catching the ball in dodgeball ( “when it clearly fucking says you should dodge!” ) but it wasn’t all bad! he was very appreciated in the musical theatre department and got to play the lead role, like, twice. ‘twas kick-ass and he felt like a hollywood star. <3 

started dabbling in drag sometime during senior year. his sister came over one easter break and taught him a whole lotta shit about make-up so that was neato but aside from that he learned from watching youtube videos and experimenting. 

went to the local university where he studied performing arts. his parents actually paid for his studies but it was more of a “wow, really, betty? you don’t pay for your child’s education? tragic” stunt on their part. faux-supporting your kids gives you bragging rights! but he totally didn’t mind! could actually spend whatever money he’d make at his then bartending job and invest it into drag. he did it part-time while completing the degree. 

after graduating, however, it became a full time thing. or, you know, as full time as it can be. on the side, he also picked up a job at rockin’ and rollin’, because gosh, was he tired of constantly hanging out at bars. 

the dream, currently, is to hang out in irving, where he’s comfortable, a bit longer before heading out into the world to live the big city dreams. has been considering new york, since he always loved it there, but we’ll see. he’s got time. 

lives now with a couple of friends but hangs out with his auntie every once in a while. she sometimes shows up to his shows and brings roses. it’s honestly beautiful and makes him cry.

PERSONALITY: 

+ expressive, alluring, animated - melodramatic, self-critical, obnoxious 

x on the subject of crying? he cries a lot. sometimes as a joke, but sometimes.. very much not. an emotional boy, quite sensitive. expresses his emotions in a way that, for the most part, you kinda know what’s on his mind. 

x exaggerated as fuck, in everything he does. always been a huge dreamer and just loves living his fantasy, really. moves in a way that’s very, like, gentle and graceful. is a huge actor and pretty much always on his toes. sometimes switches between characters mid-conversation and gives you three different improv sequences, but he’s not like “ooh, look at me, i’m sooo skilled, i have a degree!” about it, y’know? it’s more of something he does without necessarily realizing? because he just loves pretending he’s someone else. his go-to persona is this ditzy, little bitchy shtick, which sometimes makes people think he’s dumber than he actually is. 

x but don’t get me wrong. he definitely is a dumb bitch. 

x so fashionable, though. loves to look good. wears a lot of women’s clothing because it fits him and helps him feel this paris fashion week illusion. but also catch him rocking high-heeled boots, crop tops, scrunchies. and silk. satin. he’s a hoe and a half for that stuff. 

x smells of roses and vague desperation. wants to always be the prettiest person in the room. likes to flirt with people and sleep around bc it makes him feel attractive. <3

x actually super insecure at heart and lowkey wants validation. anxious as fuck and used to be pretty depressed, but that’s gotten bit better now. 

x lightweight baby lesbian who can’t drive and gets drunk off of two mimosas and some rose wine. 

x his drag persona is g.litter ( gee, miss litter if you’re nasty. ) she’s sparkly, glittery, elegant and has probably killed all four of her husbands and taken their money. wears the highest heels and would look gorgeous covered in blood. he lives for her. 

x idk, sometimes he can be a handful but if you’re willing to deal with that? he’s a very nice boy. genuinely means well and just wants to have a laugh, i guess. also, big wine mom energy. 

x can’t actually rollerskate. 

WANTED CONNECTIONS: 

um, everything?? throw it at me <3