#kit isn’t to blame for what yOU think his sexuality is or should be

[hellaephemeral]

people need to fucking learn what queerbating is and that real people cannot do it. even celebrities. people just existing and being themselves is not queerbating.

[littlemisspascal]

The Last Mandalorian

Chapter One: The Warrior in Carbonite Part 3

Fandom: The Mandalorian / Pedro Pascal

Eventual Pairing: Din x Togruta!Female!Reader

Word Count: 4,320

Rating: G

Summary: A series that is a mixture of Mandalorian, Star Wars, ATLA, and my own imagination. The Imps have seized control of the majority of the galaxy, including your homeworld Shili. You and your sister Ahsoka have developed a daily routine despite the stormtroopers keeping your village imprisoned. One morning you make a startling discovery that will change the course of your lives forever.

Warnings: I don’t know much about starship mechanics so probably nothing in this is accurate but it’s fanfiction people so cut me some slack please, reader gets a nickname 🥳, plot plot plot, discussion of loss of loved ones, worldbuilding, dialogue heavy, this is a slow burn but it’s also ridiculously self-indulgent so I’m including as many cute getting-to-know-you scenes as I can, reader is 17 and Din is 19 so I’m going to warn this as underage even though nothing sexual or even vaguely romantic happens in this chapter.

Author Note: Thank you anyone and everyone who has read even a sentence of this story! Special thanks and love to @dindja for creating this stunning, fantastic, amazing piece of fanart for me 💖💖💖 I still can’t believe how perfect it is. I mean, I’m such a sucker for pinky promises it’s not even funny and this is just beautiful 😍😍😍

Part 2

Cross-posted on AO3

For as grand and wide-reaching as the Galactic Empire has become in its ten years of existence, it had relatively small beginnings. A group of radical Force-wielders banded together under the leadership of an old, beady-eyed man named Sheev Palpatine who believed it was his divine destiny to seize control of the entire galaxy, rewriting the ancient laws to match his own beliefs. His cult, the Sith Order, gained attention by attacking Jedi temples, capital cities, places with large populations until every corner of the galaxy had heard of them. Most regarded them with fear, but over time they began garnering a startling amount of followers who were discontent with the status quo and willingly drafted themselves as soldiers in Palpatine’s fight for control.

At first everyone in your village thought Palpatine and his cult of followers weren’t worth worrying about—after all, Shili was a peaceful planet that never drew much attention to itself. But within the first year of its inception, the Sith Order captured Ryloth and the similar peaceful characteristics between the Twi’lek planet and Shili were too glaring to overlook. A seed of anxiety took root in every Togruta’s mind after that, and continued to grow with every planet seized as the years progressed.

The Decimation of Alderaan didn’t start as a tragedy, believe it or not. The Mandalorians, Jedi, and Alderaanians combined their numbers in an all-out fight against the Sith Order. It was the largest battle ever fought in the history of the galaxy, thousands of souls willing to die to defeat Palpatine’s followers. For the first three days of warfare, the fight seemed to be in favor of the allies with many noteworthy Sith members reportedly killed in the fray, such as Palpatine’s second-in-command Dooku and lethal Zabrak assassin Maul. You remember there was a sense of hope felt within your village as everyone listened to the news reports blaring across the Holonet. A belief that things were finally, finally going to return to normal after so much chaos.

But on the fourth day, the Sith Order brought their own ally onto the battlefield.

At the time there wasn’t a name for the droids that slaughtered every opponent they faced. They were described as indestructible, unharmed by blasters and the intense heat of Mandalorian flamethrowers. Not even lightsabers could damage them. The allies didn’t stand a chance, brutally murdered one by one, their dying screams echoing across the Holonet, forever haunting listeners far and wide.

The Dark Troopers were unleashed upon Mandalore afterwards and out of the ashes rose the Galactic Empire, except, in a twist nobody—not even the Sith Order—saw coming: Palpatine died before taking on the title of emperor, passing away in his sleep. A mediocre ending for the monster who permanently altered the foundations of the universe. One of his loyal followers from the cult’s early beginnings took control in his place, a vile man with a penchant for spilling blood and a deceptively bland name: Gideon.

Only seven years-old then, you didn’t understand the unbalance in the Force your aunt kept referencing. You didn’t understand the meaning of the word genocide either. But you did understand the galaxy would never be the same ever again, and the lesson was only further established as truth when the Imperials seized your village. 

There is no normalcy to return to anymore.

And as long as Emperor Gideon remains in control, there is no future to hope for either.

__

Silence reigns in the aftermath of Maar’s explanation as the long list of tragedies hangs heavy over the four occupants. There is tension in the air as you await the Mandalorian’s response to the extinction of his people, whether that be an outburst of anger or tears, and each passing minute only intensifies the nervous energy thrumming through your veins. Your leg starts to bounce restlessly, a bad habit you have had since childhood.

The Mandalorian stands eerily motionless. Your eyes keep flicking from your lap to his visor though you know it is rude to stare. His helmet hides his expression, but you don’t need to see it to know he is floundering right now, mind scrambling to piece together all the details thrown at him. From personal experience, you know the loss of a loved one hits like a tidal wave, hitting you over and over again until you must decide if you are going to stand up or surrender to drowning. Grieving the loss of your parents is the hardest experience of your lifetime to date.

But this...this is vastly different. The Mandalorian didn’t just lose his loved ones. He has lost his friends, neighbors, comrades, acquaintances, everyone all at once. This loss isn’t a tidal wave. It is a kriffing avalanche, burying him ten feet under in total darkness, and there is no one he can count on to save him. 

Finally, after the longest five minutes of your life, he shifts, resting his hands upon his belt with an unexpected air of seriousness. “I need to go.”

You frown, head tilting. That is his reaction?

“Go?” Ahsoka echoes, sounding as incredulous as you feel. “Go where?”

“To look for survivors,” he answers, blunt and harsh, the words forced through clenched teeth. 

Ahsoka is struck silent, and you feel your heart break on his behalf. Your mother’s stories about the Mandalorians had always included, one way or another, their lifelong bonds with each other. You had felt those ties when you had connected with the Mandalorian, believed for a moment as strongly as he did that his fellow warriors would come search for him, that his absence would be noticed and missed amongst them. And here he is now, still desperately clutching to them, unable—or, perhaps unwilling is more apt—to believe a stranger telling him those bonds have been cruelly severed. 

“What you need is to rest,” Maar says, gentle yet firm, letting her authority as the eldest in the room seep into her tone.

He shakes his head, not backing down. “I’ve been asleep for ten years. I don’t need any more rest.”

“Your ship, it, uh,” your shoulders hike up defensively when his visor snaps in your direction, pinning you with its blank stare. Clearing your throat, you continue with a slight grimace, “It’s going to need some repairs before it can take off. I can help you fix it.”

Ahsoka looks over at you in surprise, and then in worry. You don’t blame her, especially since the offer had slipped out without you consciously meaning it to. Once again, the Force is calling the shots and you are just along for the ride, a passenger in your own body.

He considers you for a long moment, then asks, “What do you know about the mechanics of a gunship?” 

If anyone else had asked you that same exact question, you would have bristled at their condescension and retracted your offer in the next breath. But with the Mandalorian, there isn’t even the slightest hint of patronizing courtesy. It is a serious question prompted from genuine curiosity.

You sit up straighter, smiling at him now. “Enough to confidently say I’m your best shot at getting off the ground.”

__

“What’s your plan, exactly?” Ahsoka asks you, braced against the wall with one eye on you and one on the Mandalorian across the garage, patiently waiting for you to finish assembling your tool kit. 

“Huh?” You reply distractedly, trying to decide if you should bring your carbon chisel or not. 

“You don’t have one, do you?”

Not. There are bigger concerns than a bit of carbon scoring. You move to grab your favorite screwdriver with a tapered socket, only for Ahsoka to snatch it away, holding the tool hostage.

“Hey!”

“Have you thought about what you’re doing?” Ahsoka asks slowly, staring you directly in the eyes. “Once you fix his ship, he’s gone. And he’s taking our best chance at escaping Shili with him.”

A quick glance over your shoulder shows the Mandalorian studying the scattered BB unit parts on your workbench. You are missing a few vital components needed in order to bring the little droid back to life after a stormtrooper shot a plasma bolt through it for accidentally bumping into his leg, and haven’t had any luck convincing the village traders to track them down for you when they went to the capital. 

“We can’t keep him here against his will,” you manage at last, turning back to your sister. “Otherwise we’re no better than the Imps.”

When Ahsoka doesn’t say anything, you shrug a shoulder, adding, “Besides, I think I’m supposed to fix it for him. The Force seems pretty insistent about it.”

She makes a face at that. “I liked you better when you ignored your Force instincts. You didn’t make me worry as much.”

A laugh escapes you, embarrassingly loud in the otherwise quiet space, and your cheeks immediately start burning. Ahsoka’s lip twitches like she wants to smile, but instead she schools her features into a blank expression when the Mandalorian’s head turns at the sound. Only once he diverts his attention elsewhere again does her stare lose some of its intensity, looking less like she wants to dissect him beneath a microscope. You can practically see her protective-older-sister-instincts buzzing, reacting to the warrior’s presence. 

As much as he is a chance at providing an escape, he is also first and foremost a complete and total stranger. Even worse, he is a complete and total stranger who knows how to handle weapons. 

“I’ll be fine, I promise.” You squeeze her arm reassuringly. “Shouldn’t take longer than a couple of hours. You’ll be so busy smoothing the Elders’ ruffled feathers you won’t even notice I’m gone.”

Ahsoka finally relinquishes the tool, exhaling a quiet sigh. “You shouldn’t make promises you don’t know for certain you can keep.”

__

Walking side by side with the Mandalorian in silence isn’t awkward, per se, but it definitely isn’t comfortable either. He is close enough your arm keeps accidentally grazing against his, the cold brush of metal against your skin startling you each time. You would have considered his nearness strange if you hadn’t heard Ahsoka threaten to castrate him if you wound up hurt before she sent him flying at the juni tree branch outside your window with an unnecessarily strong push of Force. 

To his credit, the warrior handled her rough treatment with the same ease he has handled everything else thrown at him. You are beginning to think Mandalorians don’t just wear beskar—they are made of it too. Other than the few glimpses of frustration earlier in Maar’s office, he keeps his cards close to his chest, impossible to read. 

He watches everything though, reacting to the slightest of movements and sounds. Constantly alert. You are certain he is watching you right now, despite the fact his helmet is facing forward, your nerves prickling in response to the sensation of eyes upon you.

To your surprise, he is the one to break the silence first. “You sneak out often.”

It is a statement, not a question. 

You suppose the dots are easy enough to connect to reach that conclusion. Still, the certainty in his voice has your heart skipping a nervous beat. He hasn’t even known you a day and yet he is privy to secrets no one outside your community is aware of. “Yeah,” you nod your head after a brief lapse of silence, “Ahsoka can’t train in the village. Not with the stormtroopers around.”

“Has your village tried to run them out? Fight back?”

It is only because you know he is just trying to understand your village’s predicament with the little bits of information he has that you don’t snap at him for being so insensitive. He has no idea what these past five years have been like for you all. No idea the amount of losses and sacrifices the community has suffered. 

Your grip on your tool kit tightens. “I was twelve when they came. The community is mostly traders and hunters, not trained fighters. The few weapons we had were nothing compared to their blaster rifles, but some of the adults tried to defend the village, including our parents. They...” You swallow, or try to, at least, your throat suddenly dry as sand. “Our aunt looked after us until last year we woke up one morning to find a note she’d left to join the rebellion. We haven’t had any contact with her since.”

The Mandalorian’s gloved hand brushes against your knuckles. This time you think it might have been on purpose.

“I lost my parents as a child, too. There was a riot and they died protecting me,” he offers his own private details with the same reluctance as one volunteering to have their teeth pulled out. “The Mandalorians took me in, raised me as one of their own.”

You say nothing about the way his breath slightly hitches when he says Mandalorians, appreciating his openness as it puts you both on somewhat equal footing with each other. 

“I owe it to them to look for survivors,” he tells you, and your montrals detect the quietest hint of a plea in his voice. 

“I understand,” you answer, keeping your tone light to preserve the fragility of this moment. This kind of situation doesn’t happen often—two strangers on the same wavelength, exposing their vulnerable underbellies, desperate to be heard and yet skittish at the same time—and it is oddly therapeutic. 

A decision is made right then and there in the span of a heartbeat. And even more significantly, it is 100% your own choice without any intervention or manipulation from the Force. 

You stop walking, causing the Mandalorian to halt as well. He scans the area for a threat, then visibly jerks when he turns back to find you have your hand held out towards him, pinky raised high, reacting as if you are pointing a weapon at him.

“I don’t understand,” he says, blunt and almost suspicious sounding. Are you just imagining it or can you actually hear him frowning? “What are you doing?”

“Haven’t you ever made a pinky promise with someone before?”

“...A what?”

You snort, ducking your head to hide your smile, and then reach for his hand. Surprisingly, he doesn’t protest your touch.

“A pinky promise,” you repeat as you make his hand form a fist, curling his fingers towards his palm, and then adjust his pinky so you can wrap yours around it. He watches the whole process wordlessly. “It’s a sacred vow shared between two people. The Elders say once it’s sworn, the promise can never be broken.”

He cocks his head, skeptical. “Never?”

“Never,” you reaffirm with a nod. Licking your lips, you look at his visor, right where you instinctively know his eyes are staring back. “I promise I’m going to help you. No matter the odds.”

And something leaks into your voice then, something resolute and binding and otherworldly. A tremor shoots down your spine, too quick for you to make sense of it.

Your sister’s words echo in the back of your mind, ‘You shouldn’t make promises you don’t know for certain you can keep.’ 

You try to pull away, self-doubt gnawing a hole in your stomach, only for the Mandalorian to wrap his pinky tighter around yours, holding you still. A gasp escapes your lips, muffled by the bleeding sincerity in his voice as he swears:

“I promise I will be there when you need me. No matter the odds.”

And although your sister could undoubtedly provide you with a long list of reasons why you shouldn’t, you believe his promise to be true.

__

The Mandalorian heaves a heavy sigh at the sight of his crashed ship. 

“I can’t do much about the landing gear,” you inform him, believing honesty to be the best policy for cases like this. “And I brought some foam-jet for the cockpit viewport, but it’s not a permanent fix. You’re going to have to find someone offworld to replace them.”

“Right,” he agrees absently without turning his eyes away. It occurs to you then that this ship is the closest thing to a home he has now. One of the few precious relics from his past he can still physically cling to. 

“Does your ship have a name?” you ask.

He looks at you, as if coming back to self-awareness, and answers, “Razor Crest.”

A good name, you think. Strong. A bit mysterious. Just like its owner.

You nod decisively. “I like it.”

His modulator crackles faintly, a quiet noise produced from a sudden exhale of air. You blink at the unexpected sound, surprised to realize you recognize it. A laugh. The Mandalorian just laughed at something you said. What is next in store for you? Are akul going to sprout wings and start flying?

He steps around you, heading for the side entry door still open from yesterday with its ramp laying on the ground, pebbles shifting noisily beneath his boots with each step. You don’t realize you are staring, oddly entranced by the swish of his cape and his purposeful strides, until he calls out your name to ask if you are coming.

You nearly drop your tool kit in your haste to follow after him into the Crest’s interior, ignoring the flaring heat radiating from your cheeks. 

For the next few hours, you and the Mandalorian work in companionable silence, engrossed in rerouting wires and welding damaged components with your trusty hand torch. The gunship is older than you initially assumed, perhaps even as old as yourself, and you idly wonder if the Mandalorian found it in a scrapyard somewhere or maybe inherited it from another Mandalorian. You notice the way he handles each piece with an experienced and respectful touch; the same kind of care someone reserves for their most cherished possessions. Anyone with eyes can see how much he loves the Crest just by watching him.

Once you have finished sealing the numerous cracks dissecting the cockpit’s viewport like a spiderweb with foam, you approach the Mandalorian to see his progress on returning power to the dashboard. He is on his back beneath the steering controls, rearranging a mess of wires, and barely acknowledges your presence when you squeeze yourself into the tight space next to him.

“The red wire goes before the white one,” you point out, noticing the mistake immediately. “Fire hazard.”

He pauses, looks at where you have gestured, and corrects his error without criticizing your intervention. You bite back a smile, pleased to be heard. Within your community, even though you have proven your skills time and time again, some of the villagers, usually men, don’t always adhere to your advice, thinking you are too young and too female to know about technology, until they inevitably make their problems worse for themselves and come back to you with their metaphorical tail between their legs. 

