#that or night is probably talking dream's nonexistent ears off about a story he read or his crazy day playing with the animals outside-

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

*sighs* precious baby version of night and his mentally drained brother/dad got me dropping everything for a quick doodle<333

au by @dreemurr-skelememer

[monocaelia]

comforting you after a nightmare headcanons

nightmares aren't fun, but luckily you have someone there to protect you.

feat. albedo, diluc, childe, kaeya, xiao, zhongli

genre : hurt/comfort, fluff

note : hbd to me!! here's a gift from me to you with one of my favorite tropes, hehe <:

❀ albedo

albedo isn't one to dream much, let alone rest. he's always caught up in his own research and experiments that sleep isn't really needed if he wanted to be more productive in his research, despite the worried comments from sucrose and your lighthearted nags that he'll stay short forever.

though, that isn't to say that he's not interested. there are many times that albedo has caught you dozing off in his laboratory while waiting for him to be done with his experiments. he would be lying to himself if he didn't wonder what could possibly be playing in your mind to make you be smiling like that while unconscious.

this time, though, is an exception.

test tubes and flasks filled with various liquids and concoctions fill albedo's workspace as he examines each and every one before filling in his notebooks with descriptions and drawings of his work. there's a shuffle from his other desk and his eyes shift up to glance at you. albedo's gaze softens at the sight of his coat draped over your shoulders as they move to the rhythm of your breathing.

he wonders why you choose to stay at his laboratory so late and wait for him to finish his research rather than head home alone and sleep in your much more comfortable bed. albedo supposes you find comfort in his presence, an odd thing to be comforted by really.

however, the gentle smile quickly falls from his face the moment he hears the quiet whimpers and pleas. as quickly as he could, albedo moves to your side and gently shakes you awake. he isn't the least surprised when your eyes snap open and a gasp leaves your lips.

"...are you alright?" the question breaks you from your daze and you seem to relax when you realize you aren't dreaming anymore. though, the way your hands and shoulders shake doesn't escape the sharp eyes observing you.

"come on, i think i'm done with my research for now. we can head home if you'd like?" albedo smiles when you nod your head, but as he turns to pack up and prepare to leave his laboratory your hand shoots out to grasp his own.

albedo is surprised at first, but the shock melts into endearment as his hand pulls yours up to his lips. he presses a gentle kiss on your knuckles, reassuring you that he'll be right there for you. that you wouldn't be alone.

"nightmares, huh? ...i wonder if i can concoct something to help eradicate the chances of them appearing. oh, don't worry, i won't leave your side for the rest of the evening. promise."

❀ diluc

diluc isn't prone to nightmares, honestly he probably gets them quite often. or maybe even dreamless dreams if he's lucky. well, considering he sleeps at all. he's busy being the darknight hero of mondstatdt in the dead of night, so sleep doesn't come by often for the red haired vigilante.

even when he does get nightmares, there's not many people he can call to or rely on to help comfort him. he doesn't trust any of the knights, and he definitely doesn't trust kaeya to help at all. so comforting someone isn't something he knows how to do well.

but he tries his best to comfort you in any way, shape, or form if you ever needed him to.

the knocking against his door is quiet, nearly nonexistent if diluc was preoccupied with anything other than trying to sleep. he would have ignored it if it weren't for the quiet whisper of his name from a voice he recognized. sighing, he rises from his bed and heads over to his door, mentally preparing himself for whatever you're planning to throw over his head.

instead, diluc is met with your cheeky smile. you're definitely up to no good, but he hasn't quite figured out what you were going to do or say. before he could even question why you're standing outside his door in the dead of night, you interrupt him.

"wow diluc! fancy seeing you here, do you come here often?" he deadpans at you and nearly closes the door to go back to sleep. but he notices the way your fingers twiddle, a sign that you're nervous about something. his eyes flicker to your face, scanning anything that would give him clues on what's on your mind.

"what happened?" diluc's brows furrow in worry seeing the way your smile falls and the way your body begins to curl in on itself. he offers a hand for you to take, an invitation for you to be comforted by the stoic man in front of you. he lets a small smile grow on his lips when he sees you brighten up a tad at his invitation.

your hand is encased in his own, scarred and rough with callouses but comforting and warm at the same time.

"go back to sleep, it's already getting really late. if you need anything, though, i'll be right here until the dawn rises."

❀ childe

although sleep is necessary to maintain perfect health, childe finds it difficult to maintain a proper sleeping schedule due to his job as a fatui harbinger. when the tsaritsa calls, he needs to be there immediately to come to her aid and carry out her orders regardless of how inconvenient it was for him.

but, having many siblings, especially younger ones, has always prepared childe to comfort and protect anyone that he holds close to his heart. nobody, not even nightmares, can get close enough to harm the people he loves, not if he's alive to knock them down a peg.

which definitely includes you, someone who holds his entire world in the palm of your hands.

childe finds you awake at the dead of night after one of his shifts at the northland bank. which is surprising considering you're always asleep before he gets back home from work, always trying to stay up to welcome the harbinger home but always succumbing to the sweet embrace of slumber.

a mischievous grin grows on his lips as he plans to spook you, but as he nears your body, the shaking of your body and quiet sniffles reach his ears. immediately, childe's hand is on your shoulder and he frowns when you yelp and whip around to see him.

"o-oh, ajax, i didn't expect to see you home so soon. i was just getting ready for bed." a white lie. childe presses his lips into a thin line, his hand reaching out to catch a tear falling from your cheek. did...did he do this to you? was he being a bad partner for not putting aside more time for you?

as if reading his mind, you vehemently shake your head and grab onto childe's wrist. "no! no... it's not what you think i just had a really bad dream and couldn't go back to sleep. don't worry, you don't need to beat yourself up over this." he relaxes immediately at your comment, but he still feels bad for leaving you alone when you needed someone to comfort you.

childe leans over, cupping your face in his hands as he showers your face in featherlight kisses. your giggles fill the room and the habinger can't help but laugh as well, especially after pressing a wet, sloppy kiss on your lips. "how about i cook you a nice stew for tonight? it always helped teucer calm down when he was scared."

and you take him up on that offer. the rest of the evening is filled with light laughter from the both of you as childe moves around the kitchen and tells you stories of his childhood. the scene is comforting, peaceful, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

"how about we turn in for tonight? don't worry, nothing will harm you as long as your big, strong ajax is by your side!"

❀ kaeya

despite his title of being a "lazy" and "laid-back" captain of the calvary, kaeya isn't one to sleep too much. he has a regular sleeping schedule, though there are some nights where the memories of his past haunt him and he stays up reminiscing about how things were.

he's one to brood alone, not letting anyone see him vulnerable. but he likes to be relied on. there isn't a bone in his body that prevents him from helping anyone in need, even though the way he gets things done is quite... unconventional to everybody else's standards.

but when you call to him for help, he’s there in an instant.

the sound of rustling from beside kaeya stirs him from his slumber. he squints, his good eye focusing in the darkness of his room before landing on your curled up figure beside him. he figures you’re just shifting in your sleep and closes his eyes again, but you shift again and sigh. surely, you’re not sleeping at this point.

kaeya gently calls out your name, a warm smile on his face when he sees you startle from his voice. though, his smile melts away from his face when he sees your expression. it doesn’t help that you flinch slightly when his hand reaches over to brush against your cheek.

“sorry, i just…i’m still shaken from my dream and-“ your apologies are cut short when kaeya sends you a comforting smile and cups your jaw in his hand. he assures you that it’s fine.

“are you okay? how long have you been up?” it takes you a moment too long to come up with a lie that would put your lover at ease. when you come up with an answer, kaeya is already staring at you with his mismatched orbs, one of deep sapphire and the other a light, milky blue color. you can’t lie to him now.

so you tell the calvary captain about the dream you just had, not going too into details with what really shook you. and kaeya listens to everything you say, a hand firmly on your arm to remind him that you’re with him and not whatever occurred in your dreams.

he makes little comments here and there to lighten the mood, though he knows when to keep quiet so you can talk it through. when you finish talking the dream through, kaeya pinches your cheek, chiding you for dreaming of such things.

but he reassures you that you’re fine, and that he’s here to protect you should anything from your dreams come into reality. he jokes about letting you handle everything alone, but you know he wouldn’t despite how cheeky he is.

"don't let the bedbugs bite, [name]. haha, kidding. i'll be here to fight them off if you need me. i am a captain after all."

❀ xiao

xiao isn't unfamiliar with nightmares and dreams. don't forget, one of his duties under the reign of the yaksha's previous master was to devour the dreams of the innocent. it had gotten to the point where dreams were the only things he could stomach, despite detesting the intent behind it.

despite it all, though, xiao is still an adeptus who protects the mortals and the innocent of liyue. his sole job now, under his contract with rex lapis, is to protect even if it means throwing his life away. with a swift call of his name, he would be there to be the guardian of liyue and anyone residing in it.

and that includes you, the sole mortal that the young adeptus enjoys the company of.

a gasp tears through your throat as you sit up in your bed, sweat dripping down the side of your face. your eyes are blown wide open with the visions of your nightmare still clear in your mind. the rapid beating of your heart and panting are the only sounds heard in your otherwise quiet bedroom.

curses spill from your lips as you cradle your head in your hands, your knees pulled up to your chest to try and make yourself as small as you possibly could. but to no avail, no matter what you did to comfort yourself or make yourself forget the nightmare, the visions still flashed in your memories every time you closed your eyes.

you don't hear the rustling from your window, nor did you feel the presence of someone crouching from behind your curtains. it's only when he gently calls your name do you whip your head around, eyes coming face to face with golden eyes that gleam in the moonlight.