You help him reattach the cover plating once he has finished, screwing the bolts back into their corners, and then watch, fingers crossed, as he attempts the ignition sequence, flipping a series of switches.

None of them light up with even the faintest flicker of life.

“Dank farrik,” he growls under his breath, slamming a fist upon the console.

You take a tiny step forward, hesitant to direct his frustration your way. “Can I try?” 

He tilts his head, probably thinking he knows this ship better than anyone and if it doesn’t work for him then you aren’t going to have any luck either.

Eventually he steps back with a shrug, uttering a simple, “Sure.” 

Although you can’t remember the last time you were on a ship, it doesn’t take long to refamiliarize yourself with the various controls and screens once you take a seat in the pilot chair. When your hobby for fixing broken machines changed into a passion you wanted to pursue as a future career, you started memorizing any reading material you could find on the Holonet, including the flight manuals for different classes of starships. You flip through the stored information in your mind about gunships as you press a few buttons on the panel overhead, trying out different sequences for a response.

When your third attempt fails, you bite your lip, racking your brain for a solution. You think about Huno’s kitchen droid and how you had been on the verge of ripping off one of your head-tails trying to repair it after one of its fuses blew, causing it to malfunction. Your tools and knowledge hadn’t been able to fix it in the end. It had required a special remedy to bring it back to life.

You lay your palms flat on the console, just as you had held onto the droid’s square torso. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the Mandalorian fidget, as if he wants to come closer but is hesitant to crowd you. You ignore him, pressing your fingertips harder against the metal, visualizing in your mind the unseen gears, cables, and components stiff and powerless. You imagine the parts working properly, a current of electricity running through each wire, life ultimately returning to the entire ship, and whisper under your breath a request to the Force.

“Please work, please work, please work…”

An invisible pulse of energy burns down the length of your arms and discharges through your fingertips, strong enough you jerk backwards against the seat. Every button and screen on the dashboard lights up all at once, beeping with alarm at being so rudely resurrected.

You sit there helplessly, stunned and breathless, hands twitching in your lap. The kitchen droid hadn’t required even half as much energy to restart, barely a pinch. Now your body feels like you have been thrown against the electric fence a dozen times. Wordlessly, the Mandalorian comes to your side to help, punching buttons and turning knobs until the alarms quit blaring. A distant part of your brain thinks the Razor Crest as a whole seems strangely soothed by his presence, not quite as cold and dark, but it is hard to follow that train of thought due to the distracting pain throbbing along your temples.

“That’s quite a spark you’ve got,” he says, not unkindly or accusingly, just a statement of the obvious. He looks down at you, not outright asking for an explanation, but giving you the opportunity to open up if you wanted to.

“Yep, that’s me,” you reply, forcing a cheerful smile, praying it doesn’t resemble a grimace. “Sparks Tano at your service.”

He chuckles again, oblivious to how your heart stutters at its raspiness. “Thank you, Sparks. I appreciate it.”

“Well, we’re not done yet.” You rub at your temples under the guise of adjusting your headband. “I need to take a closer look at the engines before we attempt flying out of here. I—”

“I’ll do it,” he cuts in, already heading for the ladder. “You stay here, see if you can update the navicomputer settings.”

You know he knows that updating the navicomputer is child’s play for you. Clearly you aren’t as great at concealing your pain as you thought you were and this is his way of giving you a break. A small part of you is irritated at being treated like a porcelain doll, but you push those negative feelings aside as quickly as they develop. Your aunt always used to remind you and Ahsoka it was okay to accept help when it was offered, that needing support didn’t in any way make you weak. 

“Hey, wait a second,” you call out as you spin around in your seat, freezing him right before he disappears from view into the hull. He holds onto the ladder, waiting patiently for you to continue.

“Back at Maar’s place you didn’t introduce yourself and it’s weird just calling you Mandalorian in my head,” you say, awkwardly drumming your fingers on top of the armrests. He doesn’t answer, eliciting a sigh from your mouth after a drawn-out beat of silence. “What’s your name? You do have one, right?”

“I do, but I can’t tell you it,” he admits at last. “By Mandalorian Creed, only other Mandalorians or my riduur—my spouse,” he corrects, seeing your confusion, “are allowed to know my name and see my face. This is the Way.”

He doesn’t linger to hear your response, dropping down into the hull with a resounding thud. You slowly turn back around, staring absently out the glass. Every culture is unique, including your own, but you think there is something especially interesting about the Mandalorians’. It sounds like a lonely existence, only able to show your face while in select company. What would have happened if he had been unconscious and you had slipped the helmet off his head? What consequence would he have faced? 

And if there truly aren’t any Mandalorians left besides him, his spouse will be the only one to ever know him completely. It almost sounds like a love story, if not a little bit heart-wrenching. 

Two high-pitched dings from the console jerk you out of your thoughts with a wince. You look for the source, finding the radar lit up and actively scanning the area, and bristle when you see a pair of red dots moving across the screen. 

Not even a minute later you are sprinting out of the cave, ignoring the Mandalorian’s alarmed shout from the roof of the Razor Crest. They’re early, you think with panic, looking towards the sky where two starships with Imperial logos are heading straight for your village. Why have they come back so soon?

You push your legs to run faster, your surroundings a blur beyond the trail in front of you, but the effort is meaningless. You won’t make it back home before they land.

And when your absence is noted, bloodshed is not a possibility. 

It is a guarantee.

Series taglist: @pedro4ever @cannedsoupsucks

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[mallowstep]

Does Feather ask Leopardstar for an apology in the Stone AU? And if she does, and Stone shuts her down, who tells Feather what happened? What exactly Tigerstar pushed both Stone and Leopard into? I mean...if I was Leopard in that position I'd bluntly ask Feather if she would like to go live with Greystripe in Thunderclan because yes, I was wrong, but I literally cannot deal. My body no longer feels like it's my own anymore--theres literally things inside of it-and...I'm sure grappling with the fact my best friend is the cause of it. Maybe she'd ask Storm if he'd like to go to Thunderclan too. I mean...I know Feather is hurt, I know she's upset, and I know I'd jo longer trust myself with her, Storm, Stone, or Misty's care, but I would give them the choice to leave for Thunderclan. Idk.

"Perhaps you'd be happier there," Leopardstar meows gently, "Stormpaw has been informing Stonefur of all the adventures you both had in Thunderclan after you three escaped. And I know Firestar would welcome you all back with open paws."

she does. she asks for an apology a little after she becomes a warrior. i don't have a super clear timeline for the au, so i can't say exactly when, but it's after leopardstar is visibly pregnant.

stonefur shuts it down ("you don't get to ask her for that," or something angry and in that vein), and she's very surprised. being right, deputy obligations, etc., aside, she doesn't understand why stonefur shuts her down. because from her perspective, whatever is going on between stonefur and leopardstar, he blames her too. he's angry at her too. so for him to shut her down, when she expected him as an ally? it's a shock.

i'm not sure who talks to feathertail about it. likely, she relays the story to mistyfoot (who spoke to mudfur after she comes to a conclusion about what happened, and wanted verification from him, and now has the truth), and mistyfoot fills her in.

we're going to cut now.

cw: sexual assault (by proxy), self victim-blaming

still not sure how to write a good cw for this; stonefur and leopardstar are threatened into having sex with each other.

i'm not sure exactly what mistyfoot says. she -- stonefur doesn't want to talk about it, but she feels like feathertail deserves at least some kind of context/explanation. but how does she do that? how does she say a little without saying everything? how does she explain stonefur's reaction without walking feathertail through every step of stonefur's life?

but she can't say nothing. feathertail is hurt and upset and justifiably so, and mistyfoot gets it. mistyfoot would also really like an apology from leopardstar. she doesn't expect one, but she feels she deserves (they all deserve) one.

how do you do all of that?

("we deserve more from her," feathertail says, pacing.

and mistyfoot sighs, because she knows feathertail is right. they do deserve more from her.

"we do," she agrees. "but..."

"but what?" feathertail hisses. "she made us warriors, so we should forget about it?"

"no." mistyfoot takes a deep breath. "we do, but now isn't the right time."

"what, because she's pregnant? should i wait until the kits are born, then? apprentices? warriors? never, then?"

"feathertail," mistyfoot snaps, "if you're going to interrupt me, don't bother asking."

"sorry." feathertail licks her paw. "but -- come on, mistyfoot. when is a good time to ask? we shouldn't have to ask."

"i know." mistyfoot's whiskers twitch. "feathertail, you understand -- leopardstar never wanted kits."

"so she changed her mind."

"she never wanted stonefur's kits, feathertail." mistyfoot meets feathertail's eyes, and she watches as the realization begins to piece itself together, crystallizing in feathertail's expression.

"he didn't--" feathertail chokes on her words, sounding horrified.

"no," mistyfoot cries. "no," she repeats, gentler. "i don't think either of them had a choice."

feathertail is silent for a moment.

"that's all well and terrible," she says, "and i'm not -- i don't mean to be callous, but that doesn't change what happened. and stonefur didn't need to..." she sighs. "he wasn't a part of it."

mistyfoot wraps her tail around her paws. "i think, when it comes to leopardstar, stonefur always thinks he's a part of it.")

well. mistyfoot may know stonefur well, well enough to even guess at his motivations, but. explaining that all to feathertail feels inappropriate.

after stonefur steps down as deputy, mistyfoot is able to push leopardstar, and she brings it up. that somehow, leopardstar needs to acknowledge what happened.

leopardstar isn't going to be that frank and forward with feathertail, but with mistyfoot?

("i can't," leopardstar snaps. "this isn't about what is or isn't right, mistyfoot. i can't."

mistyfoot's tail flicks against the ground. "it's not fair to them---" (to us, she adds silently) "--to expect them to move on, if you can't address it."

"what would you have me do, mistyfoot? i--"

"leopardstar?"

"i'm fine," she says. "but i can't do this. i'm -- i don't..." she sighs. "mistyfoot, i can't breathe without being reminded of what happened. i've born the consequences of my mistakes."

"that doesn't erase what happened. you can't--"

"i can't do what, mistyfoot? because i can't apologize. i can't stand there and say it's my fault and i did this and it was wrong. i can't -- i can't say that." she licks her chest. "because saying that -- it's all one mistake, mistyfoot. it's all one mistake, why everything happened. why feathertail is angry, why you are deputy, why stonefur--"

mistyfoot blinks softly. "that wasn't your fault, leopardstar."

"wasn't it? because i chose to ally with tigerstar, and i chose to tell stonefur not to kill them, and i chose to let tigerstar believe we were mates. i can't apologize.")

and when leopardstar is a few days from kitting, there's a gathering. she stays home. she's not sure if that's what she wants, but...she stays home. she's not sure she can walk there and back; she's not sure she can stand before the clans; she's not sure she can face blackstar.

stonefur stays with her.

and firestar is missing, too, so it's mistyfoot and greystripe and tallstar and blackstar. that's the gathering that greystripe reminds feathertail there's a place for her in thunderclan, if she wants it.

("what did greystripe want to talk to you about?"

feathertail is looking pointedly ahead. "he told me...he said if things weren't working out in riverclan, i could -- we could go back to thunderclan."

mistyfoot is silent until they get back to camp, and then she pulls feathertail somewhere quiet and secluded. "i've been meaning to talk to you about leopardstar."

"i got the message the first time," feathertail says. "not the time. whatever."

"not just that." mistyfoot takes a deep breath. "you know that i agree with you, about her. and for what it's worth, she agrees, too."

feathertail snorts. "would be nice to hear it from her."

"that's the thing. feathertail, i don't...want you to expect something you're not going to get. and if -- if you need an apology from leopardstar, i don't think you're going to get one."

feathertail shifts.

"you're saying -- i should take greystripe's offer."

"i'm saying if you need an apology to feel...okay in riverclan, then you should at least take it seriously.")

not sure what she does yet. in canon, feathertail stays in riverclan after she sees leopardstar...is it lose a life, or just risk one? for hawkpaw. she doesn't get an apology before that, and she hasn't been in riverclan that long. i think...she is reluctant to leave her brother behind. that's a strong motivation to stay, but not...it's not insurmountable.

hm. things to consider.

[icedcappujaeno]

kingdom come | one

Jaehyun remembers you, and he hopes that you remember him as well.

genre: mafia!au | fluff | angst | smut

pair: Jaehyun & reader

warnings: language, sexual content, drugs, blood and violence, guns

↤ previous | series masterlist | next ↦

( a/n: heh c: )

“Valentine, can you hear me, over.”

“Chicago to Valentine.”

“Jae-”

He pulls the device away from his ears. Sweat drips from his temple down to his wrist. He clutches the handle before when he hears the door open, footsteps following after. 

Jaehyun quietly exhales but he hears his heart thumping. Louder. The footsteps coming closer matching how his heart that he could hear it loudly in his ears. 

“He went through here. I’m sure of it,” one says. 

At least one of you is vigilant , he thinks. 

Jaehyun cocks the barrel and slides away from where he was hiding, shooting the speaker in his chest. His companion reacts even before his body falls to the ground with the fatal shot - shooting to the direction Jaehyun was. 

Unfortunately, still too slow.

Jaehyun rolls to the side, kicking the man’s ankles which caused him to fall down. He takes the opportunity to shoot another bullet straight to his lungs. But to these actions, he never noticed another man coming into the room, one making a bullet straight to his direction. Luckily with his reflexes, he managed to dodge a split second, the metal grazing through the fabric of his clothing deep into the skin of his shoulder. 

Momentarily he hisses because of the pain, yet Jaehyun manages to get it over quickly, landing a clean shot on the assailant’s head. 

He ducks behind the flipped table to reload and hears another set of steps coming towards his direction. He runs just behind the walls of the fallen door - and as one entered, sneaks up to land a fatal blow towards the back of the man’s neck. The other points his gun towards Jaehyun, but as to his quick senses, pulls the arm towards him, flipping him over with the remaining strength he has, before planting a bullet on the man’s head once more.

Jaehyun exhales.

“This is Valentine,” he says as he brings the comm back to his ears. “Cleaning up cleared.”

“YOU FUCKING SHIT!”

Johnny screams through the comm, and Jaehyun thinks his eardrums are being snapped at. It was pure regret to put them back on. The elder continues to interrogate his locations to which he answers meekly as to be careful - there might be more around that are hunting for him.

When he stands, the graze on his shoulder stung, and he hisses at the burning sensation. There is blood from his shoulder when he reaches for it, thus he places his free hand over for pressure to prevent more bleeding. Slowly, he walks over to the hallway, now stinking of dried blood. 

Jaehyun didn’t even get to the half of the hall when he heard running, thus he concealed himself behind a vase stand. 

“This way!” One of them shouts, but a series of gunshots fires after.

He hears a man whistle, then a slap of a hand on thick fabric.

“Jeno nice kill!”

Jaehyun chuckles and shakes his head. 

“Were you not told that you should call another agent by their code, Pudu?”

He says, standing up to meet his two companions - two juniors on the field. The hand on his shoulder still patched, to which the black-haired boy notices. 

“You’re injured, Hyung!”

Both rushed to his side, and Jaehyun saw the panic in their eyes.

“As much as I’d love to flick your foreheads right now,” he hisses. “Ah, shit. Should I be really giving lessons now-“

“Yeah, you should!” Another voice breaks him, and when Jaehyun looks over the hall, Johnny’s coming closer in big, angry strides. Jeno and Haechan move to the side to give way to Johnny. 

With the first aid kit, Johnny applies a mediocre patch with thick layers of gauze. He finishes the dressing by roughly putting on micropore tapes haphazardly over the injured shoulder.

“But they won’t be the one taking lessons, Jaehyun, it’ll be you—and by that I mean go back to the training where you’ll learn patience and obedience!” Johnny screams with obvious frustration laces his tone. 

“I can do it alone, hyung—“

“Bullshit,” Johnny scoffs, then turns his back to Jaehyun. “Carry Valentine up to the escape, Prince. Pudu, come with me.”

The two mentioned complies, but Jaehyun is reluctant to not go. He was about to speak when Johnny walked away with Haechan, leaving no room for argument. 

Jeno looks at him with pitiful eyes. He hears rumors of Jaehyun going insane by charging in alone, with no comms, when he sees fit, and now he’s seen it. A true suicidal maniac who succeeds nevertheless. 

“Prince. Bring Valentine over,” Jeno hears Taeyong through the comms. Jeno looks at Jaehyun — his lips pursed and brows knitted, probably in annoyance.

“Yes sir.”

Jaehyun looks at him with venomous eyes. Jeno cowers, his heart beats a little faster than normal, but no. An order is an order.

“Valentine hyung. Let’s go.”

The older looks at him for a brief few seconds and sighs. He could not hurt Jeno, and running away would probably sanction the kid. He couldn’t risk it — couldn’t be the one putting the blame.

He nods and lets Jeno assist him by putting his arm over the little one’s frame for support, drenched in blood and sweat.

━ ┉ ━

“Pass.”

Johnny attempts to imitate Jaehyun’s baritone when Taeil asks whether they’re up for a night of chicken and beer after finishing their reports on the previous mission. Jaehyun was the only man in the room to not be amused by the elder’s banter as his brows were knitted in obvious annoyance.

“Stop that, hyung,” he says as he gathers his coat to his hand. When he stands, he pushes the button of his computer to turn it off. “But I’ll pass.”

Johnny mouths ‘I told you so’ to the people around which earned fits of giggles. 

“Come on, Jaehyun,” Taeil insists. “It’s just for tonight.”

If other people would observe, Jaehyun’s actions would be seen as disrespectful - as he straight out walks towards the time clock to punch out. However, since almost everyone in the office knows of his past, they let him be. Jaehyun wasn’t like this before  that incident - and adjusting to his cold demeanor was quite difficult, to say the least, but everyone managed to lengthen their patience towards him.

“Okay, I’ll be honest,” Haechan raises his hand. “I am starting to lose my patience towards Jaehyun hyung.”

“Haechan,” Johnny sighs. “We talked about this.”

“It’s been two years!” The younger whines. “He should have moved on.”

“Thought you were teaching your kids well, Johnny hyung,” Taeyong quips as he gets out of his office. He looks so exhausted with his disheveled hair, first button of his shirt undone, and the loose necktie. Johnny could never imagine the piles of paper waiting for him on his desk. These were times that he was thankful that he was only a  supervisor .

“I did,” Johnny shrugs. “But did he lie though?”

Silence fills the room and everyone internally agrees, even Taeyong. 

Two years since Jaehyun got involved in a car  accident .

“So, chicken and beer?” Taeil finally stands from his seat then stretches the knots out of his back muscles. Everyone follows except for Taeyong, who only smiles and frees his neck from the tie hanging around all day.

━ ┉ ━

Two years since Jaehyun lost you.

Two years he’s been self-suffering. Two years of blaming. Two years of guilt.

And in the span of two years, he learns a new routine. Work. Then home. It was foreign not to go out with his co-workers in the first five months, but he swallows his guilt - he shouldn’t be happy while you’re gone. He doesn’t deserve it, it’s what he thinks. In the first five months, he drinks and tries to forget, but it wasn’t working for him. 

He was beyond broken, raising the worries of his co-workers. His  friends .

In the next months, Taeil and Yuta buy him gym equipment; ‘to keep himself busy’ as they say. Jaehyun appreciates the concern and thinking that not using it would rust them off, he learns to use them. In nights of insomnia, as you continue to appear in his dreams, taken in by the guilt and emotional repression, he goes up and trains until his body can’t move anymore.

This night wasn’t any different.

Jaehyun lies on the floor of his training ground. He’s drenched in sweat and it sticks to the mat below, but he pays no mind. He stares at the ceiling - your smile comes through his mind. He misses you, so much. And it hurts so badly. He isn’t alone but he feels like one without your presence. He shouldn’t be feeling guilty as it was an accident, but he’s blaming himself: he shouldn’t have invited you to a fancy dinner. He should have listened to you but he didn’t. 

Jaehyun looks at his watch. The screen flashes and shows 01:13 AM.

He shouldn’t be laying on the floor drenched in sweat. Right now, you should have been laying with him instead, your soft snores melody to his ears.

He stares at the ceiling once again. He has deleted all your pictures in order to forget, but it keeps coming…

Jaehyun cries. 

He swore he’ll never cry once more, yet your face, your dear facade keeps haunting his thoughts.

He wants you back.

━ ┉ ━

“You should be glad I’m still awake,” Rose quips, lightning her cig as she sits on the edge of Jaehyun’s bed. The white shirt tossed by Jaehyun earlier covers her slender upper body to her mid-thighs.

Jaehyun only hums, sitting beside her. He comes back from the shower from which he throws out the condom he used just a while ago. With him wearing his birthday suit, Rose can’t help but admire his body; sculpted into perfection. She was staring until he raised a brow.

Rose offers him a cig and he accepts, letting her light his stick.

“Yeah,” Jaehyun huffs from his cigarette. “Thanks.”

She offers him a knowing look. Her legs are crossed while her chin rests on her palms, supported by her elbows on her knees. A smile comes across her sultry lips. “So?”

He looks at her incredulously. “So?”

Rose shrugs. She glances at the clock by his nightstand and huffs a smoke out of her cigarette. “It’s almost 3 AM.”

“And?”

She reaches for her bag resting on the nightstand and fishes her phone out. She scrolls back to her recent contacts, most recently coming from Jaehyun. “Booty calls at 1:48 in the morning? Like I’ve said, you’re lucky I’m still up.”

Jaehyun chuckles dryly in reply, before blowing another smoke from his light. “I know you’d come anyway.”

“I mean,” Rose sighs dreamily, looking at Jaehyun’s body rather salaciously. He’s covered in his own sweat, mixed a little bit with hers, and it’s the hottest view Rose had ever seen in her entire life. “I’d be an idiot to turn you down.”

Jaehyun extinguishes his cig on a nearby ashtray and runs his fingers through his tresses. She imitates his actions, reaching over to the lone ashtray where he extinguished his stick. His gaze follows suit, weighing down whether he’ll let her stay until the sun rises or let her go home. 

Rose has been of great help to him. He needs release at times, and she’s been willing to do him a favor every time ever since they met at the bar when Jaehyun was still in the first few months of  recovering . She confessed her lowkey crush on him and they’ve been hooking up ever since.

It was hard to admit, but Rose knew she’s only nothing. When they fuck around, his eyes are void of any emotion. Sure, his face tells him he feels good as well as his moans and grunts, but Rose knew that it was all just lustful desires. A short-term form of happiness.

“Stay the night,” he says, proceeding to put stray strands of her hair behind her ears. His touch was cold like his exterior. Rose wishes she could break those walls, but she also knows that it’s not yet the time to do those if she wants to keep using him. 

A mutual understanding. Both sides benefited. She thinks that somehow, this is okay. At least for now.

She nods. It was quite late anyway, and the sun will be rising soon. It was part of the deal - that she leaves as the sun rises, so lays on his bed, inhaling his scent. Jaehyun follows suit, inviting her over to his and she scoots over, making his chest as a pillow. He runs his hand through her soft hair.

But the problem is, Jaehyun feels nothing after all these.

[girlsgonemildblog]

She Doesn’t Even Go Here - The Bachelor, Season 25, Week 6 Recap

Image from abc.com

Last week’s episode ended with MJ and Jessenia going on a pre-rose ceremony quickie 2-on-1. As they wait for Matt to arrive, they begin to go at each other’s throats, and he inevitably ends up walking in on their bickering.

Matt speaks with Jessenia first. During her conversation with Matt, she says that MJ is the one who began the drama, which is objectively not true. While MJ was a bully, the actual bullying was definitely started by Victoria and Anna. Jessenia was right to call out MJ, but there was something sketchy about her in this moment. Her whole speech seemed very rehearsed, and her tone was calculated. I don’t know why, but she just comes off as fake to me.

MJ, meanwhile, is crying and calling Jessenia a “little bitch”, which isn’t great for her “not a bully” argument. She then collects herself, fluffs her hair, and declares that she had a “weak bitch moment” and “forgot who [she is] for a second”.

Matt then talks to MJ and says that the person Jessenia described did not match his experience with her. It seems that Matt actually had a connection with MJ, which was shocking since I don’t remember them ever speaking before. I really think the drama this season has overshadowed the actual romance, which is expected to some extent but also annoying when it gets to this point because The Bachelor is a dating show at its core.

MJ gets sent home, and even on her way out, she refuses to take ownership of her actions, instead claiming that Jessenia “sabotaged” her. Jessenia gets the 2-on-1 date rose, but it isn’t shown. I think this may be the first off-screen rose in the history of the franchise. Sketchy. 

Shortly after the rest of the girls arrive, Chris Harrison joins them and tells them the cocktail party has been canceled, and they’ll go directly to the rose ceremony. The last mean girl standing, Serena C (pictured below), then declares that the toxicity in the house never should’ve been brought to Matt’s attention and blames Katie for the lack of time she’s spent with him. As Katie correctly points out, Matt canceled the rose ceremony because he knew who he wanted to keep. If he sent Serena C. home, it was because he didn’t have a connection with her, not because of anything anyone else said or did.

Image from abc.com

Unfortunately, he does not send Serena C home. Instead, he says goodbye to sweet Magi, who we better see in Paradise, as well as “new girls” Brittany and Ryan, leaving Michelle as the only remaining member of the second batch of ladies.

The next day, Serena C. decides she needs to “confront” Katie. What her actual argument against Katie was, I could not determine. She seems to think that bullying, harassment, and slut-shaming should be allowed to continue if stopping it could affect her chances with a guy. Serena C. contains so much internalized misogyny that it actually makes me miss the #girlboss feminism that this show usually espouses.

After all the yelling (there was a lot of yelling), Serena C. goes downstairs to talk shit and says of Katie, “she came in hot with her sex positivity,” like being comfortable in your sexuality is somehow a bad or shameful thing. This actually makes a lot of sense; Serena C. doesn’t know how to properly masturbate and possibly has never cum. Maybe an orgasm would make her a little more pleasant to be around.

Image from abc.com

The first date is a one-on-one with Pieper. She and Matt go to a private carnival in the woods at night that looked absolutely magical.

Photo from Twitter

She opens up to him about having a different love language from her parents, who express themselves through actions instead of words. She explains that this has made it hard for her to open up. Matt says he used to struggle with the same thing, and she gets the rose.

Photo from Instagram

For the group date, Matt takes the girls bowling. Why you would want to touch communal, uncleanable objects and then eat finger food in the middle of a panoramic is beyond me, but to each their own, I guess. The group is split into two teams, and only the winners will get to go on to the night portion. The girls who lose are understandably upset, specifically Abigail, who has grown frustrated with the process as she feels she and Matt are growing apart rather than closer. Kit has yet another funny one-liner, asking Matt, “what do you want in a wife? A bowler?”

Shortly after the losing team gets home, they are invited back to the date since Matt doesn’t want stupid games affecting his time with anyone. This is a great PR move for Matt with the girls. Also, it suggests to me that there was someone on the losing side who he really wanted to get to talk to…

Michelle, who was on the winning side, gets the rose, but I don’t know why because I don’t pay enough attention to the parts with no drama.

Katie finally gets a one-on-one, and the “activity” is pranking Matt’s best friend and bachelor nation heartthrob,  Tyler C., while he gets a massage. The two sit in a hidden room and whisper directions into the masseuse’s earpiece like Impractical Jokers, if it was actually mildly entertaining and the hosts were attractive. During the night portion, Katie gets friend-zoned, and we sadly have to say goodbye to one of the only good people on this season.

Photo from Twitter

Oh! I just realized I forgot to mention this entire episode has been littered with 30-second snippets of Heather Martin quarantining to get a chance to meet Matt. If you’re unfamiliar, Heather was on Colton’s season of The Bachelor, and her storyline was that at 23-years-old, she had never had her first kiss. Colton did eventually kiss her, and according to other contestants of that season, he was not very good at it. But doesn’t everyone’s first time suck, really? So it was fitting.

Anyway, as the cocktail party is beginning, Heather pulls up (in a minivan for some reason), walks right past all the girls, and goes directly to interrupt Matt and Pieper. As soon as Matt sees her, he burst out in laughter. Now I do not judge him for this, as I am also a nervous laugher, but this still cannot be a good sign for Heather. All the girls are angry, but Pieper specifically can best be described as “big mad”. Cue the cliffhanger.

[marsupials-of-mars]

Remus's Diary

Eight special excerpts from Remus's personal very secret diary that have been curated for your viewing pleasure! (Warning: gore and sexual reference, Remus stuff)

Age 6 (spelling corrected):

Dear Diarrhea,

I want to stab things with a knife. Logan says I should write feelings in a diarrhea until they go away, so here. I think bad things mostly. Roman doesn't like me anymore, and I think it's because of the bad things I think. So i think i want to stab him with a knife. He just isn't any fun anymore. I wish he never made us break. I liked being King because I didn't have to look at his dumb poopy face and I didn't have so many thoughts that made people mad at me. But here, I can write all the stuff I want. I think Roman is a poop face and he can get eaten up by a bear. And everyone else can too, because I think it would be very funny. I want to stab the world with a knife. Bye Diarrhea!

~Dooky

Age 12:

Hey Diarrhea,

Deceit called me stupid today. I don't think he meant to, but I don't think it was a lie. I was just talking to him. I thought I was being fun but he called me stupid. I wish I knew how to talk right so nobody hates me. Sometimes I want to scream so loud that I can't stop, and I scream all my insides out. Maybe if my lungs are hanging out of my mouth I won't be able to screw everything up all the time with all the dumb shit I say. Anyway, instead of being sad I decided to start drawing. Thomas read an article about how someone killing animals as a kid is a way to tell that they're going to turn into a serial killer, but if it's just in our head it should be okay. They're just drawings anyway. My red marker dried out, so making the blood is hard, but I learned that if I use green it makes them look infected. Green is better than red anyway. KIT Diarrhea!

~Dukey

Age 14:

Dammit Diarrhea,

I want to fuck everything. With and without a pulse. Logan says it's puberty, I say it's torture. I'm SO HORNY ALL THE TIME! Deceit threatened to get me fixed because I kept humping things, but I'd like to see him try. In other news, my mustache is finally coming in! It's pretty sparse right now but soon it'll be a force to be reckoned with. Everyone says they hate it and to shave it but I know they're just jealous. I don't blame them, I too would lash out if i saw something so glorious but lacked the backbone to commit to it myself. Being so desirable is not easy, but it's a burden i have to bear.

Stay sexy, Diarrhea.

~Dukey

Age 19:

Dear FUCKING Diarrhea,

Thomas got cheated on. The bf's dick wasn't even that big but everyone is all broken up about it. Especially Patton and Roman. I keep telling them that we just need to stab the dude and the slut he hooked up with and make it look like an accident but that just makes them cry harder. I'm trying my best but really all I can think about right now is having to get off alone until Thomas finds someone else, and he's really picky. Clearly not picky enough to find someone who won't fucking cheat! ZING! Anyway, I lied about his dick not being that big and I think I might join Patton and Roman in the pity party. Stay strong Diarrhea.

~Dukey

Age 21:

Deeeeeeeeeeear Diarrhea,

Guess who's plastered? Guess who's ABSOLUTELY shitfaced? Guess who's PROPER BLOTTO??? REMUS IS! We're twenty plus one today! Thomas isn't drunk, but I am! It's like.... take one drink right? Thomas is five sides all in one Thomas, so when he drinks one drink, we all get the buzz from the one drink, right? NAHHHH all of it goes in me! I get the drunk! One drink for thomas five for me! Guess how many drinks Thomas had? TWO! I feel so spinny! Anyway diary, I'm going to see how many more things I can break with the power of alchohol!

Okay, I'm back. I think I left I'm not sure but things got really blurry and now my door is locked and barred. I think Deceit put me in timeout. He's no fun. Doesnt he know I'm DRUNK and ready to PARTY?! Give me a second I'm going to try something else.

Hey, I'm back again. I have a chain on my ankle and I think I'm sticky. Oh shit i found some glass in my foot!

Fuck it's wearing off. I hope Thomas drinks more soon. Revolutionary idea: the normal world, but everyone is an alcoholic. I think I'm going to patent that. Stay thirsty my friend.

~Dukey

Age 25:

Diarrhea,

I think Virgil is scared of me. We were just talking like always, and he said something dumb that made me a little mad, about how I should calm down because maybe I was loud enough that Thomas might listen to me too much. I really don't like when people say to calm down, and I didn't like him implying that it would be some kind of issue for Thomas to think about how fast a person would have to run at a wire for it to split their whole body in half vertically from nose to ass. So I got a little bit angry, but I could still joke around so I asked Virgil if he wanted to test it out. I guess my voice was too angry, or my face looked too serious, because he flinched. He looked scared. I've seen him scared before, he's a huge pussy, but he's never looked at me like that. Fuck, now I'm wondering if maybe he has but I've just never seen it. I hope he knows that I would never hurt him, because I know he doesn't like that. I hope he knows that he's a better brother than Roman ever was, and I would slaughter everyone in the world and grind them into a bloody pulp under my heel for him. But I don't like to be mushy so I pushed him and told him to lighten up. He fell and looked even more scared. I promise I didn't mean to push him so hard. He got up and ran away to his room. I saw him again tonight and he didn't mention it. I'm not scary, Diarrhea.