"xiao... sorry i didn't see you there," you stutter, quickly wiping your eyes and turning away so the young adeptus wouldn't see you crying. his eyes narrow at you, eyebrows furrowing as a frown settles on his face. "what are you-"

your hands are pulled away from your face and you're pulled closer to him. "you're crying." you try to deny xiao's observation and reassure him that you're fine, but a hand gently brushes against your cheek.

xiao doesn't say anything when the tears begin falling down your face again. he doesn't say anything when you jump into his arms and bury your face in his chest. you feel his arms firmly wrap themselves around you. he doesn't say a word, but his actions alone assure you that he would be there with you for the rest of the evening.

"sleep. should any more dreams come to haunt you during your rest, i'll be here to dispose of them."

❀ zhongli

as an archon, zhongli doesn't find much need for sleep. he's a god and no god needs sleep to be energized for the following day. it's not like it would do well for him anyways, seeing as he would much rather prefer strolling the lit up streets of liyue harbor in the late evening before returning to his home to drink tea and relax.

that's not to say he isn't familiar with dreams and how they can affect mortals. he knows full well the impact they can have, especially if they're dreams filled with horrible outcomes or stuff nobody would like to be reminded of.

so when you come to him to seek comfort after a horrible night, he's ready to welcome you into his embrace.

the gentle whisper of zhongli's name alerts him of your presence from the hallway in your shared home. the archon lifts his head to look at you, eyes made of molten gold meeting your shaking gaze. "what's wrong, dear?" you don't answer his question and instead shift your gaze to the ground.

zhongli tells you to "come here" in the gentlest voice he could muster, and you do. as soon as you sit beside your lover, his hand comfortingly holds your jaw and lifts your face so you can see him. there's nothing but endearment and love in his gaze. "you don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to."

he hums in amusement seeing the way your body relaxes after that. there's a gentle tug on your arm, a signal for you to find comfort in zhongli's embrace, and you find yourself snug in between the archon's arms. you inhale deeply, zhongli's comforting scent filling your lungs.

his hands rake gently up and down your spine and hearing his heartbeat from where you rest on his chest calms you immensely. if it weren't for your nervous, rhythmic tapping against his arm, zhongli would have assumed you fell back asleep in his arms.

"would you like to hear about the play i've been attending to recently? the plot is quite interesting, i think you would enjoy it." he attempts to distract you for a while to calm your nerves after waking so abruptly, and it works, not to his surprise.

as he drones on and on about the plot that doesn't quite make sense to you in your dazed state, the archon notices the way your fingers have stilled and your breathing has evened out, much calmer and more regulated than before. zhongli smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

"it's starting to get late. you should try to rest again. don't worry, i'll be beside you should anything happen to you once more."

[sebstanseabass]

Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 9

Afterglow chapters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

CHAPTER NINE

For the first time in your life, you awoke in your own pool of sweat and with the fresh thoughts of Bucky as he managed to scoop you up with his strong lean arms and take you right then and there at the kitchen counter in your wild, vivid memory of dreams.

You blamed Nat for this. If it wasn't for her, you wouldn't even have inappropriate thoughts towards Bucky. Yes, you did notice his strong masculine exterior, jaw sharp as a killer's knife, body as strong as a boulder, and legs that could easily kill but did you have any thoughts on advancing towards him? No, absolutely not. He was Peter's stepbrother for crying out loud. But last night, something changed in the laws of physics. It was as if two resting bodies silently reacted to one another without a sudden force acting upon the two.

That morning, you didn't dare find out if Bucky was still in your apartment. You skipped your morning run and headed up towards the rooftop using the ladder right outside your window with a hot cup of coffee in your hand (which spilled a bit on the way up, by the way) and enjoyed the scent and sight of the dirtier part of New York City -- all its damp, cigarette covered pavements.

For the next few days, you saw no sign of Bucky. He hadn't been in the bar or in your apartment, as much as you wished he would stop by once in a while. But then, you would hear Peter talk to him on the phone every single night.

You never thought Bucky's lack of presence would start to bother you. It wasn't just the feelings of sudden desire you had for him but also the weird time you shared together -- as if you were just old friends catching up. You found it absolutely crazy how a lot of things just happened in the course of a day.

You wanted to ask Peter about Bucky's whereabouts, just a casual slip of "Hey, where's Bucky?" but you never dared to ask. So when Peter blabbed during a movie night that Bucky had been way too busy managing some business meetings, gatherings, and whatnots ever since he got back in the city, you were more than glad.

Nat had been coming to the bar every night ever since Tuesday, picking up extra shifts. She kept badgering you about Bucky this and Bucky that. She was one of the reasons why you couldn't keep Bucky out of your head. Her sudden long shifts at the bar wasn't only because she was so invested with your nonexistent dating life or, to her, a possibility of one with Bucky, but because she and Steve were secretly hooking up. Of course, she didn't tell you that. It's not like she needed to, anyway. It only took one sniff of Steve's strong scent on hers for you to find out.

Every passing day at the bar felt so slow and the same. The only thing that changed was Peter rejecting a drink on one Thursday night.

"Woah, what got your knickers on a twist?" You asked as soon as he approached the counter.

"I'm just not in the mood, y/n." He sighed. "Can I just have a glass of water, please?"

"Of course. Coming right up." You slid the glass of water on the counter towards him, your fingers drumming against the thick wood. "So, what's bothering you?"

He looked up at you with sulky eyes. "Oh god, you really are a bartender."

"And your best friend. So, what's up?"

He shook his head nothing, sipping the glass of water like a scotch.

His little act was unconvincing. Especially that he didn't try hard enough to conceal whatever he was feeling.

"Parker." You insisted. "Come on, what's up?"

"You see right through me, y/n."

"Don't flatter me too much," you rolled your eyes, "you're just easy to read."

But Peter was also stubborn as a bull. He wouldn't budge or give you any clue on what was bothering him. You thought that leaving him as you tended to other bargoers would eventually give him time to change his mind but you were proven wrong. It itched your brain that he wouldn't tell you whatever it was. You usually told each other everything. But then again, you haven't really been open with him with your growing desire for his stepbrother -- which, you hoped you never would, as you hoped all those feelings would eventually go away and keep it in a state of latency.

Peter stood by his ground, consuming no ounce of alcohol and keeping his mouth shut the rest of the night. You knew when to keep away from other people's business, even if it was your best friend's. You did try to make his evening lighter though, checking up on him and telling some old, classic bartender stories, seeing as he was clearly in an uncomfortable state but all he kept telling you was: "You're killing me, y/n. You're absolutely killing me."

You felt a heavy feeling on your chest with his surprisingly fierce tone. You urged him to go home after that, so he did.

"Dick." You mumbled after he left.

Nick walked towards the counter. "What's wrong with your roommate?"

"Wish I could tell you."

You and Nick have been getting along well despite you rejecting him. Nat kept telling you it was a way of manipulating you or some sort, to get you close to him but nothing has really happened ever since he asked you out. There wasn't a change in mood in the atmosphere, or even the way he treated you. Just some good colleagues working together.

The next night, Peter was more in the mood and even apologized to you for the way he behaved last night. "Now, for some great news."

"Does this mean you're having a drink?" You asked.

He nodded eagerly and patiently waited for his beer. Once he got his cold sip, he continued talking: "So, I've been really in a slump lately because I'm kind of lovesick. But then -- "

"Wait, what did you say?" You knitted your brows together, catching the last word he said. "Did you say lovesick? You son of a bitch, are you in love?"

"Language!" Out of nowhere, Steve yelled over the buzzing noises inside the bar. You snickered and he just gave you a look before he disappeared back into his office.

He is such a grandpa.

Peter chuckled. "To be honest, I have been for a very long time."

Your jaw dropped on the floor, ears all perked up, wanting to hear every detail of this. "And you never thought to tell me? Parker, I've been your best friend since forever. Why the hell wouldn't you tell me?"

"Because..." He trailed off, avoiding your stare. "It's not that big a deal."

"Okay, was this after that bitch Denise?"

"Actually, waaaay before that."

"Oh wow, that long, huh?" You replied. "Oh my god, is it someone we know from college? Shit, is it MJ?"

"No, it's not!" He replied. "And I'm not telling you who because I don't have actual plans on pursuing her." He sighed through his nose while taking a big sip of his beer. He brought down the bottle on the counter with a loud thud.

"So, it's a girl."

He grunted in reply.

You laughed. "So, why not pursue her?" You asked while multitasking. You handed a bowl of peanuts to the man beside Peter who was asking for it. "Is she taken? Does she have a boyfriend? A girlfriend?"

"No, she doesn't."

"So, why the hell not, Parker?"

You impatiently waited for an answer from Peter as it took him a couple of minutes to do so.

"Because I don't think it's a good idea. I don't think it will ever work." He answered, scratching the label on his beer bottle with much frustration. "I've thought about all the probabilities, but every single one of them ends the same."

"And what is that?"

"That it won't work out."

The thing about Peter was he never dive into things headfirst. Even though he was a dumbass, he was always a man of intellect who calculated everything in his head before committing to something.

"Why is it always statistics and probabilities and all that crap with you?" You let out an exasperated sigh. "What if for once in your life, follow your goddamn heart? You keep treating everything with a business mind. Go with what your gut tells you to do. Don't think too much about it because the heart wants what it wants, Parker."

Peter gazed at you for a few moments, perhaps finding the right words to say but he just shook his head and fought against his feelings. "I can't do it, y/n. I badly want to, like, it's already at the tip of my tongue. I badly want to tell her but I can't. I don't want to know what's gonna happen next. I'm just scared of what's gonna happen. I don't think I can take it."

As much as you wanted to convince him to go for the girl, you let it go. You've said what you had to say but it was always up to him whether he takes your advice or not. "So, what now?"

"Well now, I'm going to tell you the good news, the one you robbed me off when you batted in."

You rolled your eyes. "What's the good news, Parker?"

"Me and my colleagues will go on a corporate retreat for at least a week!"

You raised an eyebrow, writing a confused expression on your face. "How is this good news?"

"I'll be gone for a week, away from the city, away from my love problems and all that. I think it'll be good for me." Then, a smile started to form on his lips. "There, I'll leave all my worries behind."

"Parker, it's just a one-week corporate retreat, not a sabbatical." You grimaced, unimpressed with the whole thing. "You're not gonna get over this thing in just seven days."

"You don't know that." He scoffed. "I'll be a new man once I get back. You'll see."

"Sure." You replied, a hint of sarcasm laced in your tone.

"Oh, one more thing!"

"What, another corporate retreat?" You snickered, amused with all the clever remarks you were throwing at him. Peter, on the other hand, wasn't.

"No!" He gave you a look. "Bucky will look after you while I'm gone!"

Shock crossed your face. "Bucky?"

"Yes, me."

And on cue, a figure emerged behind Peter.

You were so bewildered with Peter's troubles that you hadn't noticed Bucky creeping up towards the counter. He was wearing what seemed like a navy blue tailored Hugo Boss suit, paired with a nice, sleek tie. His whole fit, illuminated by the iridescent lights made his blue eyes pop even more. Like last time, he opened up a button on his waist, tossed the end flaps in the air and sat down beside Peter on a high stool.

Watching him, you could feel the air around you tighten, paired with a clump of saliva caught in your throat. He placed his elbow on top of the counter and tucked his chin on his palm.

"B-bucky," you finally breathed, silently choking up on your own saliva, "hey, it's been quite some time."

"Hello, doll." The vowels on his words seemed to drop, accompanied by that rhythmic sound he usually does when he speaks. Oh god, one day with Bucky and I've already picked up on that, you thought. "Missed me?"

You felt some blood quickly rushing to your cheeks but you played it cool. "Don't flatter yourself, James." You pretended to get quite busy, wiping some clean glass off the counter then faced Peter. "So, what's this thing about Bucky looking after me?"

"Well, I'll be gone. You'll be alone. Bucky will look after you." Peter tried to "expound." "What's not adding up, y/n?"

You rolled your eyes at the two and scoffed, placing the glass on the counter. "No, thanks. It's just one week. I can take care of myself."

It was true. You once spent a two-week vacation all by yourself to California after high school and you came home in New Jersey without a scratch -- like a brand-new car. You walked around the place as if it was your turf, and blended in with the locals while basked in the glorious heat of the California sun.

"Bucky insisted." Peter chimed in defensively.

"Oh. Bucky insisted." You said, your gaze averting to Bucky's eyes. "Again, I appreciate the offer but I can handle myself. I'm not a baby."

Bucky, clearly amused with the whole situation, leaned back with careful eyes fixed on yours. "Come on, y/n, don't you want some company?"

"Aren't you busy with your company?" You retorted.

"Yes, I have been but not anymore." He replied. "Unless something comes up. A week without Peter must be somewhat lonely. Come on," he insisted once again, "it's also for me. It'll give me something to do for a week."

"Wait, what?"

"You guys could get to know each other better and get along!" Peter blurted. "And without me around, Bucky won't have someone to hangout with. Please, y/n? I'd feel so much better."

"Hang out? What are you guys, like sixteen?"

Your mind was still set on Bucky's last choice of words but you saved it for later.

"Pleaaaaseee?"

You sighed, knowing you could never refuse your best friend's pleas. "Fine."

"Great!"

"Just for the record," you said, holding up a finger, "I'm just agreeing because of Peter, not because I can't take care of myself."

Peter rolled his eyes while pulling out his phone from his pocket. "Yeah, yeah, you're an independent woman. Okay, I gotta take this call. I'll be right back."

And all then there were two: you and Bucky. While making two grasshoppers for a couple of girls who just entered, you could feel Bucky's intense stare towards you. Your mind, clouded with thoughts, wished it could tap into his and take a sly look at what was going on inside.

You locked eyes as soon as you handed the girls their drinks. Bucky wearing such a neat, tailored suit made you forget about all his child-like ways in Peter's countless stories. All you saw was a man favored by all the gods and at the same time sent by the devil to test you in so many ways imaginable. You wondered if he felt the same. Of course, you weren't like him or any other people carved perfectly by the gods, but his vehement stare said otherwise.

"Are you gonna order a drink?" You asked, breaking the silence, and also your train of thoughts.

"No." He replied. "I'm good."

"Okay."

Peter, where the hell are you?

"Hey, y/n?"

"Yes?"

"You look beautiful tonight."

A plain black tank top, paired with some old jeans, minimal makeup and this man just told you that you looked beautiful. "Well not just tonight. You've always been beautiful. I just hope you know that."

"Okay what has gotten into you? You're being... weird."

He shrugged. "I'm just stating facts."

You hummed, a look of confusion spread across your face. "Thank you, I guess. Y-you look good yourself. Very different from when I first met you." You chuckled.

"Well, I was naked the first time we met so yeah."

Peter got back from his phone call and for the whole night, you spent your time working your shift while Bucky and Peter moved on to play some billiards and darts as well. Nat kept shifting her eyes between you and Bucky and you just shrugged her off, flipping your middle finger on her in which she reciprocated.

The next day, Peter was all set for his corporate retreat, surprised he didn't need any help from me at all. You helped him with some of his bags towards the sidewalk ("Jesus, Parker, are you going out of the country?"). While you waited for his Uber to arrive.

"You better take care of yourself, Parker." You said, standing beside him on the side of the street. "I'm gonna miss you."

"Really? I'm gonna miss you too."

"Well, yeah, of course. You're like a little brother to me." You smiled, ruffling his brown locks even though he was taller than you.

He looked down on the pavement with a tight-lipped smile. "Right, right."

Smiling, you grabbed his hand and leaned your head on his surprisingly broad shoulders. "Come on, cheer up. You needed this, right?"

"Yes, I definitely do." He whispered. "More than you know."

A few seconds later, the Uber arrived. Before climbing in the black vehicle, you were pulled into Peter's embrace with a soft, fluttery kiss landing on your forehead. Taken aback, you just smiled at him and watched the car get tinier and tinier as it drove further.

You got back in the apartment and five minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Behind it was a smiling Bucky wearing some casual clothes. "Good morning, doll. Missed me?"

You rolled your eyes letting him inside the apartment. Closing the door behind me, you replied: "You've already used that line last night. Pick another one."

"Aw, you haven't heard the rest of it."

You went to the kitchen, grabbed some water from the fridge, and took a drink. "Which is?"

"Miss me, miss me, now you gotta kiss me."

With unsteady hands, you choked on your water and felt the liquid on your skin as soon as those words left Bucky's mouth. Great now I spilled the drink on my chest.

You turned around only to be faced by Bucky. "Now I gotta what?"

His laughter echoed in the kitchen as he backed away from you. "I'm just messing with you. So, what's for breakfast?"

He left you there standing flabbergasted, with some water dripping down your top and shorts, down to the floor. You bore your eyes into the back of his head as he turned on the television.

Bucky tilted his head towards you, eyed you up and down and finished it with a swipe of his tongue on his lower lip.

Oh, this was going to be a long week.

A long, agonizing week.

[astraeal]

Commission for @aciddial! I had a lot of fun writing this; hope you enjoy! Read on AO3 here. 

Stardew Valley, and all characters therein, belongs to concernedape.

Leah’s washing her freshly picked blackberries when the birdsong falls silent. Her days are measured by the ebbing and flowing of flora, fauna, and the babbles of the river, and though it’s growing darker, the birds should still be singing. She flicks the water off her hands, drying them against her shirt as she goes to the window.

The sky is darker than it should be for an autumn evening, but rain is common as the seasons begin to change in the valley; less than the thunderstorms of summer, but still something worth celebrating. Perhaps the rain will push out a couple more mushrooms and berries before winter’s chill sets in; that, Leah can get behind.

Rough sketches, surplus canvases and paints, inventory sheets of supplies, and scattered, dulled tools, resting between miniature scale replicas of future projects cover her only table. She’d rather sit and eat than have to wade back into her workspace. Then again, her cabin is so small, the whole structure could be considered her workspace. She likes to think that she keeps her bed free from her work, but even then she makes exceptions to sketch her dreams from time to time, so.

Perhaps not.

She finishes cleaning the berries, setting some aside in the jars the Farmer had kindly given to her, the rest sprinkling on her evening salad. She perches on her stool, the plate held aloft in her hand as she begins her dinner. As she chews over the fall fresh berries, her mind wanders through the pathway of small cabins and creatives who live inside them, and naturally, she begins to think about Elliott.

He insists that he’s fine down in his little beachside shack, but that doesn’t stop her from offering for him to stay with her every autumn and winter. There are some comforts the forest offers that the beach does not, just as there are comforts her cabin offers that Elliott does not. He treats his piano with better care than he treats himself, despite Leah’s best efforts to improve her friend’s state of living.

Sure, Willy doesn’t mind allowing Elliott’s use the bait & tackle shop’s outhouse, and his electricity bill is nonexistent because there’s simply no lights in the shack. But when Leah points out that maybe those things aren’t exactly good, Elliott refuses to see reason. It’s a point of independence and pride, she knows; they both were running away from naysayers when they each came to Pelican Town.