~Dukey

Age 28:

Virgil left. He didn't even say goodbye. I heard him fighting with Deceit, but that's been happening a lot. He talked about leaving before but Deceit said it was an "empty promise". I haven't left my room since he left. It's been three days, and I'm starting to think he's not coming back. If Deceit tries to come in here I'll shed him myself. I don't want to talk to anybody. I just want to decay right here, into rot and dirt and slime. Why does Roman have to have everything that's mine? He was the one who wanted to split, he was the one who left me alone, he's always the perfect hero, what gives him the right? What gives him the right to steal Virgil too? He already gets Logan and Patton and Thomas and everyone perfect like him, what gives him the right to take the one best friend I had? If I can't have perfect, let me have Virgil. They talk about goodness and fairness but how is this fair? I want to stab the world with a knife. Wake me up when the world makes sense, Diarrhea.

~Remus

Age 30:

Dearest Diarrhea,

HOLY FUCK!!! I met Thomas! Of course I knew him already, but I MET him. I got to sing a song! And fucking DECK Roman! Deceit finaly let me out under mysterious circumstances, which are my favorite kind of circumstances! He gave me some script to say but hey whatever, I'm used to saying things aloud that I don't fully process. It went a little different than I was going for but guess what? Go ahead, guess! Fine I'll tell you! I GET TO BE IN VIDEOS! And hang out with Thomas and the lights! And Virgil! VIRGIL! And guess what he told me! Go on! Guess! Wow you're shit at guessing! He told me he's not scared of me! We had a MOMENT! I'm absolutely giddy. Deceit is pissy at me for some dumb reason but I never know what's going on with him. This is a new beginning, you just wait! Sexiest regards, Diarrhea!

~Dukey

[purplefrayedisaster]

THEN

Saw her loving mother banging Krampus (more than once mind you). It scared/scarred her for a good portion of her childhood. And she used to love xmas.

Had her sexual awakening around 15, aka discovered she preferred girls over the boys. Though she is definitely bisexual. also might or might not have had a harem type thing going on.

Did some stupid shit in her youth (when I figure all that out I’ll let you know)

Loved watching horror films growing up. Due to seeing her mom banging Krampus she has become desensitized to a lot of things, like horror films

Very big into the occult. Would read up on all the things.

Loves her siblings, she is pretty much there for them all. Hell she would even let them crawl into bed with her when they had nightmares

Basically kind of become a mom to her siblings, sometimes she’ll mother hen them in a joking manor. She is protective of them even when she is kind of joking around.

Tried to balance being a kind of mother figure and older sister to her younger siblings.

carried a damn first aid kit  because her siblings have been known to be magnets for trouble or hurting themselves. 

had a brief psychotics break down after Dani die.

Greg

she loves Greg and is there for him too. And yeah she even mothered him too.

Tim

knows who his real father is and never really told him

feel feels guilty that she didn’t make the time to tell him the truth, and for not being able to realize how depressed her baby bother is.

if Tim ever needed help she’d be there to help him, which would include a trip to Germany to find his father

kat might have hooked up with one of his exes 

had to teach him about sex... still probably needs to check up on his knowledge about sex and health stuff. she really should just give him a quiz every month. 

Dani

is closer to Dani, cause she was pretty much Kat’s mini-me

Her heart was shattered when Dani was possessed by a demon and couldn’t be saved. Blames her sister's death on their parents. rarely speaks with them

Feels guilty that she couldn’t save Dani, nor did she realize what was happening .

she spoiled Dani and still does

also had the sex talk with her, and gave her a book titled “Come as You Are: The Surprising New Science that Will Transform Your Sex Life“ by Emily Nagoski. She also doesn’t have to worry about Dani not being safe. 

POWERS

Is super skilled with tarot cards, different types of deviation,

Thinks she is could be pretty powerful but not as powerful as other older witches

Is trying to write her own grimoire

Is kind of scared of exorcisms or preforming them

makes her siblings protection charms, she even made some for their parents. also might make them for those that are able to get truly close to her 

is willing to teach others the craft

NOW

also her dead sister showed up at her door like a few years ago. it was great.

She is kind of a nudist, so be careful when visiting her. only really wears clothing when dani and a guest will be at her house

Likes to role-play/play doctor

Kind of wants kids but doesn’t wanna fuck them up as her parents did to her and her sibs

Researches demonology in her free time, when she isn’t flirting with the ladies (Timmy likes)

Her co-workers and some friends think she is nymphomania or has hypersexuality, just because she has more game than them.

knows what she wants and how to get it

if she ever were to have a break down she’d try to hide it by crying in the shower

she is shocked that she doesn’t have any gray hairs 

I’ll add more when I think of stuff. 

[touchmycoat]

book reflections: Confessions by Minato Kanae

Confessions

The heart of this book deals with revenge. It's a familiar theme: when a heinous crime has been committed, are criminal justice procedures ever enough? To what degree is revenge, personally exacted, justified?

Confessions complicates this question by throwing the spikes of tension between children and adults.

Children are such a fascinating subject of study—not to go too far into it, but “childhood” is very much a socially constructed phenomenon (my formative understanding of this is Kathryn Bond Stockton's The Queer Child, which narrates a history of adults-depicting-children, and the values and anxieties that reveals). Confessions asks the question, “what happens when children commit heinous crimes?”

The book begins with a monologue by middle school teacher Moriguchi on the last day of the semester. What first seems like philosophical rambling lays out a multi-layered social phenomenon.

Layer one: social inclination to believe that children are always the victim, never the perpetrator. This is outlined in the story about the teacher who was called out by a female middle school student seemingly in need of help one night, then accused of sexual assault. The student later confessed it was because she wanted revenge—the teacher had scolded her for chatting during class. The teacher was forced to reveal, under these circumstances, that she's trans, and that she had no designs on the student in question (which is certainly a narrative choice to think further about—the quickness of the anecdote and the inherent logic it's meant to convey, that simply by proving herself a woman, the teacher convinced her coworkers that she's exonerated of all suspicion. At least trans identity isn't being inherently linked with deviance?). The teacher was still fired, and the school instituted a new policy that should students ever call teachers for help after school, only male teachers can go to male students, female teachers to female students, etc.

(The narrative, in its determination to gesture to the incapability of institutions to fulfill human needs, uses this as the ignition point for Naoki's unhappiness with Moriguchi.)

Layer two: children receive public anonymity in the court of law, meaning punishment is dealt in secret, and presumably, they can return to society afterwards carrying none of their criminal history. This is outlined in the “Lunacy” case, where a young girl kills her own family with cyanide, after conducting a series of experiments on what poison was most effective. The case got plenty of sensationalist press coverage, but where is the girl now, Moriguchi asks. Has she gotten her punishment? Was justice ever exacted?

Layer three: sensationalist press coverages without embedded moral value only teach children the outliers. At worst, it teaches children that this is the way to get attention (which is precisely what Shuya and Mizuki took from the Lunacy case). Moral outrage loses ground to morbid fascination, becoming worse than an empty gesture; like the teacher who replaces Moriguchi, posturing as some beacon of moral justice is merely for self-satisfaction.

Maybe, more accurately, the book wants to know, “how do you punish a child?” Some, like Moriguchi's not-husband, like Moriguchi insinuates the juvenile criminal justice system to be, answer, “you don't.” Children are products of their environment, so the ones who should be punished are the teachers (as posited by the “Lunacy” case and the chemistry teacher who got all the public blame for giving the child access to cyanide). Alternatively, children are still learning and growing. Moriguchi's not-husband was quite the problem child himself, but he turned things around and became the most truly moral figure of this entire book. He believes in the capacity for change in children.

But Moriguchi doesn't care much about that. Shuya and Naoki plotted to and killed her four-year-old daughter. She wants revenge.

What makes her fascinating as the central figure of this book is her clarity of mind. She isn't someone who's lost herself to vengeance; she systematically identifies the flaws (or what she thinks of as flaws) in the juvenile criminal justice system and then chooses her own revenge. On one hand we have the empathetic response to a mother losing her child, and the willingness to let a fictional character play out, for emotional catharsis, something we might not necessarily endorse in real life. On the other hand we have the unease of her turning this calculatedness toward children: Boy A and Boy B, middle school students.

(Cue comparative cinema studies of the 2010 Confessions film and 2007's Boy A. Oh, apparently Boy A is based off of a novel as well?)

Oh, and then she does take her revenge. She says she's laced Boy A and Boy B's milk cartons with HIV-infected blood.

And now, in what is the true brilliance of the book, Confessions starts to give us other perspectives. We get Mizuki the perfect student, who is first victimized by the hoard of angry classmates (and it's such a consistent literary and real life theme I guess, the cruelty of a mass of children). We get a peak into her questionability in a somewhat tender moment though: why does she just have a poison-testing kit lying around? In this section, we also get a protagonistic portrayal of Shuya; it's not that we doubt Moriguchi's version of the psychopathic-child-inventor Shuya, but now he's the martyr (as per the title of the section). He quietly suffers the bullying of the class, tells Mizuki his negative blood test, and becomes “genuinely” happy at Mizuki's compliments, saying all he's ever wanted was that acknowledgement.

Mizuki also bares her teeth against the new teacher, accusing him of being the cause of Naoki's mother's murder. At this point, it was almost narratively heroic, after we've suffered the annoyance (through her perspective) of the self-important teacher. But afterwards, in Shuya's section, we hear her confess to wanting to poison that teacher for “ruining Naoki's life.” She's killed by Shuya before we hear more, but might that have played out? How much do we fear the mental criminality of children?

We also get Naoki's sister and mother's perspective. We get a doting mother insistent on the innocence of her child, making excuse after excuse for Naoki, even when Naoki's fully confessed to throwing Moriguchi's daughter into the pool. How much responsibility does a parent have toward her child? Does she hold ultimate faith in him, stand staunchly at his side in support of him? Does she do right by the society (and in theory by her kid) by turning in her own child? We were meant to be annoyed by her cruel insistence to blame everyone but her son, but we see in Naoki's section right after that his sanity relied so much on this idea that his mother unconditionally loves him. He believes that, once he's gone to jail for his crimes, he can do his time, reform and return to society as long as his mother is there to love and support him.

Of course, that's when his mother decides to kill both him and herself—a murder-suicide for her failure as a mother.

(It really does haunt me, thinking about Naoki and his stymied possibilities. He killed Moriguchi's daughter in a moment of callous spite, motivated by a desire for revenge against Shuya's dismissal of his overtures of friendship. He lived in such a tortured state for a long time, a child grappling with the terror of impending death by himself, terrified of infecting those who love him. His instincts, when he emerged into the real world again, was to weaponize his “infected” blood. Yet he ended up on such a hopeful incline—mother's love with save me. All this happens as his mother spirals downwards, coming to terms with her own child's monstrosity. The book seeds Naoki's redemption, but takes the sprout away before we can see whether or not it carries infection.)

Finally, we get Shuya's story. I fully bought into it, as I was expected to. The book gestures multiple times at his ability to pen a convincing narrative of innocence. Or at least, a narrative of the anti-hero. He walks us through his absolute love for his mother, the engineering genius. She gave up her career for him, but then turned that dissatisfaction into abuse. Abuse turned back to gestures of love when she was found out, divorced, and forced to move away, and Shuya held deeply on to his faith that he will be reunited with her again. The desire of a child for his mother's love motivated the murder of Moriguchi's daughter, the planting of a bomb at the school festival. It ended up killing Mizuki as well.

Moriguchi bookends this tale, tying up loose threads. Yes she absolutely put the blood in their milk, but it was her not-husband that swapped out the infected cartons. Yes, she wanted to destroy Shuya and Naoki's lives; it won't bring her joy and it won't bring her daughter back, but nonetheless she wants her vengeance on the two boys. The possibility that she was only scaring Naoki and Shuya, that she threatened to but never did anything actually immoral, is completely swept away. She tells Shuya she visited his mother and told her all of his crimes. Baiting Shuya with what his mother said, she instead tells him that the bomb he planted had been deconstructed at the school and reconstructed in his mother's lab instead. Making the bomb and detonating it had both been Shuya's choice.

Shuya had killed her daughter. Now she's killed his mother.

(But did she? I have no doubt she did, but this book doesn't deal in absolutes.)

So—what are we left with? A psychopathic child inventor-slash-murderer motivated by a desire for maternal love? A girl who admired another murderous young murderess and wanted a turn of her own with poisons, murdered before she could prove herself either way? A cruel and reactionary accomplice who came to the conclusion that he had done something wrong but that he could repent? A mother who refused her son's criminality until the very last moment, and believed they were both beyond salvation?   Another mother who took justice into her own hands by ruining the lives of two young boys who killed her daughter in cold blood?

...Is there such a thing as cold blood in this novel? Every “cold” act was done with passionate motive: Shuya wanted to prove himself to his mother, Naoki wanted to prove himself better than Shuya, Moriguchi wanted to give her daughter proper vengeance. HIV is the symbol here of criminality, first given, then saved from, then weaponized by both boys. There's so much, with the blood! Naoki coming to terms with the infection he didn't have made it possible for him to confess the truth, to start himself on the path toward salvation (even if it only lasted a few pages). Shuya embracing the infection right away because if he were dying his mother would surely come back; losing that possibility of death led to him befriending, then of course in the end murdering Mizuki.

Shuya plotted the murder of Moriguchi's daughter, but wasn't actually responsible for the cause of death. Naoki was the accomplice, but at the last moment, made the choice to actually extinguish her daughter's life. This murky twist of motion and motive (Kathryn Bond Stockton!) would prevent them from getting the full punishment of homicide in a juvenile criminal justice court, as Moriguchi explained. Now, because of the blood, they've both committed an inarguable murder with their own hands. Naoki loses his mother and his entire world order that revolved around her unconditional love for him. Shuya's murderous inventions are never allowed to succeed, and he never gets to “prove” his genius, until it was used to kill his own mother, the one person he wanted acknowledge from and to live with. The punishments are incredibly cruel—but are they justified?

[galaxy-parker]

Build Me Up, Buttercup

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Where Spider-Man crash lands on your fire escape and ruins your garden, so you force him to help you build a new one. 

Request: The reader is someone who isn’t too crazy about spider man. (It’s not like she hates him!! She just knows that he’s a little bit destructive) one day spider man accidentally swings into her porch destroying her prized flowers. She makes him promise that he’ll help her rebuild the garden!!

Warnings: There might be cussing but I don’t remember

Word Count: 1969

A/N: This was so much fun to write! Thank you to @minnie-marvel for the prompt (love youuu) 

~~

It was on a rainy night four years ago that you’d realized your fire escape was just really boring.

There wasn’t anything distinctly wrong about it, there just wasn’t anything distinctly right about it either and that bothered you, even if it was only just a little bit.

So, that day you’d decided that you would decorate the little balcony with various sorts of plants and flowers in various different colors and various different shapes and sizes, and it was magical.

Really, it was your favorite part of the tiny apartment you and your parents occupied. It filled the drab home with life and washed it with pigmentation- even if it was from behind a glass pane.

It was your happy place- that is, until the Queens renowned Spider-Man messed it all up.

~o0o~

‘So what do you think?’ Liz’s voice snaps you from your reverie and you look at her quizzically for a moment, before realizing she was trying to hold a conversation, one that you’d rudely zoned out of.

‘What?’

Liz rolls her eyes playfully and crosses her long arms across the lunch table. ‘Spider-Man?

‘Right,’ The words come out harsher than you intend and you quickly offer your friends a sheepish smile before shrugging somewhat nonchalantly. ‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know?’ Betty raises a perfectly tailored brow and all you can do is shrug again as your friends stare you down in interest.

‘I’m just not,’ You hesitate. ‘I’m not crazy about him.’

Betty hums and Liz- to her credit- tries not to look appalled ‘So, you hate Spider-Man?’

‘I don’t hate him,’ You hiss, shushing your friend before she draws unwanted attention before sighing deeply. ‘I’m just not very fond.’

‘He’s a hero,’ Liz challenges with a small shake of the head- more in disbelief than anything else. You can’t blame her, the girl is practically in love with the webslinger.

‘He’s a vigilante,’ You simply retort before the warning bell rings, signalling the nearing end of lunch. ‘See you in seventh.’ You’re answered with a few bye’s and see you later’s and one mumbled response from a still shocked Liz as you swing your way-too-old and way-too-crusty bag over your shoulder.

But you can’t bring yourself to feel even remotely bad as you push through the cafeteria doors and step into the hall. Your statement holds a true point. Spider-Man is a vigilante and he is working outside of the law. He’s reckless and careless and if you’re the only person who sees it, then so be it.

You reach your classroom just as the last bell rings and take your place towards the back of the class, immediately resting your head on your hand.