She still feels that relief whenever she sees him walk into the saloon, that balm of finding another artistic spirit in a place of salt-of-the-earth folk. Of course, there are dreamers elsewhere, but aside from Sebastian and Abigail’s infrequent character art commissions, Elliott is the only person with whom she can talk about her craft.

And right now, she’s in her cozy woodland cabin, eating a foraged salad by the fire, and he’s probably freezing his ass off in his drafty shack. She’s talked with Harvey; she knows Elliott goes to the clinic more often than not in the colder months, and beer doesn’t keep a cold away like mead, according to Willy.

She presses a blackberry to the roof of her mouth with her tongue, feeling it slowly crack apart and turn to sweet, seedy mush. Tomorrow, she resolves; tomorrow she’ll talk to him and make him seriously consider moving in for this winter. Even the community center is well under way; perhaps he could temporarily move in there, and take advantage of a proper fireplace instead of a firepit.

Leah clears her plate to the sink, already planning where she could unroll her extra cot if need be. If she did the work ahead of time, maybe Elliott would take advantage of what she was offering. Maybe, just maybe, she could make him dinner, bring him up to the cottage and have him coincidentally stay while the storm rages on.

Yeah; that’ll be what she does.

♢♢♢

She wakes up to a loud cracking sound outside her cabin, and the sound of something large crashing to the ground. Then, the white noise rushing in her ears registers as rain, the ominous rumble of thunder coming from somewhere to the north. Her cabin is dark, save for the firelight, but even that has dwindled down.

Leah swings herself out of bed, first tending to the fire to coax it back up to full brightness, feeding more logs into the heat. As the cabin glows warmer and brighter, she turns to look around. Nothing seems out of place inside, so she goes to the window, pressing her nose to the glass and looking into the darkness.

Two pine trees closer to the river bank have been struck by lightning, split down the middle, still slightly steaming in the rain. She knows she’s lucky they hadn’t caught fire; the forest could have gone up in flames and she could have been stuck in her very flammable, very toxic-if-lit-ablaze cabin full of art supplies and paint. Still, those weren’t small trees, and while she mourns the loss of two of the older companions she’d had since moving to Pelican Town, she also recognizes the severity of the storm. To be able to strike down such trees, old and strong as they were, required no shortage of lightning and chance.

Again, her thoughts drift to Elliott, in his own drafty, cold cabin, surrounded by much flimsier palm trees. If one of them was struck, the tree could easily fall onto his cabin – or worse, fall onto Elliott himself.

She grabs her galoshes and stuffs her braid into a knit hat, dressing quickly. She doesn’t know what time it is, but if the storm woke her up, then it must’ve woken Elliott. He’s a light sleeper, always has been, and she mentally kicks herself for not heading to the Saloon the night prior, not being able to check in with him.

Before she leaves, she pulls out two thick knit sweaters and sweatpants, as warm and neutral as she can. Much of her and Elliott’s personal taste in fashion overlaps, a fact she’s grateful for, but he can be particular regarding loungewear. Better to be safe than sorry.

Armed with a flashlight and a long waterproof jacket, Leah heads out into the storm. Marnie’s cows are all boarded up in the barn, and the path to town is clear of any debris, though Leah’s footsteps squelch deep into the mud. She moves quickly, running parallel to Willow Lane, skirting between the fence line of the sewer entrance and the trees. The river swells with rain water, and she slips a couple times but never completely falls.

The street lamps at the entrance to the beach have halos around them, the light smeared across the buckets of rain pouring down. She jogs into the soaked sand, and from there on every step becomes twice as difficult. She’s has to be particular with how she moves, taking it one step at a time, fighting towards the door of Elliott’s cabin.

His windows are dark, and she feels horrible for letting him continually choose this version of his independence. The stone pathway does little to give her reprieve from the muddy sand, but it gives her just enough to get to the doorway and knock. A loud crack of thunder sounds from over the ocean, the sky briefly bathing her in white light.

She knocks loudly, even as she opens the door, announcing herself. “Elliott! It’s Leah!”

She shines the flashlight around the cabin. Her cubist artwork still hangs on the wall above the piano. But the table that usually resides in the corner has been pulled into the center of the cabin, with a bucket in the corner catching a rather impressive stream of water. The bed itself has been pulled away from the wall, towards the front of the cabin, and huddled in that bed is where Elliott sits, a book held to his chest.

“Leah darling! What are you doing here?”

Leah closes the door, leaning against it. The movement drags the spotlight of the flashlight across the floor, and it’s then that she sees water bubbling up between the panels. “Elliott, your house is filling with water.” Her voice is somehow calm, despite the freezing rain she had to run through to get here, and the predicament her friend keeps putting himself in. “Your house is filling with water and you’re not even at the Saloon?”

“It’s 2am, I left there hours ago.” He at least manages to look a little ashamed. “I didn’t think the storm was going to be as bad as it was.”

“The Farmer told us the weather was going to be getting worse.”

“The Farmer lives between the forest and the mountains, it’s a completely different biome than here on the coast.” Elliott presents his words with a flick of his hand, yet the ambivalence is undermined by the congestion in his nose and the slight tremble in his fingers.

“Oh, did Demetrius tell you that?” Leah rhetorically asks as she walks over, bringing Elliott’s boots from where they had been discarded by the front door. “Come on; you’re spending the night at my place.”

Elliott blinks in surprise. “Leah, that’s…you really don’t have to do that. I’m quite fine here on my own. And I can’t leave without my manuscript.”

“El,” Leah murmurs, holding the boots out to him. She aims the flashlight at the ceiling, the light cascading down around the both of them, giving them enough to see in the pale white light. “You have the story in your mind. You can bring it with you, if you really need to, but I’m not leaving you here, alone, with–”

Her words are covered by the loud crack of thunder. Pointedly, she gestures around the leaky cabin.

She sees a bit of that classic Elliott pride in his eyes, the squaring of his shoulders. He’s older than her, yet she consistently takes on the leading role, the more grounded approach, because she can’t fully lose herself in make believe worlds. Her work is in reality, and the reality of this situation is that she can’t walk away and leave him here alone.

But the next rumble of thunder in the distance lets them both know that this storm isn’t going to pass overnight; it will likely be here until tomorrow, leaving them in much the same predicament. Leah gives him another withering look, and two minutes later the duo make their way back to the forest.

As they pass over the bridge, Leah can hear the water sucking at the lower side of the stone structure. She watches as it spills over, and can hear the soft wheeze with each of Elliott’s breaths as they walk back to the forest. It’s slight for now, but she can only imagine it’ll get worse with time. Harvey will have something to say about it, that’s for sure.

Together, the two arrive, rain soaked and nearly blinded by the darkness, to Leah’s cabin. She pushes the door open, ushering Elliott inside first, then following herself. “Take whatever you want from the bed,” she says, tiredly gesturing to the bed, flinging some water off her hand in the process.

The two kick their boots off and lay their jackets on the coat rack. Leah watches as Elliott carefully spreads the manuscript pages – only slightly crumpled – onto the darkened WIP table. She peels off her wet jeans and socks, casting them in front of the fire to dry out little by little, picking her way to the bed. She takes her hair out of its soaked braid, her hat also needing to dry.

“If you’re hungry, I can whip us up some tea with elderberry syrup,” she offers, brushing her hair out.

Elliott comes over, clumsily putting his hair up into a bun and taking the softer, baggier pair of joggers from the bed. “Thanks,” he murmurs, his voice a little hoarse.

Leah politely looks away when Elliott takes his shirt off, but she is relieved to see a bare back, meaning his binder isn’t on. He tends to keep it on far past the guidelines for expected use, but that’s an argument she’s too tired to have right now. When they’re both dressed in warmer, dry clothes, she pulls back the sheets on her bed and gestures for Elliott to get in.

“What? I can’t possibly put you out of your own bed.”

She points more emphatically at the sheets. “I have a cot I can use, but you need a warm bed. In.”

He throws a pout at her, but which she returns by sticking her tongue out. She feels better – better that he’s good enough to be teasing her, and better that he’s getting in the bed and following her directions with minimal complaining. She goes to the small array of kitchen appliances she has tucked against the wall, and begins to prepare some elderberry syrup tea. Something to warm them both, and she notes the soft sniffles Elliott keeps giving off.

“Do you want something to eat?” she softly asks, the sound of the rain cocooning them in relative safety. Thunder booms every so often, but it’s not as close now, perhaps moving more towards the mountains, or simply a break in the storm.

There’s no response.

She turns to look, and sees him curled up on his side, the blankets pulled so only his eyes are visible, watching her. She furrows her brows a little, though she smiles in response, and softly prompts, “El?”

He hums a little, and she can tell he’s smiling from below the blankets. “Uh huh?”

“I asked if you wanted something to eat. I have some tom kha soup, if you want. With crab.” She watches as his brows furrow a little – now he’s confused.

“I thought you didn’t eat meat.” Leah’s vegetarian, but that doesn’t mean she can’t stock her friend’s favorites.

She simply shrugs. “Yeah, but you do.” At his resulting silence, she blushes a little more, turning back to stir the heating syrup. “What?”

Elliott remains silent, but she hears the soft rustle of sheets. “That’s really very kind of you, Leah. Thank you.”

She feels her cheeks flame a little, then reaches down into the basket of jars. She pulls out the jar of soup and a pot, clicking the flame on the stove and pouring the soup inside to heat up. “Y-yeah, anytime.”

It’s now that she remembers exactly why it would be so difficult for her to have Elliott permanently in her space. If not for their quite different versions of productivity and rhythms of living, there’s also the unmitigated crush that had blossomed over the course of their friendship. She knows he’s aware of her rocky foundations with romance, especially as it intersects with her art career – she’s told Elliott the story of Kel more than once, sometimes after one too many beers at the Saloon. But Elliott was never anything but supportive, and he always made sure to respect her boundaries when it came to romance.

She knows that he’s currently working on some romance novel, though, and that part of that had to do with the Farmer’s influence. Then again, she’s currently working on pieces for the town art show, also at the Farmer’s influence. Maybe they’re all a little starstruck with the newcomer, or maybe the Farmer just makes for good inspiration. Muses come in all shapes and sizes, and the Farmer’s never been anything but helpful.

They’re the reason Leah has leftover tom kha soup in the first place.

She has a spoon in each hand, stirring the pots in circles, before the syrup reveals itself as ready. Her electric kettle has the water primed and ready, and she drizzles the syrup at the bottom of the cups before tossing in some mint tea and pouring the water over it. The rest, she’ll cool to keep on hand as actual syrup, but the freshly made syrup – or sauce, as it really is in this form – is good to go now.

Taking the cups over to the bed, she hands one to the newly resurfaced Elliott. He looks much softer and safer here, tucked in her bed, the sweater a little tight on his arms but still comfortable nonetheless. He takes the cup with gentle, ink stained fingers, green eyes watching her with something she can’t quite name.

“Drink that and tell me how you feel in the morning,” she says, feeling her words slip quietly out of her mouth.

He nods, and she sees his soft freckles across the bridge of his nose, usually long dormant as the shorter days come about in the colder months of the year. “I have some inkling.” The words seem to puzzle him, and Leah tilts her head a little as he hurriedly takes a sip.

What could that mean?

“Let me get the soup. I’ll be the one eating it, it’s the least I can do.” There’s a darkened splotch on his upper lip, leftover from some elderberry syrup. She wants to reach up and wipe the syrup away, but she instead takes a sip of her own tea, nodding in gratefulness. Her legs ache from the struggle through mud and sand, and she hasn’t sat down since they arrived back home.

Isn’t that a thought? To call this a home in regards to them both.

She sits on the bed next to him, watching the fire dance in the brick enclosure. “You could move in here full time,” she offers, her mouth working without full permission from her brain. “Thoreau ran off to the woods for two years, two months, and two days. Think of the beach cabin as a summer home.”

“Thoreau wasn’t writing what I want to write. But I appreciate the comparison.” He laughs a little into his cup, fidgeting with his earring with one hand.

“Just, please think about it. I mean, what is the cabin going to look like when this storm ends? And winter’s coming, all of that’s going to freeze over, and you’re far enough from Harvey’s that going to an appointment is a whole ordeal, and…Look, Elliott, I just don’t feel comfortable letting you stay there.”

Elliott sighs. “…I’ll stay for the next couple days. At least until I can get the water out of my house.”

“And fix it so that the water stops coming into your house. I mean, do you know how unsafe that is?” Leah is aware that she’s perhaps ranting a little, but she feels it’s deserved.

“Yes, darling, I know. It’s all I can afford though, since no one in this town is moving out anytime soon.” He hops out of the bed, going over to address the soup. Wordlessly, she follows, handing him the only bowl she has in her possession. Enough living materials for one, not two, but she would be willing to make the choices to purchase more for him. She’d be willing to make that space in her life and fill it with Elliott, if only he would let her.

Once his soup is poured, she joins him back on the bed, sitting cross legged and clutching her tea. “You pay nothing to live there; I’m sure there’s gotta be room somewhere. Maybe there’s some apartments above Pierre’s? You know he’d love another way to make a quick buck.”

Elliott laughs, sipping the soup directly from the bowl. “Maybe, darling.” He sounds a little cleared up, and Leah hopes that trend continues. Nothing against Elliott, but she knows he can be a bit of a baby when he’s sick. Not that she finds it endearing or anything, or appointed herself Pelican Town’s resident Sick-Elliott-Caretaker despite knowing this. Nothing like that.

“I just, you know. If you don’t want to come here. I know that my sculpting can be kind of loud, and I know you need quiet to work, and there’s not a whole lot of places in town.” She tugs a little at the sweater by her wrist, suddenly shy.

“I…wouldn’t mind living with you, Leah. I’m sure we could come up with an arrangement to suit both of our styles of work.”  He’s also blushing, but Leah attributes that to the heat in the cabin. Surely, that just means the warm soup is working its magic.

She nods, and the conversation quietly dies. Rain continues to pummel the roof and siding of the house, but thankfully no more trees fall. They finish their tea, and Elliott finishes his soup, and they’re faced with the exhausting prospect of pulling out a cot and making it with pillows.

“Or you could just sleep in here,” Elliott offers, patting the sheets next to him. “I would sleep better knowing I’ve not displaced you for longer than this storm required.”

Leah rubs her eye, looking at the warm inviting sheets – and man within them – and the empty space where she knows her cot could go. “Would…you be comfortable with that?”

Elliott nods. “I trust you.”

That alone makes Leah’s heart race a double time, and she heads over to the bed. She slips between the sheets, nose to nose with her closest friend, feeling safe in the rain. Just in case he catches anything, she knows she shouldn’t be so close to him. But it’s comfortable, and the moment he slings an arm over her waist she’s out like a light, exhaustion finally catching up with her.

♢♢♢

She wakes with Elliott’s arm still around her, her back pressed to his front, and the rain continuing down. It’s less now than it was in the middle of the night, and she hopes that means the damage to the town is going to be less than the forest. Still, she can hear the rushing of the river, still overly full of rain water, and she knows it’s going to be a while before she feels safe taking her sketching supplies to the pier to draw lake life.

Leah yawns, stretching out a little, feeling her muscles yelling at her for having the audacity to go for a midnight sprint through the rain. Elliott tugs her closer, and she remembers that he hasn’t actually left the bed, nor her house, nor her person. She freezes, eyes wide, staring across her cabin at the whorls in the wood.

Elliott is still asleep, breaths deep and even. She knows that there’s a possibility that he wakes up, shy and embarrassed, about them being so pressed together. Even still, there’s only one bed, and it’s a small bed at that, so maybe they can both be forgiven this moment of weakness. She closes her eyes, resting again in this warm embrace.

She’s unsure of how long passes before she wakes up again, this time because Elliott himself is waking up. He rolls away from her, his shoulder hitting the wall if the dull thud is anything to go by, resulting in a sleepy grumble.

Staying still, Leah waits to see how Elliott responds to their morning position. True to the romantic man he is, he reaches over and resumes holding her closer to him. She feels him sigh, his breath moving over her hair, followed by a soft, “Good morning, darling.”

“Good morning,” she replies, wondering how he knew she was awake. His resulting startle tells her that he did not, in fact, know she was awake. Which meant he wasn’t saying that for her benefit at all.

Interesting.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks, still holding her close to him.

“Good; how about you?”

“Oh, wonderful, thanks. Haven’t been this warm since before the Moonlight Jellies arrived.” She can feel his smile through the words, and it makes her laugh a little bit to herself.

“Well, stick around here and you’ll be as toasty as you like.”

There’s a moment of quiet, and then a soft response. “I’d like that.”

Leah blushes, biting her lower lip. “I can get us some breakfast, if you’d like. It’s not too late, I don’t think.”

“That would be nice.” Elliott turns with a stretch, back cracking a little. “I suppose I should see what the damage is at home.”

The dip in his tone makes Leah feel guilty. Of course her first priority was to get Elliott to a safe place, but after that, what of what he had to leave behind? He claimed to do well in his self-imposed minimalist lifestyle, but to Leah, that meant what little he had was very important. It was something he couldn’t deal without, if he’s to be believed.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “Why don’t we –”

A sneeze interrupts her, and she starts, hopping out of bed. The movement makes her muscles protest, and she winces a little, rubbing a hand down her thighs. “We’ll go to Harvey’s first. Then breakfast, and then…the beach? It’s still raining, so it might not be…done.”

It referring to the slow damage done to the beachside shack. She doesn’t want to be impolite, but she doesn’t want to sugarcoat how bad it could be. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get the image of water bubbling up between the floorboards out of her head.

“Sure,” Elliott says, his breathing a little raspier than before. He clears his throat, brows furrowed, the magic of the morning seeming to fade away. “Yeah, let’s see what he has to say.”

Harvey, of course, was happy to see them both, then contrite at his happiness as if they’d accuse him of being pleased with their misfortune. Luckily, Elliott didn’t seem to have anything serious, besides a growing cold. He sent them home with some medicine, tucked away in a little waxy paper bag folded over, and prescription for rest and hydration. Nothing to do but wait it out, he’d said, and Leah had bitten the inside of her cheek.

Of course.

“Well that sucks,” Elliott mutters as they leave the clinic. The Saloon isn’t open yet, and Leah doesn’t feel great bringing Elliott to a bar first thing in the morning.

“Yeah. Sorry about the sickness, but it could have been worse if you’d stayed.”

Elliott shakes his head. “Not that, darling. That I could have gotten you sick is the real drawback here. I do my best work when left to my own devices, but I know how you like to travel around Pelican Town, gaining inspiration from whatever you can find. I’d hate to be in the way of that.”