It’s safe to say you zone out the second your history teacher walks in the room.

~o0o~

You’re halfway home from school when the sound of sirens reach your ears. They’re faint at first, barely there, and you think nothing of it. Police sirens aren’t news in New York, but it’s only when you’re crossing the street five minutes later that your heart finally begins to pick up pace- when the sound of horns honking and tires screeching grows louder and louder until it’s unmistakable and undeniable and right in front of you.

What you can only assume to be a crazed to driver is barreling towards you, followed by at least five police cars and you barely have time to scream- barely have time to brace yourself before it’s too late and-

You’d imagined dying to be like falling or a white light or a painstaking nothingness- you didn’t imagine it to be like flying. Wind whipping in your hair, arms braced around the body of someone or something unknown.

A quiet gasps leaves your lips as the wind ripples through your clothes and- do dead people gasp? Do dead people wear clothes?

You wrench your eyes open and immediately regret it.

From the feeling of your stomach turning loops you can say with full conviction that you are indeed alive. Alive and flying high above Queens. A scream lodges in your throat and you choke on it, arms gripping whatever the hell they’re gripping tighter and tighter until you’re sure they’ll fall off.

‘I’ve got you,’ A voice yells, the words getting muffled in the wind for barely a moment before you’re landing with a thud.

You unwind your arms and stumble backwards but you’re caught again before you can hit the ground. You look up at Spider-Man (who might be a little too close for comfort) and laugh dryly.

‘What the hell,’

He releases you quickly, taking a step back to distance himself from you before whipping his head around to glance over his shoulder, the eyes of his mask whirring strangely as they grow and shrink.

‘I’ve got to go,’ He starts to jog backwards and you watch him, still gaping. ‘You good?’

Not waiting for your answer, he shoots a web from his wrist and lets it pull him away and, suddenly, he’s gone. He’s gone and he’s left you on the roof of a random building.

Spider-Man sucks.

~o0o~

By the time you’d made it home you were ready to gut Spider-Man and whoever else tried to tell you how amazing he is.

You had called Liz after you finally made it off the building and she’d rambled on and on about how lucky you were and how much she wished she could have been there and blah blah blah- and to make matters worse, on the long trek home you heard civilian after civilian do the same.

Thankfully, after half a week of torture Liz mercifully dropped the subject of your near death experience and you moved on. Or so you thought.

~o0o~

An orange-pink hue casts over the city- courtesy of the sunset- and causes the flowers on your fire escape to give off a luminescent glow.

You breathe deeply, relishing in the sweet evening air, the somehow peaceful sound of bustling New York streets and the feel of the breeze against your skin. It’s a perfect night.

And then it’s ruined.

Your first tell of something being horribly off is the sound of grunting. Not sexual grunting, rather a sound of pain. The second is the sound of something you can only describe as a thwack. It sounds wet and sticky and again not sexual, but it’s there and it’s alarming to say the least. The third is the sight of a blue and red blur crashing into your fire escape.

A scream leaves your mouth as the figure makes contact with the metal, sending your beloved plants flying and crashing down to the streets below and for a second, for half a second, you’re worried for them- that is, until you see the face (or rather mask) of the intruder.

‘You?’

‘Hey,’ Spider-Man grunts from his position below you, raising his head slightly and and wiggling his fingers at you in greeting before letting them both fall down again.

‘What the hell?’ You take in the damage, the ruined flowers, the broken bits of pottery and felt a renewed anger fill you. Honestly, it was like he was trying to get on your bad side.

‘You say that a lot,’ He scoots back, pulling himself upright and leaning against the back railing. The eyes in his mask narrow to what almost looks like a wince and you can’t help but note how he’s holding his side. He sees the incredulous look on his face and shakes his head, gripping the railing with the hand that’s not gripping his side and slowly- difficulty- pulling himself up. ‘Please don’t call the cops, I’m just looking for a first aid kit and I’ll be gone,’

That’s when you see the blood slowly seeping through his gloved fingers, nearly invisible against the red of his suit.

‘Oh my god,’ You whisper and suddenly all grudges are out the door as you scramble over the remains of your shrubs and race into your small apartment, praying for silence while you open up drawers and cabinets, hands grappling for the first aid kit your mother keeps somewhere.

After what feels like hours but what can only be minutes, your fingers wrap around the little tin box and you wrench it to your chest, practically vaulting over your couch and through your window to get to the wounded webslinger on your fire escape.

‘I thought you were bailing on me,’ He jokes as you kneel next to him, already clicking open the box.

‘Shut up,’ You mumble, rifling through the half empty contents until you find some antiseptic and a few Hello Kitty band aids.

You grab Spider-Man’s wrist, maybe a bit too harshly and he hisses, but lets you move it out of the way as you inspect the torn suit.

In reality you have no idea what you’re doing, but you’ve seen a few episodes of Grey’s Anatomy and that should be enough knowledge to care for an enhanced individual, right?

‘I need to see the wound,’ You push, glancing up at him and he nods solemnly before pressing the Spider- emblem in the middle of his suit. You try not to let your eyes widen too much as the once skin-tight suit slackens until it’s loose and ill fitting. He lets it slide down his shoulders and off of his chest until the cuts are visible.

‘God,’ You shake your head, wetting a few cotton balls with the antiseptic and pressing them against the wounds gently. Spider-Man hisses from underneath you and you wince, dabbing a few times for good measure before taking the little band aids you’d found and sticking them on his side.

‘Hello Kitty?’ His voice is gravelly, but filled with humor and you roll your eyes.

‘Deal with it.’ You pull his suit up over his shoulders and avert your eyes as he tightens it again.

Darkness has fallen over the city now, and you stare out over your broken paradise in silent heartbreak. Spider-Man must pick up on it because he takes your wrist gently. ‘Thank you,’

You nod, not yet looking at him.

‘And,’ He hesitates, squeezing your wrist. ‘I’m sorry for leaving you on that roof, and ruining your plants.’

‘Well you saved my life,’ You glance up at him now, feeling your face grow hot. He quickly releases you and clears his throat, looking over the fire escape. ‘But you have to do something for me,’

He whips his head back towards you, and you’re surprised at your own words, furrowing your brows and worrying your lip. ‘What is it?’

You fiddle with the hem of your shirt for a moment before bowing down and picking up the first-aid-kit. ‘Help me rebuild it,’

‘What?’

‘You destroyed my garden,’ You shrug, trying to find out yourself why you’re trying to make plans with Spider-Man when you don’t even like him. ‘Might as well help me fix it.’

A quiet chuckle. ‘I guess I owe you that much,’ He motions to his side, where the Hello Kitty band aids stick out between the rips in his suit.

‘You bet your ass you do,’

He laughs now, loud and joyful, throwing his head back. ‘I’ll see you around, Y/N.’

‘Mhm,’ Your grip tightens on the kit in your hands and rock back on your heels as he climbs over the fire escape and shoots out a web- much like he did that first time you met him. He glances over his shoulder at you one last time.

It’s only hours later when you’re curled up in bed, tired and overwhelmed that you realize you didn’t tell him your name.

And it’s only days later, on Monday, when you notice Peter Parker staring at you from across the hall.

[mallowstep]

How does mistyfoot interact with her kits?

she doesn't!

uh, i'm only kind of joking.

mistyfoot recognizes that she is not. she Cannot be anything like a parent to them. that's why she agrees to have them moved to the nursery. i'm still not Sure what the three (hawk moth tadpole; you can assume that's what the three refers to until i'm done with this hyperfixation) know about their birth.

it's not...everyone involved means well and wants what's best for the kits. but mistyfoot. just. can't. i'm putting a cut here.

cw: implied/referenced sexual assault, standard tigerclan content (abuse, child abuse, starvation, etc.)

she's going through a lot, tigerstar really really really weaponizes the role of mother/queen against mistyfoot. uh. in this au, all four of mistyfoot's kits die before tigerclan.

so tigerstar uses that against mistyfoot, and then like. so mistyfoot is kind of an adoptive parent to featherpaw. she certainly fills that role. and tigerstar procedes to use That against mistyfoot. like he Directly blames mistyfoot for...basically everything featherpaw goes through.

so when everything is over, mistyfoot just. she's not in any shape to be a parent, and that's just in General.

so like. is it in the best interest of the kits to tell them? like, if they forget that mistyfoot is their birth mother, is it in the kits' best interest to know?

because she's fundamentally not in a place to recognize them as her kits. she can't do it. this isn't even like a "it would hurt her" like she cannot make herself do the things required.

so like. i'm not decided, this isn't certain, but i don't Think the kits know mistyfoot is their birth mother. at the very least, they don't know until they're adults.

they know mistyfoot as their adoptive mother's adoptive mother, and mistyfoot can just about manage the level of closeness of "my kit's kits", and even that is a major stretch. the goal is for the kits to believe mistyfoot doesn't like kits, not that she doesn't like them. which tbf is true, at least at the moment.

and like, honestly, all of the four (feathertail, misty, storm, and stone) have their own personal obstacles to overcome re. the three. feathertail, surprisingly, gets over hers the easiest, but that's because she doesn't like. like tigerstar wasn't involved in her torment. i mean ig if one of the kits looked like tawnypelt, but none of them do.

so feathertail is actually the most able to overcome that, but she's also...she's not willing to tell them about their father. she kind of acts a lot like goldenflower, altho for the exact opposite reason. the kits know she's been hurt, right?

(i think i'm going to do a post-tigerclan feathertail design for y'all so you can see. it'll b messy but i want to like. convey the idea.)

anyway, the kits know she's been hurt. so she doesn't know how to tell them your-father-is-who-hurt-me.

i know they do find out, but i don't know how.

stone's problems are related to trying to support mistyfoot. he's absolutely terrified of pushing her too far, even indirectly. so he kind of has to work through that.

and storm, much like misty, sees tigerstar in hawkkit, and just kind of. can't.

also, he feels like his sister is closer to tigerstar's kits than him (which is tbh kind of true at this point), and he feels like she's feeling forced into this and like she's too young for this and so on. it's complicated.

so uh, yeah! the short answer is: she doesn't, and the longer answer is: it's best for everyone if she doesn't try to, at least not until she's in a place where she can have a positive relationship with the kits.

and as promised, your excerpt (this one is fluffy, but short):

-

Feathertail wakes up, and the kits are in her nest.

She purrs, and Mothkit stirs, nuzzling into her.

Mosspelt watches them. "They must have crawled to you over night," she says, softly, her tail curled around her litter.

Mothkit kneads at Feathertail's stomach, and she winces.

"I should get them prey," she says.

But Hawkkit and Tadpolekit are still asleep, tucked around her, like she was sleeping stretched out to give them space to be with her.

"We don't have any apprentices," Mosspelt says, "but I'm sure Dawnflower will poke her head in soon."

Feathertail lowers her head, until her nose is almost touching Tadpolekit. Mothkit settles, falling back asleep stretched out on Feathertail's flank.

Well. If she's not hungry, prey can wait.

[chobit92]

Small World: Joseph/OC Part 19

Warning: Mention of sexual assault.

 (Joseph sits looking at Lillith. John is in the bathroom. Joseph knows that John cares about Lillith however much he tries to deny it. Joseph feels a little relieved. He had thought he had found his younger brother so full of rage that he couldn’t have empathy or feelings for others. But what has happened to Lillith has proved otherwise. Joseph believes that everything happens for a reason. Maybe John is meant to realise how he really feels about Lillith to bring them closer. Joseph believes that God has a plan. For everyone. He hasn’t told John this however. The last thing his brother needs to hear right now is that this is part of Gods plan. He knows what Johns reaction would be. That God has made her suffer for some plan. Joseph believes God tests people all the time. Joseph knows this because he himself has been tested. Lillith lets out a small moan. Joseph stands up and leans over the bed slightly.).

Joseph: Lillith? Lillith: Um? (Her eye opens slightly. Her other eye is swollen shut. She looks up at him and lets out a small sob.). Lillith: J-Joe? Joseph: Yes. Do you need me to get the nurse? Lillith: John. Joseph: He’s in the bathroom. He’s very worried about you. We both are. Lillith: Is...Is he mad? Joseph: He is mad at whoever did this to you. Lillith: I don’t know...Who...A man. (She lets out another sob.). Lillith: John. (Tears roll down her cheeks.). Joseph: He’ll be back in a minute. (Joseph squeezes her hand gently.). Joseph: You’re going to be okay Lillith. It may not feel like it right now. But you are strong. You have myself and you have John. You’re going to get through this. Lillith: No. (She sobs. John emerges from the small bathroom and stares at Lillith. He then slowly walks over to the bed.). John: Hey Lil. How are you feeling? Are you in pain? Lillith: John. I’m sorry. (He moves closer. Joseph steps back allowing John to stand right next to the bed. John leans down and places a kiss on her forehead before taking hold of her hand.). John: For what my dear? For what? Lillith: You’re not mad? John: Mad? Why would I be mad at you Lil? (She is still crying. John gently wipes her eyes and kisses her lips softly.). Lillith: I...Love you. John: I know you do. Lillith: Please don’t leave me. John: I’m not. I’ve been here all night. I’ve spoken to the police. They’ve already made an arrest. Lillith: They have? John: Evelyn called them. She saw two men leave the apartment wearing masks. The police arrived and arrested the man who was still inside the apartment. His name is Travis Newton. He’s the brother of one of my clients. I was unable to defend the evidence against him and he went to prison. He wanted revenge on me. It should have been me. I’m sorry. This is all my fault. Lillith: It’s their fault. They did this. John: This shouldn’t have happened to you. Lillith: It shouldn’t happen to anyone. John: The police will want to ask you questions. Lillith: No. (She lets out a sob.). John: Sssh. It’s okay. Tell me what happened. (She closes her eyes and turns away from him. John frowns.). John: Lil? (She just sobs quietly. Joseph puts his hand on Johns shoulder.). Joseph: She’s going to need time. You need to be strong for her and patient. (---Later that day: Detective Lawson and his partner Hayes enter the small hospital room. The nurse looks up at them.). Nurse: I don’t think she’s ready to talk to you yet. Lawson: The sooner the better. Hayes: We can come back. Lawson: Mrs Duncan? (Lillith looks up at the two detectives. She lets out a small whimper.). Nurse: You’re aggravating my patient. Can this not wait? Lawson: The sooner we take her statement the better. (John enters the room.). Lawson: Mr Duncan. John: Can I help you? Lawson: We’re here to take your wife’s statement. Where’s your brother? John: Getting coffee. Lillith: John. (John goes to Lillith.). Lillith: Where have you been? John: I just went for some fresh air. (She looks at him and sees that his eyes are bloodshot and he keeps wiping his nose. He’s been using cocaine again.). Nurse: Will you be alright Mrs Duncan? Lillith: I don’t want to talk to them. Nurse: She doesn’t want to talk detectives. Lawson: Mrs Duncan the sooner we take your statement the better. We have made one arrest already but we want to catch the two other men involved. So that they can’t do this to anyone else. Lillith: I don’t really care about anyone else right now. Lawson: I understand. Lillith: You’ll never understand. John: Just talk to them Lil. Take your time. Isn’t it best to get it out of the way? (Lillith starts to sob again. Then she nods. The two detectives stand next to the bed.). Nurse: I need to check on my other patients but if you need anything just press the call button. John: Thank you. (The nurse leaves just as Joseph enters the room holding two cups of coffee. He hands one to John.). Lawson: Mrs Duncan in your own time why don’t you tell us what happened? Lillith: I was...Cleaning. I had music on. I went to the bedroom and started ironing Johns shirts. Then the music went off. I then heard men shouting Johns name. They sounded so angry. (Tears are streaming down her face. John squeezes her hand. Lawson is jotting things down in a small black notebook.). Lillith: Then I heard something smash and a loud bang. I went to get the phone but it wasn’t there. I then remembered that I had left it in the kitchen. I locked myself in the bathroom and waited for them to go away. But they didn’t. (She sobs. John realises she is shaking. So is he. Joseph squeezes his shoulder.). Lillith: I could hear them moving around the apartment and smashing things. Then I heard someone outside the bathroom door. They kept trying to open it. I didn’t know what to do. I just sat there on the floor. Then he kicked the door down. He grabbed me and asked me who I was. He then asked me where John was. I said he’d gone out. There were three of them. The other two came in when he moved me into the bedroom and threw me on the bed. (John stiffens.). Lillith: They were arguing about what to do with me. The one that grabbed me said that they should kill me. The other two didn’t seem that sure. One of them started smashing up the bedroom then returned to the lounge. The other one said that...He said... Lawson: It’s okay take your time. Lillith: He said that I wasn’t part of the plan. He said Kyle never said anything about a woman. Lawson: He actually mentioned the name Kyle? Lillith: Yeah. John: Mother fucker. (Lillith sobs harder.). Lillith: He said that he was leaving. But the first guy told them to stay put and wait in the lounge. The other guy left and...I asked him what he wanted. He told me that his brother was in prison and it was John that put him there. (She sobs.). Lillith: He said that John... (She closes her eyes and lets out a small whimper.). John: What did he say Lil? It’s okay you can tell them. Lillith: He said that you were sleeping with his brother’s wife. He blamed you for his brother going to prison. He said that you wanted his brother in prison so that you could continue having an affair with his wife. Lawson: So...You were having an affair with Patricia Newton? John: It wasn’t an affair. It meant nothing. I slept with her a few times after meeting her in a club that’s it. It also has nothing to do with why he is in prison. He committed a crime I tried to defend him and failed. (Lawson is scribbling furiously in his notebook.). Lawson: You often do that Mr Duncan? John: What? Lawson: Cheat on your wife? John: This isn’t about me. This is about what those men have done to my Lillith. I expect you to catch them. Lawson: Oh we will. What happened next Mrs Duncan? Lillith: He started hitting me. I tried to fight. I did. I tried so hard. But he just kept hitting me. He...Stabbed me. Can...Can we stop now? (She lets out a sob and closes her eyes. John squeezes her hand.). Lawson: Mrs Duncan... (He takes out a police mug shot and shows it to her.). Lawson: Is this the man that attacked you? Lillith: I don’t...They were all wearing masks. (There is silence for a moment.). Hayes: Mrs Duncan...I know this must be extremely hard. I can’t imagine how you are feeling but I need to ask...Did any of these men sexually assault you? (Lillith doesn’t answer.). Lillith: I’d like you to leave now. (John has gone pale. Joseph swallows hard.). Hayes: Mrs Duncan we collected a sexual assault kit from you. Lillith: I didn’t ask for one. Hayes: Our lab has already examined the evidence collected from you. Lillith: That was fast. (Hayes glances at John and Joseph suddenly suspects that John has something on this guy that has made him make this case a priority.). Hayes: We found semen Mrs Duncan. Lillith: So? (Lillith has gone pale and she starts to sob again. Her whole body seems to tremble.). Hayes: There was a mixture of DNA found. Your husbands and an unknown male. (John starts to shake.). Hayes: We haven’t tested the DNA against the man we arrested yet but we will. Your testimony however will make the case that much stronger. (Lillith whimpers.). Lillith: He said that after his brother’s wife had cheated his brother couldn’t look at her the same again. He said every time he looked at her all he could think about was that she was tainted by another man. He said that he wanted to make it so that John couldn’t look at me the same again. (She completely breaks down, her entire body shakes as she sobs uncontrollably. John gets up and rushes into the bathroom and Joseph hears him throwing up.). Lillith: He just started tearing at my clothes and when I tried to fight him off he stabbed me and then he grabbed me around the throat. (Lawson looks at the bruising around her neck.). Lillith: He told me that if I kept fighting he’d stick the knife... (She covers her face with one hand as she lets out a wail. Lawson clenches his jaw and Hayes looks like he’s going to throw up too. Joseph sighs deeply and sinks into the chair.). Lawson: Try and get some rest Mrs Duncan. We’re going to find the men who did this. (The detectives leave. Lillith is still sobbing. Joseph usually knows what to say in any situation. But right now...He has no words.).