Leah frowns a little, biting her lower lip. “Well…thank you.” It’s still strange to have someone care for her when she’s so used to doing the caring for others. It’s not that Elliott is immature, far from; it’s just that he has grand, romantic notions that often leave him far from reality, and that means he acts a little less like one would expect. Then again, only Harvey and Shane seem to be in Elliott’s same age bracket, and each of them is so different from the other, Leah doesn’t know how they begin to compare.

“Here, why don’t we do this? You head home, and I’ll restock on some groceries and healthy stuff. When you’re feeling better, we’ll handle the, uh, Beach Situation.” She gives him a warm, crooked smile, and she’s not imagining the way his face flushes a little, independent of the low grade fever he’s running.

“That could take days, though. Leah, I don’t want to –”

“Please.” She puts her hand on his forearm, ignoring the little look Jodi gives her as she and Sam walk towards Joja Mart. “For me? You’re not going anywhere else for the time being, I won’t let you.”

Elliott raises an eyebrow. “Oh, you won’t let me?”

“Yeah, I won’t let you.” The challenge comes with a bit of familiar sass, and she raises a brow in turn. “There’s nowhere else to go, El, please.”

He sighs. “Fine, fine. You win.” And then a warm smile. “I’ll be waiting.”

♢♢♢

Elliott remains with Leah for four days. It takes two before he starts personally feeling better, but it takes another day before the beach is dry enough for either of them to consider going through the sand. Elliott’s important belongings are salvageable, though bigger pieces like the bed and tables need severe rebuilding to make them serviceable again. The mold and rot creeping up the piano’s legs, however, nearly drives Elliott to tears.

Leah comforts him, passing along contact information she had from when she still lived with Kel in the city and had debated a career in music. It would take a couple months, but the piano could be good as new in no time.

On the fourth day, Elliott and Leah sit in the cozy woodland cabin, each quietly working. Elliott had crafted a space for himself at the table, back to the open windows, writing whatever additional scenes had come together in his feverish state. Leah stations herself at the easel, broad strokes bringing to life a vivid autumnal woodland scene. These quiet moments shared together have the opportunity to become something more profound.

Leah finishes putting the touch on the sunlight coming through the young buck’s antlers before she finally pulls back. “El? Do you wanna go to the fair?” she asks, stretching back and feeling her body thank her after so long of remaining in one position.

Elliott grunts in response, and she looks over her shoulder, seeing him clearly still in the midst of working. She sets her brush down on the paper towel, getting up and going over to him. “Elliott.”

“Huh?” He looks up, brows furrowed, flyaways swaying with the movement of his head. “What’s wrong, darling?”

“The fair. It’s starting soon. Do you want to go?” She comes up beside him, one hand in her pocket of her paint splattered jeans, the other on the table.

“Oh. I’d like that, sure.” He gives her a warm smile, hastily grouping the pages back together. “Sorry about not hearing you. I had a new idea for a story.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes; it takes place in an enchanted forest, where the weather is broken. Snow comes up from the ground, lakes and rivers collect at the bottom of tree branches – very Dalí meets Escher. But there’s one woman who moves forward through time, while the rest of the world moves backwards, and she meets a man who moves only through space but not through time. So everything happens at the same time for him, though he can go to different places to experience other perspectives. And they have to work together to put the forest back to rights, but they each have to rely on the other because while she can see the future, he can see the immediate changes and ripple effects, and they have to communicate that with the other while being completely unable to see what the other can. It’s an exercise in communication, trust, and romance.”

This is the farthest from her understanding as an artist, though she does understand the artistic references. “Wow. That sounds…interesting.”

He gives her a look as he laces his boots up. “…Yeah.” The look on his face is somewhat confused. Or maybe something else.

“What?”

He blushes. “Nothing. Let’s go?”

“No, hey, wait.” She steps between him and the door, looking up at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that it’s a bad premise or anything. I think it’s really cool, it’s just…what are you calling it so far?”

“Sunken Shores,” he murmurs, and she has a small realization, that’s more of an altering of her perspective. Something that was always just slightly to the left, just slightly out of reach, now slotting into the proper place.

“…Really?” That’s not what she means to say, and she watches how his expression shutters. “I mean – Elliott, is that inspired by, uh…”

The pain in his expression shifts a little. “You really didn’t know?”

“I…” There’s no way that she’s going to be able to duck out of this conversation. “I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Get your hopes up,” he repeats in a whisper, as if completely unsure that she actually means that. “Why…you..oh.”

She blushes. “Yeah, oh.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was going to! But then you were here, and then you were sick, and I didn’t want to make things weird while you were houseless. And you really seemed to like living here, and I didn’t want to say something and make you uncomfortable. You’re my best friend, El. I didn’t want to ruin that.” She starts out defiant, voice raised a little in a panic, but it falls to a whisper by the end of it.

“Oh.” He rolls his lips, green eyes looking askance, before searching her face. “I mean, I’ve liked you for quite a while. I knew how things ended with Kel, though, and I didn’t want to press where you were, you know…still healing.”

She winces a little at the mention of her ex. “Yeah…she did a number on me, huh?” A beat, and then, “I’m better. Than I was. And I appreciate that, and…I…do you, um, want to…?”

Elliott blinks for a moment. “Do I want to what?”

Leah’s face flushes, her entire body heating. “Do you want to go out? Maybe?”

He tilts his head, giving her a warm smile. “What do you think going to the fair is?”

“Oh!” The noise is involuntary, a mere vocalization of a series of exclamation points. She’s flustered, and it only gets worse when Elliott takes another step, further into her personal space. He puts his fingertips beneath her chin, delicately tipping her chin upwards so they can lock eyes.

“A gentleman has no reason to withhold his love from the public,” he murmurs, “yet he should also never kiss and tell. So I find myself at odds, with how to proceed.’

This can’t be happening to her. The most romantic man in Pelican Town can’t be asking her in his roundabout way if she wants to kiss. She nods, barely adding pressure to the fingertips at her jaw, not breaking away from his gaze. “I wouldn’t mind,” she whispers.

Despite his obvious charm, Leah knows he’s never really been with anyone for a long period of time. Part of that was due to his discomfort with his perception before coming out, even to himself; once that veil had been lifted, and Elliott established a new relationship with himself, his confidence grew, and with it, his attractiveness. But he’s still new to all of this, and Leah wants to gently push him along, but all of those thoughts of remaining careful melt away the moment his lips touch hers.

She feels herself wrap her arms over his shoulders, pulling him closer to her, going up on her tiptoes and humming into the kiss. It feels electric, like the storm that had forced the two of them together, yet by some miracle they’re able to keep it semi-chaste. When they part, their gazes remain on the other’s mouth, as if waiting for permission for a second kiss. It comes easily, Leah softly pressed against the wood of the doorway, Elliott now cradling her face between his large, writer’s hands, softly tasting the morning coffee from each other’s mouths.

When Elliott pulls back for the second time, Leah realizes they’re both panting. “Maybe…that was overdue,” she says softly, and Elliott laughs.

“One could say that.” He tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear, and gives her a fond look that is familiar – one he gave her from between her sheets on the night of the storm. “Come. Let’s go get some of Gus’ specialty barbecue. And, perhaps, some of Farmer’s wine for the lady.”

Leah hugs him, pressing her face to his chest. They have so much more to talk about – the logistics of Elliott’s winter move, affording the piano repair, how Elliott will work in the cabin when Leah does her winter sculpting, when they should make the relationship public, among other things – but for right now she’s content to be here, in her cabin, much less lonely than either of them had been before.

“Sure. Let’s hit up the fair.” And so they do.

[ominousunflower]

(toi)let me in

Written for the APS server’s first birthday! Thank y’all for creating such an amazing and fun space. 

Summary: One lesson Adrien Agreste should have learned by now: Never ask what are the odds when you have the luck of a black cat.

Rating: G Word count: 1767

Read on AO3

__________________________________________

Adrien Agreste is wide awake.

He’s been lying in Marinette’s loft bed for ten minutes now, one arm slung over Marinette and his chin tucked against her shoulder, sure that if he just waits, he’ll fall back asleep.

This isn’t the first time that he’s sneaked into her room as Chat Noir and slept beside her. In fact, ever since they found out each other’s identities two weeks ago and started dating, it’s fairly commonplace.

It is, however, the first time he’s woken up desperately having to go to the bathroom.

He doesn’t want to disturb her, and what’s more, he doesn’t really want to risk going downstairs. What if someone sees him? The chances are slim, but then, Adrien’s never had the best luck.

Adrien groans and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to ignore the ache in his bladder. It’s no use, though: despite the grogginess in his head, he can’t fall back asleep, and there’s no way he’s going to last until morning.

With a sigh, he eases the covers back and crawls out from under them. As he does, Marinette mumbles and rolls over to face him, her fingers tugging at his shirt sleeve.

“Where’re you going?” she asks, words slurred by sleep.

“Bathroom,” Adrien whispers. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be right back.”

He smooths back her bangs and kisses her forehead, then crawls to the foot of the bed and descends the ladder. Walking lightly so that the floor doesn’t creak, he crosses to the trapdoor and opens it ever-so-slightly.

Holding his breath, Adrien listens for the sound of voices or footsteps below.

Silence greets him. Satisfied, Adrien eases the door open and lowers his body through it.

He can get there and back in less than a minute. The chances that either one of Marinette’s parents will also decide to go to the bathroom in the forty-five seconds it takes Adrien to pee—well, the chances are so low, in fact, that they might as well be nonexistent.

And so, moving as silently as his superhero namesake, Adrien creeps downstairs toward the Dupain-Cheng bathroom.

*** *** *** *** *** ***

Tom Dupain awakes with a need.

He had a feeling he shouldn’t have chugged that bottle of water before bed, but what’s done is done; now he is awake in the middle of the night and forced to deal with the consequences.

With a heavy sigh, he rolls out of bed and drags himself to the bedroom door. Sabine’s quiet snores fill the room, assuring him that at least he hasn’t woken her up.

He opens the door and steps outside, moving as quietly as his weight will allow—and that’s when he sees a figure standing outside the bathroom door, frozen with its hands raised in surrender.

The stranger is too tall to be Marinette, but too small to be an adult. Nonetheless, adrenaline courses through Tom’s veins, and he takes a threatening step forward. “Who are you?” he asks. He reaches toward the wall and taps the light switch, bathing the room in dim amber light.

The stranger doesn’t say anything, but Tom’s question is answered: because standing in front of him, hair sticking up, eyes wide, is his daughter’s classmate Adrien Agreste.

“Adrien Agreste?” Tom says.

Knowing the intruder’s identity does not make things any clearer. Why is a teen idol who lives several blocks away standing outside Tom Dupain’s bathroom at three in the morning? Is this a dream? And if so, why is Tom dreaming about his daughter’s crush breaking into their apartment in the middle of the night?

“I, um…” Adrien’s eyes flick toward the kitchen window, almost as if he’s considering that as an escape route. “Our toilet is broken.”

Tom stares at him, not sure he’s heard correctly. Maybe there’s too much wax in his ears again. “What did you say?”

“Our…toilet broke, so…I came here?”

As the parent of a fourteen year-old, Tom Dupain is well-acquainted with teenagers and their bizarre excuses. On a scale of one to ten, he ranks Adrien’s a three. While a broken toilet is not unheard of, there are too many holes in this story: how did Adrien get in, if their front door is locked and everyone is asleep? If Adrien lives in a mansion, shouldn’t his father be able to afford twenty-four-seven toilet fixing?

And the most unbelievable part of all, which is how Tom knows for a fact that Adrien is lying: there is no way the Agrestes only have one toilet in their house.

“How did your toilet break?” Tom asks, narrowing his eyes.

“Uh.” Adrien clears his throat. “Water…rabbits.”

“Water rabbits.”

“They’re not actually rabbits,” Adrien says. “They are bugs. That…eat metal. And toilets.”

Tom squints at him. Maybe this is a dream. Isn’t Adrien supposed to be at the top of his class? This excuse is so disappointing that Tom is tempted to call Adrien’s father, just to tell him that Adrien needs to work on his improvisation skills.

“Water not-rabbits ate your toilet, you say,” Tom says. “Do I look stupid to you, Adrien Agreste?”

“No!” Adrien says. “They just got in the pipes. And…” He grimaces. “Okay. I lied. I clogged the toilet.”

Ah. Tom was once a teenage boy who did not understand how to use toilet paper in moderation. He’ll give Adrien the benefit of the doubt, although two questions still remain. “And you only have one toilet in that big mansion of yours?”

“There’s something wrong with the tank in the downstairs one,” Adrien says, his voice steadier than before. “It overflows if you flush it, and we can’t get someone to look at it until tomorrow morning. There is another one in my father’s room, but I didn’t want to wake him up to tell him that I clogged the toilet. He’s gotten mad about smaller things.”

Tom’s stubborn parental streak rears its head, and he fights the urge to spontaneously adopt Adrien Agreste. He can’t do that, of course. After all, Marinette can’t date Adrien if Tom adopts him, and since Marichat doesn’t seem to be happening yet, he supposes Adrienette is the second-best option.

Of course, Tom knows Adrienette won’t last. Especially not if Adrien is the type of boy who breaks into people’s homes and attempts to surreptitiously uses their toilets.

Which brings Tom to his final question. “Why our toilet? And how did you get in?”

“Oh, um, well…” Adrien rubs the back of his neck. “I texted Marinette, and she was kind enough to let me in. And she didn’t see a need to wake you up, since she was sure you would say yes!” He smiles tightly, eyes wide. “Um. You would have said yes, right?”

“I would,” Tom says, leaning forward. Adrien cowers slightly, and it occurs to Tom that maybe his stature is a bit intimidating.

Good. Let all teenage boys (or girls) cower before him. Tom Dupain doesn’t need a shovel talk; his body will be the shovel talk.

“But where is she?” Tom asks. Adrien’s excuse is approaching an eight or nine on the scale, but some loose ends remain. “Why didn’t she wait down here with you? My daughter is responsible. She must have known this would look bad. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were…”

And then it hits Tom: it looks an awful lot like Marinette sneaked a boy into her room in the middle of the night.

OCCAM’S RAZOR, his mind booms.

Adrien flinches, and that’s all it takes for Tom’s Papa Senses to start tingling. “Adrien,” he says, his voice low. “Did my daughter—”

“No!” Adrien says. “No. Marinette would never do something like that. Neither would I! I—I’m not like that. I’ve never even seen Marinette’s room! Or, well, I have—but only once, when we practiced for that gaming tournament. Technically twice, since it was on TV that one time—”

“Where is she?” Tom repeats. He can practically feel his mustache trembling with suppressed fatherly rage.

“Oh! Right.” Adrien’s throat jumps as he swallows. “She just, uh, heard something skittering around upstairs, and thought it might be a mouse, so she went to—”

“There are mice in my bakery?” Tom bellows.

“No!” Adrien says. “Or, I mean, I don’t know. Maybe it was a squirrel!”

“That’s still a rodent!” Tom says. His concerns about Sabine’s sleep evaporate, and he turns to pound on their bedroom door. “Sabine! Wake up! There are rodents in our bakery!”

“Maybe there aren’t!” Adrien says. “It’s probably cockroaches—no, wait! Dust mites! I’m sure it’s just dust mites. I’m sure if you had enough of them they could make some noise—um, actually, could we continue this conversation after I’ve gone to the bathroom, please?”

And then a familiar figure appears at the bottom of the stairs, yawning as she tugs at one of her pigtails. “Adrien,” she says, “when are you coming back up? You’ve been gone for more…than…” She trails off, eyes widening as they focus on Tom.

Tom feels like his eyes are glowing red, and judging by the look on Adrien’s face, they very well might be. “You were upstairs, were you, Adrien? That’s strange. There’s not an entrance to our house upstairs.”

Adrien’s eyes dart to the bathroom door, then to Tom, then to Marinette—then, again, to the window for some reason. His hand creeps toward the bathroom door, fingers curled to clutch the knob.

“Don’t you dare,” Tom says.

Adrien pauses, hand lightly grasping the handle.

Tom glowers at him, a low growl building in his throat.

“Adrien,” Marinette squeaks. “Please don’t leave me to explain this by myse—”

“I’m sorry!” Adrien yelps. Fast as lightning, he wrenches the door open and ducks inside.

Tom lunges forward, hand grabbing the knob—but it’s too late. He hears the tell-tale click from the other side as Adrien locks himself in the bathroom, and the knob refuses to twist.

“You can’t hide in there forever!” Tom says.

“Tom,” Sabine’s voice says, from behind him. “What’s going on? Did I hear you say something about rodents?”

“Rodents?” Marinette echoes.

In a desperate display of strength, Tom twists harder at the knob, and harder—until it pops right off the door with a cracking noise.

“Oh my god,” Marinette says. “You sealed him in.”

“He did what?” Adrien’s voice cries.

“Enjoy our toilet, Adrien Agreste,” Tom says, with his most menacing voice. He raises the door knob like a sword. “Enjoy it, because this is the last time I let you near my toilet—or my daughter—ever again.”

[thewordreaper]

Be Prepard

(My 3rd story for @short-story-slam as usual this is an independent story that falls into my supervillain universe. You don’t need to read anything else to read this but reading the 1st story will this make this so much more funnier. Trust me. And if you’re intrigued by my story here’s another story from this universe.)

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Tanveer, the most successful thief in Hyderabad, ran along the balcony railing. Look carefully. Her usual disguise of shifting greys and blues had been discarded for a suit of green with a red mask from which red lines ran down to her shoulders.

A plan was in motion, carefully planned and currently being perfectly executed.

Just as she leapt onto the next building, her phone rang. A lesser person would have been thrown off balance. But she was prepared. She was prepared for everything.

Are you jealous yet? You should be.

Her phone would ring only if one among a select five people called. If anyone of them called at this time of night, there was an 85% chance of it being an emergency. It was exactly 85% which was very confusing. There had to be some slight errors in the calculations somewhere. Perfect percentages were a nightmare. Nevertheless' she left her volume on because there was no one else competent enough to deal with their problems.

You should be jealous by now, whether you want to be her or be friends with her. Either one is fine.

"Hello?" She said putting it up to her ear and cursing quietly when she realised she hadn't pressed the receive button.

"Hello?" She repeated after doing so.

"Tanveer! Thank god you picked up. You have experiences with boyfriends right?"

Tanveer stopped midstep, one leg still in the air, held her phone in front of her and just looked at it.

"Tanveer?" Said a weak voice from the phone.

"No." She said finally, putting the phone back to her ear. "I have never had a boyfriend. Never wanted a boyfriend. You're my best friend. You know this!"

There was a groan from the other end. "Well, who knows what you've been up to in Hyderabad? Probably going out every night."

She was technically right but Tanveer wasn't going to admit it. She didn't need Roshini to be mixed up in all this. Let her enjoy her normalcy.

"I've been working. If anyone is partying all night it would be you."

"That reminds me. I need to invite my boyfriend to Kai's party day after. Its some cool Dj thing. I did tell you I have a boyfriend right?"

"You may have mentioned it." Admitted Tanveer, stepping over a broken section of the railing.