[kendraaleighb]

On Believing Sexual Assault Victims

I don’t feel safe writing this thing on Facebook, so I’m dumping my thoughts here on tumblr which isn’t exactly safer, but the people I fear would react poorly on FB are not here so it’s a better place for me to say stuff sometimes.

Anyways.

I’ve got a couple of stories to tell about some people who have been affected by sexual assault and sexual harassment and how people handled it.

CONTENT WARNING: SEXUAL HARASSMENT AND SEXUAL ASSAULT INCIDENTS DESCRIBED IN DETAIL WITH MENTIONS OF ATTEMPTED SUICIDE BELOW THE READ MORE SECTION. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Here goes.

Story 1: Setting is Hobby Lobby, in the frame shop. 2017. I had worked at a different location for 3 1/2 years and moved stores because I moved to a different city to attend university. I had been working at this new store for about 6 months when an employee was transferred into the frame shop to cross-train more employees in framing, but it ended up being his permanent department. I had never spoken to him until he was in my department, but the moment he was transferred in, he began to make comments to me, little snide corrections on my framing skills (even though I had been in the custom framing department for nearly 2 years at this point and was clearly very capable of doing my job since I had been assistant department head at my previous store location) and I often caught him watching me as I worked. 

This made me uncomfortable and led to a hostile work environment because I consider myself to be an upfront person and I called him out on the behavior which ranged some days to arguments about whether he was in charge of “giving me permission” to leave for my lunch at my assigned time or the consistent staring as I bent over a table top to place a mat in a frame correctly. I had frequently made it clear to my direct supervisor, who then would pass it along to my store manager. Time and time again the store manager would brush off my complaints by saying “Oh, I thought you guys were flirting, not arguing.”

The final straw came in May 2017. I had been hard at work on putting together a large (60″x60″) shadow box for a pair of antique leather chaps from the early 1900′s. It had taken weeks to get the supplies in and another week for me to attach the chaps to the backboard so they would stand up in the shadowbox and not fall and lean against the glass. It had been taking so long that I finally couldn’t stand in one place any longer and grabbed a chair from the break room to sit in while I worked on the piece. At one point, I stood up to check my work from a different angle when my coworker passed by and proceeded to make a comment. 

“Your period blood is on the chair.”

“Excuse me?” 

“You must have bled through your pants. Look,” 

He pointed to a blotch of dried bright red paint on the chair. Clearly, not blood. I explained this to him and he simply shrugged his shoulders and carried on with his work. But it made me uncomfortable and embarrassed. My body and the way it functions are not subjects I want to talk about with my coworker.

I brought up the comments he made to my supervisor, who again brought them to my store manager. This time, he said he would take steps to reprimand my coworker. But, he warned that he would have to mention who had reported his behavior and that could lead to even more aggressive behavior towards me. I asked that he not mention me as to keep my privacy. My store manager said there was no way around it. He would have to inform him of what exactly he had done to receive the write-up. My store manager said the only way he could keep my privacy is if he didn’t write him up.

So, because I feared retaliation from my harasser, I didn’t report him. A month later, I quit because I no longer felt safe in my workplace.

I consider myself lucky. I was able to get out and away from my harasser and now those memories are unpleasant, but easy enough to avoid and forget about.

Story 2. Setting: My apartment. 2011. 

A new semester had started and I have new roommates at the dorms. My new roommate is quiet and hasn’t said more than 6 words to me since she moved in, but I don’t think anything of it. I don’t know if this is unusual for her or not, so I let her be. After 2 weeks of living together, I come home on a Sunday night to police cars and an ambulance outside my apartment. I wonder if my roommates have any idea what’s going on, so I go inside to find-oh, the cops are at my apartment. 

My quiet roommate is sitting on the couch with a campus police officer next to her while the paramedics check her vitals. My roommate keeps insisting that she’s fine, but clearly she is not. The paramedic says they should take my roommate to the ER anyways because she ingested a large amount of medication. She frets that she’ll have no way to get home after going to the ER with them, so I tell her I will go with her and give her a ride home. 

We go to the hospital, the cops tell me to wait in the waiting room and they’ll tell me when I can go back to see my roommate. After a couple hours I’m finally able to track down the police officer who was sitting with my roommate when I came into the apartment and she gives me the story of what exactly happened earlier that night when I wasn’t home. My roommate had taken large dosages of cold and sleep medicine in order to end her life. The police had only found her because she had called a relative to say goodbye and said relative called the police.

I couldn’t fathom it. I couldn’t understand why someone would want to end their life. I had no idea what could drive someone to that place.

It wasn’t until I was able to get my roommate home from the hospital that I could get the full story. I couldn’t understand, but I wanted to. I waited while she found the words to describe what had happened to her the first week of the summer break, how she had gone to a party with her boyfriend, gotten drunk, and ended up being raped by an acquaintance of her boyfriend. She told me about how she had asked him for a ride home because her boyfriend had left earlier and she knew she was too drunk to drive. I listened to her while she described what happened in minute detail, down to the taste of the dirty sock he shoved in her mouth to stop her from screaming, how her seat belt was choking her while it happened. She told me about how he had sworn if she ever told anyone what happened, he would kill her. And how he dropped her off at home after the incident like nothing had just happened in the parking lot two blocks from her parent’s house. I held her as she fell apart and relived that night. We cried together and I kept saying “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve this. It’s not your fault.”  Because I had no idea what else do say. She had never told anyone, not even the doctors or the police what had happened. She didn’t tell her parents, her boyfriend, or even her close friends from home.

She didn’t have any “proof.” Any bruises or marks physically left on her body had disappeared by that point. She didn’t get a rape kit done, so any DNA proof had long been washed off. But the mental scars? You better believe they were there.

We talked about what to do next. I encouraged her to go to the police. See a counselor, do something. Surely someone who had experiences with others dealing with this would know what to do. She decided a few days later she needed to be home that semester to get the help she needed. She moved out by the end of that week.

I listened to her. I believed her. Anyone who had listened to her tell her story should have believed her.

But not everyone did. 

Next time I saw her, she told me about what she had done at home. She told me her boyfriend had broken up with her because of it. He said his friend could never have done something like that and she shouldn’t be able to remember something in such detail if she were drunk. He insisted that she was lying.

She went to the police with her experience but because she didn’t get a rape kit done, there was no physical proof to link him to the crime. Even if they did believe her, there wasn’t enough to prosecute on.

I don’t know if her rapist was ever brought to justice. I don’t know if she gets a good nights sleep these days.

I got lucky. I don’t think she did. Neither of us got justice. I came to peace with that. I don’t know if she can, and I don’t blame her if she can’t.

Believe victims. Listen to victims. We have to be better than this.

[kitsuningtonshippoknockoff]

The Depressing Story of Kit’s First Time

So, as I’ve been developing Kit, it’s occurred to me that his first sexual experience with another person had quite an impact on him.  It was not nice.  Still comparatively tame for BtD, but... depressing in a very down-to-earth way.

A warning: This story deals with underage sex.  This isn’t an erotic scene-- nothing is explicit, and I’m sure as hell not looking to arouse anyone-- but be aware, and take care of yourself: Don’t read if that will particularly disturb you.

When Kit was fourteen, back in about 2007, his family had been dead for around three years.  He survived as a vagabond, but had an important advantage most homeless teens don’t: Kitsune charm.  If he can hold eye-contact with someone for roughly three seconds, he can sort of hypnotize them.  If he’d had an actual teacher he might be better at it, but as it stands he can implant a very useful suggestion: “You approve of me and what I’m doing”.  This made it much, much easier to live on his own, but it’s not foolproof.  The suggestion only lasts a couple minutes unless he maintains eye contact or can talk to the person affected.  And of course just because he supernaturally won people’s sympathy did not mean he could actually make them do what he wanted.

One evening, Kit crashed a college-town party.  It was the kind of party people under eighteen really, really should not have been attending, but some inevitably were.  Kit was looking mostly for food, and socialization, and plentiful if not necessarily high-end booze.  Kit was big for his age, and could already hold his alcohol better than a lot of people older than him.  No, he didn’t get less drunk, but he could maintain a level of decorum while drunk a lot of other people didn’t manage.  He had the life skill of looking more sober than he actually was.  Unfortunately, his decision making abilities were just as impaired.

Kit made the acquaintance of a 20-something woman named Lois Lafayette.  They were both the kind of people who, while blending in fairly well and socializing unsuspiciously, were also discreetly tucking snacks into their pockets/purse because with any luck this would carry them at least to lunch tomorrow.  They sort of gravitated to each other, were amused by the awesomeness of each others’ names (Lafayette and Shiponikov: They fight crime!) and started talking.

And drinking even more.

They found they had a few things in common: They had no family to speak of, and were both homeless.  Lois had just broken up with her boyfriend, who was not a nice man but had her mom and dad fleeced, and had been sleeping in her car for about a month.  Kit’s parents were dead, he’d never even been in a relationship, and he was living in a tent on the outskirts of town.  He managed not to give more details, but both of them were very sympathetic to each other.

They were also very lonely, and very drunk, and very much in need of reaffirming their link with humanity.

They somehow ended up in a spare bedroom together, because the kind of people who host these parties are often amoral fuckheads or a least drunk and apathetic.

Kit and Lois had unprotected sex.

So the morning after comes.  They both feel like rarefied shit.  And they look at each other, and the floor drops out from beneath them.  Lois, voice tight and hopeless, asks Kit a question she didn’t think of last night: How old are you?

And Kit, who is fourteen and never felt more fourteen in his life, tells her the truth.  It’s the only thing he can think of saying.

Lois breaks down sobbing.  She apologizes profusely for raping him, begs his forgiveness, begs God’s forgiveness, and desperately tries to make a fourteen-year-old and the universe understand she never meant to fuck up her life this bad, and she’s so, so sorry she’s fucked up Kit’s.  

Kit, remember, became homeless just at the point where he might have started attending sex ed classes and/or had his parents explain some things.  His understanding of consent consists of the useful but limited knowledge that you don’t have sex with someone who doesn’t want to have sex with you.  This knowledge is insufficient, because he does not know how to process the fact that they did both want it while they were both drunk.  Furthermore, Kit is aware that statutory rape is a thing, and while he has an ambivalent relationship with the law, this does not seem like the kind of law made to be broken, so he can’t just tell her “no biggie”, can he?

So Kit defaults to his only real defense mechanism, his kitsune charm.  He manages to get her to look him in the eyes-- he grabs her head and forces her to look at him.  And, just as desperate as she is, tears in his eyes and voice cracking, he tells her, “Please, I’m OK,” despite the fact that no, he’s not OK, he’s scared and fourteen and now he’s starting to wonder if he should be as upset as she thinks he should be.

Everything goes to hell.  She starts outright screaming.  She starts fumbling through her clothes, saying she’s got a pocket knife and she’s going to kill herself, and she’s so, so, so sorry, oh God, she’s sorry.  Later, Kit will figure out that in this context, all his charm did was make him seem like a better person-- a magnanimous person willing to forgive a terrible crime.  Lois felt even worse because she saw Kit in a better light.

Faced with all this, Kit has stopped thinking altogether, and he does what he always does when his charm fails:  He runs away.  Luckily, in the scramble for his clothes, he accidentally picks up her jacket, and with it her pocket knife.  Having no means of immediately killing herself, Lois just sort of crumples in a heap, scratching at her wrists after some frantic searching, and very luckily a halfway decent person spent the night in the house and comes up to calm her and get help.

By that point, Kit is long gone.  He’s hiding in a dumpster, biting his hand until he bleeds, trying not to cry and failing.

Lois, you will be happy to know, actually ends up OK.  She ends up in a decent support group, her parents learn that her boyfriend was an asshole, and she gets the support she needs to set herself back on track.  She would like to find Kit again, though.  She still does want to make amends, even if she doesn’t hate herself for their mutual mistake anymore.

Kit ends up... less OK.  Because, you see, he will always remember his first sexual encounter as the absolute nadir of someone else’s life.  And he still doesn’t quite understand what their encounter actually was.  Did Lois rape him?  How exactly is he supposed to feel about that?  Should it hurt him forever?  But at the time, it seemed to hurt Lois more than it hurt him.  Maybe he’s the real bad guy here.  But he was fucking fourteen!  Wasn’t she supposed to be the responsible one?!  Is that victim blaming?  Did they both somehow rape each other?  What does that mean?  And what does it mean that looking back on it now hurts more than it did in the moment?  What’s the statute of limitations on emotional trauma?

Kit realizes, dimly, there there are people he could talk to to try sorting some of this stuff out.  He will not talk to them.  He’s terrified of what they’d tell him.  To Kit, at least in his current state there is a possibility that he’s not a terrible person.  Talking to someone could confirm or refute the possibility... and what if it does refute it?

I feel like I’ve written enough for now, so I might expand more on how this has affected him later.

[anxious-vigil]

Misunderstandings (Pt 5/5)

Summary: Virgil needs someone to help him through panic attacks, and Logan seems to be the perfect solution. However when he approaches the other side, assumptions are made and soon he’s left alone and confused, trying to track down Logic just to ask him where things went wrong. Romantic identity angst fic with like a paragraph of crack at the very end. I’ve since realised it’s also heavily inspired by Platonic by @randomslasher so you should go read that as well if you haven’t already. On Ao3 here

Trigger warnings: Graphic descriptions of panic attacks, mentions of self harm, discussions of sexual/romantic identity, some aro-phobic language, lots of arguing and self-deprecation

Pairings: Analogical, background Royality

Chapter 5

Anxiety sits on top of his desk, face pressed against the glass of his window. He doesn't know how long he's been there but he's seen the sun rise and his legs are stiff. A bird with a forked tail flits across his vision. It's deathly quiet, so he can clearly hear slow steps approaching his room accompanied by the clinking of plates. Nowadays Patton tends to bring him breakfast if he misses it so when the knock comes, he waves a hand to click the lock open. “Just... leave it on the bed or something, Pat.” he whispers hoarsely. Crying and yelling have both taken their toll on his voice and he doesn't want to talk anymore than he has to. A soft thud signals the tray being set down and the door shuts gently. He sighs, hating that Pat has to step out of his way like this, he knows how much he makes the older trait worry.

Logan shuts the door and turns to study Virgil carefully. The skin beneath his eyes is badly bruised, his wounds are clearly untreated and he's wearing his old hoodie like a physical weight. He doesn't look like he's moved from his solitary position anytime recently. It nowhere resembles a good situation. Logan clears his throat and Virgil jumps, turning to look at him with wide, frightened eyes and a complexion that shouldn't be naturally grey. He lowers himself slowly to sit cross-legged on the floor as if taming a spooked animal. The logical facet sighs, knowing the only place to start repairing this relationship was at the beginning, difficult as it may be for him.

“Five years ago,” he starts carefully, tracking Virgil's expressions, “Patton and Roman decided they wanted to try being in a romantic relationship.” He sees understanding bloom in Virgil's eyes but he's going to tell this story in all it's sordid details. There will be no more misunderstandings through his fault if he can help it. “At the time, they were also both attracted to me and so decided a triad would be best for everyone involved. I was confused by the whole notion of romantic attraction and told them so. I attempted to inform them of an identity I'd found through research, aromanticism and explained I thought it fitted me and so would prefer not to join them on their venture into the unknown. They didn't really understand, and felt rejected.

As I was not yet sure in myself and did not want to damage their feelings, they managed to persuade me that I needed to try out a romantic relationship rather than dismiss it out of hand. It seemed... logical to explore before settling on a label, and yet, it didn't feel right, but I decided to go along with the others, thinking my emotions were irrational. Those 89 days...,” he pauses, searching for words, “...weren't... good? Patton and Roman were perfect gentlemen but I couldn't seem to be happy. I didn't understand either the grand gestures or the quiet signals and so couldn't reciprocate. Whenever I tried to, to make them happy, it tended to fall flat in a way I couldn't comprehend. According to Roman, it was missing a 'special spark'.” he laughs. “Whatever that is. When they tried to include me on dates, I felt uncomfortable and out of place. I... I hated it.” Anxiety watches him with quiet dismay in his eyes, he's never seen the logical side so emotional. “It came to a head when Patton and Roman decided it was time to add a sexual nature to the relationship. I'd been letting their expertise lead until that point but the idea of sex repulsed me and by then I'd realised it wasn't sustainable to force myself to be someone I wasn't, in pursuit of something I didn't even want, all to try not to upset them.”

He's stopped watching Virgil's reactions now, too caught up in memories. “I left the relationship. They found it difficult to comprehend my reasoning and for a time assumed I didn't enjoy their company at all. I confronted them 27 days after leaving and managed to partially restore our platonic bond. Although they still struggle, they do their best to be supportive. Well... they did.” He blinks back tears. “Please understand I'm not trying to pass off blame, I am entirely without excuse, but I would like to explain. When they saw you trying to cultivate a friendship with me, they assumed a romantic attraction. They presumed you would 'fix' me and our team of four would become two couples. You came to ask me star-gazing the day after Patton gave me the 'shovel talk'.” He looks up to see Virgil sitting cross-legged a few feet away. “Is that the correct usage?” Logan receives a slow nod and takes it as permission to push forward with his side of the story.

“With Patton and Roman telling me you were interested and my lack of understanding on the subject, I assumed they were correct.” He huffs a breath of frustration, removing his glasses to scrub at his eyes. “Stupid, I know, given they'd gotten me completely wrong, to trust their judgement but hindsight really is 20:20, I guess.” A pale hand settles on his. “When you came to me, I'd been stressing over how to break the news to you. I thought I'd done well but you kept coming back and I was terrified of another situation where if I gave an inch, I'd end up trapped because they... you didn't- wouldn't... because you wouldn't understand my needs as much as I didn't understand yours. So I ran and I hid and I was a coward.” Self-loathing shines through his voice and the hand tightens it's grip on his.

“I should have done better by you Virgil, especially given I know what it feels like to have someone get it so completely wrong. I... I want to do better by you, find out what you need as a person, to be the one you come to for comfort, to understand you. The others place so much stock in romantic bonds, I'd...oh.” his eyes blow wide in realisation. “I'd forgotten what platonic attraction felt like.” He says slowly. He feels understanding hit him like a physical blow as he reanalyses his own thoughts and actions over the past years, seeing himself drift away from Patton and Roman, uncomfortable with their excessive affection. “I've been... lonely.” He blinks and watches a tear land on their clasped hands. “I want to be your friend.” Logan whispers. “I don't know if you can ever trust me again. I know it's not the logical choice given how I acted, and I know I landed a lot of information on you just now, pity or some sort of sense of duty isn't exactly the best place to start any relationship, and we're both suffering from some trauma, rationally you should-” Hands cup his face and he looks up into Virgil's half-smile.

“Anxiety isn't rational and if you're willing to put in the work, I am too.” The other half of his smile pulls up. “Can I have my hug now?” Logan pulls him forward desperately, landing Virgil in his lap, wrapping his arms around as much of the other as he can. Neither sides says anything about the sobs that shake them both as they drink in each others presence. They don't talk until they've managed to rearrange into a more comfortable position some time later, Logan leaning against the door, Virgil sideways in his lap, leaning on his chest and listening to his heartbeat. “What now?” Virgil murmurs. “I'd like to clean your wounds, and you should eat something, and then-” “No, uh, I mean, us?” Logan frowned in thought. “Well, I'd want to start of as friends first, as in any good partnership, but eventually, I mean, I'm friends with Patton, but with you, the label...” “It's not quite right.” “Yes, exactly. Already, you're not just a friend to me. I'd like a word that fully encompasses how important you are to me.” He blushes and leans in to kiss the top of Virgil's head to hide his face but sees the clotted blood and rests his hand there instead, frowning slightly. “Queer-platonic.” Virgil blurts quickly, like it's a plaster he needs to rip off. “Could you repeat that, please?” “Uh, queer-platonic. I, um, found it when I was googling aromanticism on tumblr-” “Googling... on tumblr?” “Shut up.” “Ok, but I'm judging you.” Virgil snickers. “Whatever. It's different things to different people, some kiss, some don't, some have sex, some don't, some are open, some aren't, but basically it's saying this is my life partner in whatever way we choose, and it's special without being romantic. Uh, could we... , um, could that be...our label?” Virgil's nervousness is at once both endearing and a reminder to treat him carefully. Logan strokes over Virgil's cheekbone. “It sounds perfect. We can choose what we want it to be when we get there.” Virgil smiles tiredly, his expression so much more open than usual. “Lookin' forward to it.”

(Some time later)

“Where's your first aid kit?” “Above the sink in the bathroom, through that door.... Logan, what's this?” “That's your breakfast, is it not obvious?” “Darling, precisely none of these are breakfast foods.” “It should not matter what food you eat at what time so long as it has the right balance of nutrients.” “I'm kind of scared to ask what you had for your breakfast.” “Leftover pasta with kale and I added strawberry yoghurt for dairy.” “Not all at...?” “It doesn't matter how in enters your body, Virgil. It all gets mixed up with hydrochloric acid anyway.” “Eww. No kissing. I've decided, kissing is off the table. I'm not going near a mouth that's had yoghurt and kale in it at the same time.” “Humph. I have found the antiseptic wipes, pass me your arm.” “So, go on, explain my breakfast to me, oh cleverest one.” “Well, you have a yoghurt for dairy and broccoli for vitamins-” “Raw.” “Cooking drains the vitamins, stop squirming.” “It stings.” “You are what I believe Roman would call an 'edge-lord', I'm sure you can handle it. There is a ham and egg sandwich for protein and carbohydrates.” “Ok, but I'm sure the leftover pizza doesn't fit into a well-balanced meal.” “It's your favourite.” “Aw, you risked Patton's wrath to seize the forbidden pizza for me. You do love me.” “Yes, that is an accurate statement.” “Stop it, you'll make me blush and I don't have my foundation on. Wait.... is that.... an entire cucumber?” “Ah, yes, that's your drink.” “....” “I, uh, can't figure out Roman's fancy coffee machine and we've run out of juice.” “Water, Logan, water. Or even tea, I guess.” “I was stressed and I panicked.” “And grabbed a cucumber?” “It's 96% water?” “I thought you were logical!” “I am the literal personification of Logic! However I will admit I am not always entirely rational. Come into the light, I want to do your face next.” “Hang on, I'm thirsty.” Virgil snagged the cucumber with his now clean left arm and wandered after his favourite person, making a show of snapping off the end and gnawing at the flesh.

AN: The fandom: Logan eats books

Me: oh, you haven’t heard?

[punmasterkentparson]

Sleep Talk

inspired by this post, because i think it’d be hilarious if Alexei Mashkov talked in his sleep and unwittingly inflicted it on Kent. But then feelings happened?

also on ao3.

“I love you, big rat.”

Kent is in the process of picking his clothes off Alexei Mashkov’s hotel room floor in the near-dark when this statement comes from the bed. In slow motion, Kent turns. He can just make out Alexei’s silhouette from the lights of Vegas coming through the hotel room window.

He doesn’t know which he’s more baffled by: the love confession from a guy he literally just hooked up with last night, or the attached nickname that’s either an insult or an unfortunate mistranslation from Russian.

“...Sorry, what?”

Alexei is still horizontal in bed, but he shrugs as if he’s sitting up. He hasn’t even opened his eyes. “It’s fine. Take the turtles with you, they’re lonely.”

Kent gapes. “What turtles?”

“The ones underground. Don’t feed them after midnight.” Then, as if that has concluded the conversation, Alexei rolls over under the blankets and presumably goes back to sleep.

Kent pulls on his clothes and sneaks out of the room. As he drives himself home, he wonders under his breath, “Turtles?!”

--

All-Star weekend is a gift and a curse. It’s a curse because it pulls Kent out of regular season and away from his team. It’s a gift because he loves kicking ass in the skills competitions. But mostly, it’s a gift because this year, when he’s out at a bar and spots Mashkov watching him, the hot tingle he gets isn’t residual terror from the memory of being single-handedly yanked out of a dogpile and yelled at in Russian last year.

Okay, it isn’t just from the memory of that.

The first hookup had involved a some name-calling and taken a while to get from ‘resentful opponents’ to ‘resentful opponents working off sexual tension.’ This time, it’s easier. All Kent has to do is slip Mashkov a napkin with his room number on it and then tell everyone he’s calling it a night. The guys accuse him of being a wet blanket for ditching the party early, but that just means they’re all still out when Kent lets Mashkov into his room at the hotel.

Mashkov blows him on the bed, both of them still half-dressed, then turns Kent around and fucks his way to orgasm between Kent’s squeezed thighs. It’s almost as good a workout as the day’s events had been. It’s definitely more satisfying. Lying on the bed afterward, Kent feels like his brain has melted, in the best way.

Mashkov, facedown on the blankets at Kent’s left, grunts. “We messy. Get towel.”

Kent’s legs are slippery with lube and his muscles are jelly. “You get it.”

“Rock paper scissors you for not go.”

Kent snorts but holds up a hand. They throw down, and Mashkov loses.

After they’ve wiped up the spunk and Kent has graciously tossed the towel back in the bathroom, Mashkov rolls off the bed and starts collecting his clothes. Kent watches, thoroughly enjoying the muscular flex of Mashkov’s ass whenever he bends down. “You wanna just stay over?” he asks, without even thinking.

Mashkov turns, nose wrinkled in confusion. “Why?”

Kent shrugs. “’Cause I wanna blow you tomorrow morning, and if I do it in the locker room or the showers, the guys’ll complain.”

Mashkov laughs, shakes his head, and says, “Okay. It’s good plan.” He pulls his briefs back on but leaves off everything else. Kent goes to brush his teeth, and when he comes back to bed, Mashkov is already under the blankets and half-asleep. Even with the heat on in the room, Kent gravitates to pocket of warmth on Mashkov’s side.

Even though he can’t quite admit it to himself, he falls asleep faster and easier with Mashkov there. He even drops into a deeper sleep than usual.

So when Mashkov grabs his arm in the middle of the night, Kent startles awake like he’s been stabbed.

“The fuck!? Oh, shit. Mashkov, what the hell--”

Mashkov responds in Russian.

“I don’t know what the hell you just said?”

“Oh, sorry,” Mashkov says, in what is...Jesus Christ, is that Jack’s Canadian accent? “We’re not in Russia?”

“We’re in Florida. Why do you sound Canadian?”

Mashkov frowns. “What is he usually?” he asks, his accent now closer to Rhode Island.

Kent stares, wide-eyed, and for the first time in his life entertains the notion that body-snatchers are real. “You’re Russian? But you speak English?”

“Oh,” Mashkov says, thankfully back to his normal accent. “You don’t say.” And he lets go of Kent’s arm and rolls over. Within ten seconds, he’s snoring.

Kent can’t get back to sleep for another half hour.

--

In the morning, Kent wakes to find Mashkov already sitting up in bed and scrolling through his phone.

"Do you talk in your sleep?" Kent blurts.

Mashkov jumps at the sound of Kent's voice. He puts his phone down and looks over. "Little bit? Why, I'm say something last night?" He's grinning.

"You grabbed me in the middle of the night and asked if we were in Russia. You had a Canadian accent. And you talked about yourself in the third person."

Mashkov laughs. "Sorry. It's happen sometimes. Never remember what I say."

"In Vegas you talked about turtles," Kent says accusingly.

Mashkov laughs some more and shrugs. "I don't know what it's mean. It's just my brain, you know? Say stuff, I'm not thinking."

"Your brain has weird thoughts."

Mashkov winks and puts his phone on the nightstand. "Maybe you guess what my brain is thinking about now? Give you hint, it's about your mouth and my dick."

Kent rolls his eyes and shoves him, right before ducking under the sheets.

--

They hook up twice more during the All-Star weekend. Then it's back to the regular season. They're on opposite ends of the country more often than not, but Kent somehow ended up with Alexei's phone number (and vice versa) so the distance between them seems to shrink.

It turns out that Alexei is fun to talk to even when he's NOT sleep-talking. He's a social media fiend who Instagrams everything he eats, and also things he wishes he could eat--like ice cream.

"I'm lactase intolerant," Alexei tells him over Skype one night. The video is off but they've got audio, and Kent is at home so he's multitasking by talking to Alexei and also cleaning Kit's endless toys off the floor. Alexei adds, "It was first English I learn when I come here. Because agent not want Mama and Papa kill him because I die in milk accident."

Kent laughs so hard that Kit flattens her ears. "So that's why your Instagam feed is full of cheese."

"Want to eat so much," Alexei moans. "Sometimes in off season I'm eat a little, even though make me sick and have gas. Trainer always know, always sigh like I'm disappoint her. And then ban me from office, sometimes weight room, because she say farts is smell too bad."

Kent laughs harder. "Shit, you're ridiculous."

"Takes one to know one," Alexei replies, and even through the connection, Kent can hear the grin.

A week later, Kent is in Toronto and Alexei is in Tampa. The Leafs trounce the Aces, and the Falcs lose in a shoot-out.

Kent doesn’t want to talk to anyone. He just wants to sleep. From the lack of texts on Alexei’s end, he guesses the feeling is shared. It’s fine. Everyone deals with losses their own way. Kent knows his own grief cycle by now, and how to get himself through it by the time he has to play another game. He gets on the bus to the hotel, chats with the guys who need to talk about it, and then goes to his hotel room and finds something mindless to watch for an hour. By the time he’s brushing his teeth and turning off the lights, he’s not exactly calm, but he’s not wound up so tightly that he’ll get caught in a spiral of doubt and self-blame the second his head hits the pillow.

He expects to fall asleep. He can’t.

Taking his phone off the nightstand, he checks for texts. There aren’t any. He sends a quick message anyway.

u up?

There’s no reply for such a long time that Kent gives up and puts the phone back. He’s just starting to drift when a buzz startles him back awake.

yes. skype?

Kent stares for a second. His heart thumps hard in his chest. He just sent a text, he wasn’t asking for...

He thumbs open the app and hits CALL.

Alexei answers without video. “Don’t want talk,” he says, apologetic. “Sorry. Just... sound. Room quiet, head loud.”

Kent is already lying back down, resting the phone near his head. “No, it’s okay. I get it.”

Rustling bedsheets come through the connection. “Thank you.”

Kent doesn’t say ‘you’re welcome,’ because he feels like he needs this, too. Alexei is right; the room is quiet and his head is still too loud. But with the background susurrus of someone else’s breath, he falls asleep within minutes.

Then, in the middle of the night, he stirs. It takes him a muddled moment to understand what woke him up. There’s a voice, tinny and digital, coming from his pillow, and it’s speaking in Russian.

Kent blinks at his phone, glowing in the dark. The Skype connection never cut out.

“Alexei? Are you sleep talking, or are you awake?”

“Fuck you, Santa Claus, you owe me twenty dollars,” Alexei replies, clear as day and clearly dead asleep. Kent has to bury his face in the pillow to keep from laughing. When he can manage speech, he says, “That dick. He should pay you.”

“If it’s yellow, they’ll buy it,” Alexei mutters, sounding pissed as hell. Kent puts his face back in the pillow; there are tears coming down his cheeks.

Alexei goes on, “Nevermind, it’s Wednesday,” and then two seconds later, snores lightly as he falls back into deep sleep.

It’s a long time before Kent calms down enough to sleep again. And even then, he’s still smiling.

--

The Aces’ last game of regular season is in Providence. It means nothing, because everyone has known since last week that the Falcs are going to the playoffs, while the Aces are not.

Kent works hard not to think of it as a throwaway game. He knows the team is just ready for the season to end. They missed a wild card spot by one point, which they’d have gotten if they’d pushed a game against the Hurricanes into overtime. And even though Kent knows that the Falconers win 3-2 because they’re riding the high of success while the Aces are mentally checked out, it still feels like the last nail in a coffin being lowered into a grave that he dug for himself through an entire season’s worth of small mistakes.

He doesn’t meet Alexei’s eyes when they go through the handshake line. For that reason, it’s not remotely a surprise when Alexei tries to call him after the game. But by then, the Aces are already on a flight back to Vegas, so Kent doesn’t get the notifications until after they’ve landed and disembarked.

Alexei called five times and left two messages. Kent ignores them all. When a sixth call comes through, he waits until it disconnects and then turns off his phone.

This isn’t like the few other times they Skyped overnight. Alexei can’t share this loss with him. Kent would rather he didn’t try.

--

Nashville knocks the Falcs from the playoffs in game seven of the second round. It makes Kent feel like a dick. Alexei has texted him several times and tried to call him as well, and Kent hasn’t responded, on the grounds that he wasn’t ready to stop feeling like shit. Now, Alexei will be grieving, and Kent wants to call him. But after what he did, he wouldn’t be surprised if Alexei gave him the cold shoulder in return.

He almost doesn’t reach out. But he knows he’ll be angrier with himself for not trying, than getting cut off permanently and knowing he earned it.

At 10pm on a Saturday, Kent gets up the nerve to dial. Alexei doesn’t take the call. Kent’s heart sinks into his socks and he curls up around Kit on the bed.

Ten minutes later, his phone buzzes with a text.

skype?

“I’m sorry,” Kent says as soon as the audio call connects. It’s the exact same thing as an actual phone call, but there’s symbolism at work here that doesn’t escape him for a second. “You tried to talk to me. I should have answered.”

“Apology accepted. Is okay.” Alexei sounds tired, raw. Like he’s been taking out his frustrations on himself at the gym, but instead of earning some peace, he’s just hollowed himself out. Kent knows the feeling.

“I’m sorry I’m like this,” Kent says. He’s still wrapped around Kit, one hand petting her and the other cradling the phone. If he closes his eyes, it feels like Alexei is in the room with him. “I’ll probably always be like this.”

“Could be worse. Could never call.”

Kent swallows. “Guess that’s true.”

“I know is true.”

Alexei sounds so confident that it drags a faint smile out of Kent. But it fades as he murmurs, “And, I’m sorry. For...” He doesn’t have to say it for Alexei to know what he means.

There’s a small silence, and then Alexei whispers, “Me, too. Want so much. Think we get, this year.”

“Yeah.”

They both fall silent. Neither hangs up. It’s getting late, and Kent knows he should sleep. He’s already dressed for bed. But he doesn’t want to hang up, not yet. “Do you want to... I don’t know. Talk about it?” The words feel trite as soon as they’re out of his mouth.

“No. Not about... Don’t want talk about it. But maybe just... we talk?” He sounds hesitant. Kent has never known him to be hesitant.

“That sounds good to me,” Kent says. But then he can’t think of something to say.

Alexei chuckles. “I don’t know what talk about.”

“You could just go to sleep,” Kent says. “You talk in your sleep, you’ll say something eventually.”

“Yes, ‘weird shit,’ you tell me.” There’s still exhaustion coming through, but warmth is creeping into Alexei’s tone. “Why you want hear if it’s weird?”

“‘Cause it’s also fucking hilarious. I told you about Santa, right?”

“Asshole still owe me money.”

Kent guffaws, startling Kit. “Well, Christmas is over, so you’ll have to head up to the North Pole if you want him to pay up.”

Alexei snorts. “You say I’m say weird shit.”

“You do. You know that first night we hooked up, in Vegas, you called me a big rat?”

“I call you big rat even when not sleeping, that’s not weird shit.”

“You monologue, sometimes,” Kent insists. “In Russian. Other times you’ll have halfway normal conversations with me, which isn’t even weird, it’s creepy. And you keep asking me about turtles. Why the fuck do you care so much about turtles?”

Alexei isn’t even listening anymore, he’s laughing. It makes Kent grin, still alone on his bed in the dark except for his cat, but with Alexei’s voice filling the room it doesn’t feel so awful.

That doesn’t change how tired he is, though. A yawn escapes him.

“Kent?”

“‘M here. I can keep talking. I just might fall asleep in the middle.”

“Okay.” Alexei is smiling too, Kent can hear it. “Maybe it’s same for me, too. But I like this. I like be with you when I’m go to sleep.”

Kent’s chest feels a little tight. He reaches down to tug the bedsheets over himself, and tugs the phone closer. “Yeah. Me, too.”

[oddree13]

Nursey/Dex RP

You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!

You both like nursey/dex, dex/nursey, holsom, and zimbits.

You: I don’t want to be rude, but for the sake of my sanity please bring quieter girls back to your hotel room. I can hear them through the wall even with headphones on. I can’t work with them hollerin. I get that we won but damn. WP

Stranger: Oh, shit. Sorry, Dex! -DN They're my sisters friends. -DN

You: Oh you mean you aren't, um, you know? WP

Stranger: Having sex? Ew, no, dude. -DN

Stranger: Like a couple of these girls babysat me, you know? -EN

Stranger: *DN

You: Sorry I heard the giggle and assumed that you were having a celebration you know. WP I'll just put on louder music then. DN

You: WP*

Stranger: You could come join us, if you want. -DN

Stranger: If you don't, I understand and we'll totally tone it down. -DN

You: No I wouldn't want to bother you. Besides, work. WP

Stranger: Alright, suit yourself. -DN Probably for the best. They'd just tell embarrassing stories about me. -DN

You: Dunno is your using reverse psychology or not but I want stories. WP Um, I stashed some bourbon. Do you want it? WP

Stranger: Dude!!! Bring it over!!!! -DN

Stranger: Look at you, you bad boy. Sneaking booze on a roadie. -EN

You: I don't think I'm a bad boy...just keyed up after games sometimes that I can't sleep. WP

You: Let me just put on something decent and I'll come by. WP

Stranger: Lol, sounds good. -DN

You: Getting one some sweats and a shirt, Dex, with a bottle of bourbon tucked under his arm, knocked on the door connecting his and Nursey's room and waited to be let in, hoping he didn't regret this.

Stranger: Derek opened the door, grinning brightly at Dex. "Hey! Come on in, meet the girls!" There were three women sitting on the bed, all smiling up at him. A dirty blond with a nose ring jumped up, taking the bottle from Dex with a wink. Nursey rolled his eyes. "That's Michelle. The other two are Emma and Sam." Derek pointed to Emma, a dark-skinned woman with an afro and then to Sam, a brunette who had buzzed all her hair off. "Sam and my sister dated for what? Almost a year?" Sam nodded and took a plastic cup of bourbon from Michelle.

You: Dex smiled back at Nursey but soon curled in a bit on himself when one of the girls darted to him and plucked the bottle from under his arm. Oh good, personal space wasn't a problem. When Derek finished introductions, he gave a small wave and hello, and follow Derek to the bed he was sitting on and sat down. "So what's the occasion for visiting Nursey?" he asked, wondering why a group of women a few years older than Derek were in a hotel room this late at night.

Stranger: Emma shrugged. "We're all doing a roadtrip and we just happened to be in town for tonight's game." Sam leaned over and pinched Derek's cheek. "And we couldn't resist checking up on our favorite little bro." she teased, pulling Derek into a headlock when he tried to squirm away. "Can you believe it's been two whole years since we've seen this little brat?" The other girls laughed. Michelle put her elbows on her knees and leaned in closer to Dex, getting a good look at him. "So, you're Derek's fellow d-man, huh?"

You: It was sweet that Derek had people like this in his life that went out of their way to see him even if it wasn't required. "Oh yeah," he answered Michelle, wondering why she got so close. "Derek and I have played on the same line the last two years. Occasioanlly they try to match us with someone else and it just never works out the same."

Stranger: Michelle gave him a grin that bordered on wicked. "Oh so you guys actually click on the ice, huh?" Sam and Emma exchanged a look while Derek had given up on escaping from the headlock. "You know," Emma began. "I can't recall Der-der here ever having a solid d-partner before..." she tapped a finger to her chin. "Guys, come on." Derek moaned, blushing a bit.

You: "Yeah I'd say we click on the ice. We did on there before we could tolerate each other off it," Dex answered not seeing the trap he was walking into. At Emma's comment Dex just shrugged, "well from what I hear Andover wasn't exactly a great place for bonding so I could see that." He looked over at Derek with a small smile, not seeing the blush as something more than just being teased by friends.

Stranger: "Wow, isn't that something?" Sam drawled, smiling before taking a drink of her bourbon. "You know, Derek talks a lot about you to his sister." Michelle nodded, "More than any other guy." she chimed in. Emma refilled Dex's cup before licking her lips. "How long did it take for him to be less annoying?" "Hey!" Derek exclaimed, frowning at Emma.

You: "I'm sure most of it is complaining. I was #thatwhiteguy for most of my freshman year," Dex admitted with a chuckle, figuring Derek would probably complain about him a lot back home. "But Nursey isn't annoying, just, an English major," he teased, not wanting to bring up their arguments about wealth\ again.

Stranger: All three girls giggled and Sam finally released Derek from the headlock to down her drink. "Oh, he is adorable, Der-der." she nodded, like she was given him her approval. Nursey stuck his tongue out at her. Michelle leaned back, resting against Emma's shoulder. "And aren't you guys gonna be roommates next semester? Should we send you a Nurse Survival Kit?" Michelle asked.

You: Dex blushed at being called adorable, and filed away Der-der for later use. "No need for a survival kit. I've got tea for when he starts to drink too much coffee, started taking the blue pens he likes to write with from the library and stocking up because he gets fussy when he loses them, and I have noise cancelling headphones I'm saving up for because he likes to recite his poetry out loud for cadence, and I can only take so much," he listed not noticing how it wasn't a normal way to react.

Stranger: Derek looked as shocked as the girls, who all stared at him for a moment. "Oh..." Sam shook her head and leaned over to clap Will on the shoulder, "Oh, you sweet thing..." she chuckled and stood up. "Ladies. I think that's our cue to leave. We've got an early morning tomorrow if we wanna get to Ohio by sundown." The other two girls nodded, thanking Will for the drinks and giving Derek long hugs, whispering things in his ear, making him blush even more.

You: Dex didn't like all the eyes on him. It made him feel as if he was doing something wrong, and when the women decided to leave he felt like he'd fucked up somehow. He took the thanks for the drinks and grabbed the bottle from the floor as Nursey said his goodbyes. Not wanting to linger and wait for Derek to get mad at him for making the girls leave, Dex headed back to his room, wondering if he could get some work in.

Stranger: Realized Dex had left the room, Nursey hurried next door, knocking tentatively on the door. "Dex? Hey, sorry about them. They tend to read too much into things, you know? I didn't realize you did all those things just for me..." he murmured, hoping Will would answer his door.

You: Not understanding what Derek was talking about by "reading too much into things" Dex opened the door, looking sheepish. "No need to be sorry. I just thought I said something that made them want to leave and I can

You: can't figure out what?"

Stranger: Derek shook his head. "You didn't say nothing wrong. Well, maybe. But it's not your fault." he patted Will's shoulder. "You see, they're all queer. And, well, they, um, got the impression that having tea for me and bringing my favorite blue pens to the library are, like, um, romantic gestures..." he explained, shoving his hands into his pockets.

You: Dex didn't understand why the explanation started off with 'they're all queer' but by the end of it got how that mattered. "Oh," Dex said, his mind processing everything that had just happened and realizing that yeah, it sort of looked like courting. Was it though? "I mean, those things just make you happy..." he muttered as it that was a good enough explanation.

Stranger: "Yeah, they do... And I really appreciate you doing those things for me..." Derek murmured, trying to hide his disappointment. "So, that's why they left. They wanted to give us some 'Alone Time.'" He forced himself to roll his eyes. "Look, don't worry about it, okay? I know you're straight so." he shrugged again.

You: "But do you wish that I wasn't straight?" he asked, still a little thrown by the exchange, and also his own feelings, because Dex hadn't really liked anyone before, not in a sexual way. But lately he'd been doing more for Derek because the way he smiled made him tingle, and a few times, he'd found himself wondering how his lips felt.

Stranger: Derek blinked at Dex, taken by surprise at his question. "Uh... well, yeah, I guess? But that's just the romantic in me, you know? I'd never like actually think you were queer and act on my own suspicions. That's a dick move."

You: "Yeah that would be...but what if I'm not straight?" he asked, on hand cross over his chest and holding onto his elbow a little defensively. "I just never liked anyone really. I mean not more than like, 'oh that person looks nice' but then the thought goes away. But those thoughts about you stay. And sometimes I wonder how soft your hands really are, and if it would feel nice to have you fall asleep on my shoulder and feel you breath against my neck," he rambled, not sure where all of this was coming from but blamed the bourbon.

Stranger: "Oh..." Derek breathed out, looking Dex over. "Um, well, that would change things..." he whispered, taking a step closer to Will. "Would you... Uh, can I come in?" he asked softly, "Because I have often found myself thinking those same thoughts about you."

You: "Yeah you can come in," he nodded, letting Derek into his room, and feeling himself grow hot, unsure of where this was going to go. Because of that he found himself blurting, "but I don't think about sex. With you. Anyone really. I mean not like actively."

Stranger: Derek turned back to Will and smiled softly. "Hey, that's okay, Will. Lots of people don't ever wanna have sex." he shrugged. "It's not a big deal to me." Nursey moved and sat down on the edge of the bed. "But we should talk about it. If you really wanna do this. Just so I know what's okay and what's not."

You: "I just like being around you," he answered, not understanding how Derek could say sex wasn't a big deal. It was a big deal for almost everyone, and Dex just thought he was broken that way. "I mean, I wouldn't mind, kissing you. And um, cuddling and shit," he swallowed.

Stranger: "I'm down for that." Derek smiled. "I mean, for me, sex is fun. But it's not like, needed for me to survive, you know?" he chuckled before patting the spot next to him. "Do you mind titles? Can we be boyfriends?"

You: "Boyfriends?" Dex asked, not having seen that as a possibility. "I mean we can but like we can be open...since I don't, since I'm not good at this."

Stranger: "Yeah, I'm cool with that." Derek nodded, "And you don't have to be good at this, you know? Like, none of us glided perfectly on skates the first time they were strapped to our feet." he thought for a second. "Okay, Zimmermann might be the exception." Nursey shrugged with a chuckle. "But seriously, it's all chill, Will."

You: "Stop saying chill," he smirked, and moved towards Derek a bit. "I mean maybe not open right now because I want to figure us out before we add more people," he clarified, putting a tentative hand atop Derek's.

Stranger: Derek smiled and nodded, "Yeah, that's fine by me, Will." He overturned his hand so their palms met. "You're just really cute." he added, gently squeezing his hand.

You: "You're beautiful," Dex replied, and leaned in to press a kiss to Nursey's lips carefully.

Stranger has disconnected.