Here's a fun tip, destroy you railings to prevent thieves from using them as a freeway.

"I thought you had given up on love."

"Meh. You know I love you right?"

"You don't. You don't. You would not be calling me at one o'clock in the night to gush about your boyfriend if you loved me."

Which is rude. If you can't gush about your boyfriend in the earliest hours of the morning when can you?

"I wasn't planning to stay up until one. I was texting him and it became flirty. Which is a first. One sec, I need to check if my mom is secretly listening."

Tanveer sighed as she took stock of her surroundings. Two houses to go.

If any of you, comfortably reclining on a sofa are thinking oh only two houses left. That's not much, let's see you run across two houses in the night while holding a phone to your ear. And it will be pitch black as well because that's the price of pollution. Start carpooling.

"Anyway, he sent me a shirtless picture."

"Which you didn't want?"

"Well, technically I asked him for it."

"Is he secretly a cyborg or something? Roshini there is no conceivable reason why you would call me!"

"He's usually really bad at pictures. Absolutely terrible. He sent me a selfie the other day and I had to take five minutes to convince myself that he's actually good looking and fairly competent at everything else."

"Please do not describe his shirtless picture with me. I will throw my phone away. I will throw your phone away and I'll find him and throw away his phone as well."

"It probably won't make a difference. He keeps loosing or breaking his phone. Now that I'm thinking about it, his job doesn't give him space to do a lot of photography."

"What does he do?"

There was a panicked silence as Tanveer inspected a window on the top floor. The security guard would notice her if she took more than two minutes to find a window she could enter through.

"Uh..homeopathy? Natural... medicines? And stuff. People's health-related."

"Doesn't really seem like the sort of thing that gets your phone broken."

"He has a lot of hobbies. Like pyrotechnics."

"Did he blow himself up while taking a picture? You accidentally killed him didn't you? Come on Roshini, that's so careless."

The window opened up easily and she soundlessly slipped inside. Which takes practice.

So much practice that it's almost not worth it. Especially when it's your toe that gets stabbed every time. Tanveer has never stubbed her toes in her life.

If you're not jealous yet, you're obviously not a human. Give up already, you've been found out.

"Have some faith in me."

"No." said Tanveer as she made her way downstairs. Roshini groaned again.

"Anyway, this picture was good. I am kind of attracted to him. But what do I say?"

"That he's hot maybe? Why are you asking me this?"

"I did." She said sourly. "He thought I was making a pun. This is ridiculous, maybe I should break up with him. How do you even break up with people?"

"Roshini have I ever dated anyone in my life? Do you seriously have no other friends?"

There was silence. Tanveer took advantage of it to cautiously open a door. A crooked hinge caught her mask, and as she moved forward, it pulled a strip of fabric from it.

"They all cut the call within a minute." She said at last. Tanveer cast a look at the sleeping couple in the main bedroom and decided it was worth continuing the conversation. "When did he send the picture?"

"Ten o'clock."

Tanveer sighed as she slid open the closest. She lifted a few saris out of the way to reveal the safe. "He probably already thinks you want to break up with him. What's his name anyway?"

"Advaith."

"I know an Advaith." Sais Tanveer darkly.

He was more popularly known as Zeher, was obsessed with destructive plans and derailed every conversation you had with him. At least Roshini wasn't dating him. To make matters worse, that guy had a permanent place in the league of evil because he's healed most of them at least once. She smiled as Roshini continued to complain over the phone. This night would secure her seat.

She removed the blade from her pocket. She had made several replicas of it and made modifications of her own to Revanth's original design. It was never wise to have a single supplier of weapons.

"It cut through the top of the safe with ease. After carefully sheathing it again, she reached in and pulled out its contents. She sandwiched her phone between her ear and shoulder so that she could use both her hands.

"Why don't you just tell him he looks good and set up a date or something?"

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I'm not sure of anything. I have no idea about relationships!" She said pretty loudly.

It is possible that her voice, paired with the slamming of the cupboard door was what woke up the sleepers. It is possible that they had a very strange circadian rhythm or perhaps they were victims of terrible nightmares that chose to return them to consciousness at this exact moment. That must be why they woke up.

"That's just great." Said Tanveer.

"What is?"

"My roommate just walked i."

"And you complain about my sleeping habits."

"You're my best friend." Muttered Tabveer, as the owners of their house continued to wonder if they were dreaming or not. "Although that might change once you die of lack of sleep."

"Do you want me to hang up?"

"Nah. Just keep talking for a while."

"Sure. Well, I was talking to him the other day and.."

Tanveer allowed her friend's chatter to relax her brain as she snuck out. The light flicked on right as she was at the doorway illuminating her memorable outfit and the huge 'T' emblazoned on the back. She froze for a second before rushing up the stairs. Panicked voices rose behind her and someone was screaming over the phone. They had definitely noticed the gold chain she had dropped near their bed. She stopped at the nearest window and fished something out of her pocket. It was a little glass orb. She threw it at the glass pane. There was a terrific sizzling noise as a hole began to grow from the centre of the pane.

The voices from downstairs were still rising, sirens could be heard from the distance. Far more interesting was the storm clouds gathering in the distance. A sure sign that the states current favourite hero, Typhoon was approaching.

"What's all the noise?" Inquired Roshini.

"She's decided to dismantle the fridge."

"I'm not envious of you. How come you never complain to me about her?"

"I don't really see her a lot admitted Tanveer as she slid through the now nonexistent window. As she left the house far behind there was a surge of lights as whatever had been in the glass orb started eating through the concrete. Soon it would look like it was blown apart by the wind.

"Oh my god!"  Yelled Roshini, which would have scared nearly anyone. But as we've established before, Tanveer is prepared.

"What happened?"

"Dude there's some serious stuff happening in Hyderabad right now. How are you not aware of this?"

"Just tell me." Said Tanveer checking her bag. She had dropped nearly everything she had stolen in the balcony of the house, where the hero would surely land. Only a bundle of notes remained.

"You know Typhoon right? The hero guy? Apparently, he just broke into a house to steal stuff. They have eyewitnesses and footage of him on the crime scene and everything."

"Interesting." Sid Tanveer, pulling her own cape out of her bag. Printed on the back was a huge, swirly 'T'. Here's a quick tip for all you wannabee heroes out there. If you're choosing a name, don't steal it from a supervillain.

Tanveer smiled. "I feel pretty lucky right now?"

"I really don't know why. Typhoon's done now I guess. No one will want to associate him with his name anymore."

That's sad." Said Tanveer tossing the bundle up and catching it again. An added bonus. The seat on the league would be another bonus. Getting rid of a hero with no violence or suspicion? It was unheard of.

"Aren't you concerned that somebody will break into your apartment?"

"Don't worry," Said Tanveer, the true Typhoon of Telangana, about to reclaim her title. "I'm always prepared."

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Tag list: @lacklusterswirl @purpleshadows1989 @madsaialik @velvetlighthouse @ohlooksheswriting @focusdumbass

[incarnateirony]

The Problem with DreamHunter...

Is that there is no problem with DreamHunter.

You're probably like "wait, what?" So let me clarify: This is absolutely not a Dreamhunter!Critical post. In fact, I have a lot of accolades for DreamHunter. I'll address a few complaints I've read from a surly, never-happy swath of stan twitter, but this post isn't actually about that - it's about a pervasive cultural issue involving coded phobia and how Bobo Fucking Berens showed his level of quantum literary and social brainfunction to do everything from canonize an LGBT ship to run a far deeper and more exposing social experiment on the fandom at large.

We've all seen the gif sets. I can't find the video in my vat of poorly maintained blog, but I'm sure someone else could, wherein Bobo on Twitch was talking about being ecstatic over us seeing what he wanted us to see. To the fandom that keeps their ears open, none of DreamHunter's premise is new to us. The only new thing was a certain confirmation, "First love strikes quick."

First, to the part that is NOT the point of the post, but I feel needs addressed before people start yelling at me:

Now, this has opened up a floodgate of hard-end-stan-twitter complaining like "Oh so they didn't just kill a WOC but a queer WOC and then after-texted it?" Well, no, fam. They were setting up a queer romance of the century with her dream half and potential return to the self while facing the darkest parts of challenging the self and deleting our weaknesses, and maybe even going so far as to make a statement of self imposed biases. Wayward just wasn't picked up so they've had to funnel and condense the concept in other ways. Dark Kaia wanting to target Claire after seeing what she meant to Kaia isn't an arbitrary and random sentiment. But arguing literary romantic value with stan twitter is like arguing algebra with an ill-behaved goose, so that's as far as I'm going to take that explanation beyond "y'all are often our biggest enemies on content."

Now then... to the actual point of the post:

I've mentioned it before, but it really deserves its own rebloggable master post not attached to some overlong thread, and able to be brought into fuller scope. The problem with DreamHunter is almost nonexistent. In fact, the simple fact is: with a line that simple, it was universally accepted as a truth, whether people are screaming about tropes they want to read in the worst light before the romantic element ever got a chance to get its feet under it. Nobody's out there saying it doesn't exist. Nobody's out there downtalking that line.

THAT is the problem with DreamHunter - that there is no problem with DreamHunter. And by that, I don't mean to say we should have a problem with DreamHunter. It's that DreamHunter reveals a hugely systemic coded bias in our culture.

And honestly, I think Berens did that on purpose.

There’s a certain level of coy battle in acceptance going on. First of all, people naturally seem to accept F/F before M/M due to a bunch of cultural reasons. Mostly because F/F has been convenient to publicly fetishize while M/M freaks out dudebros that are really uncertain about themselves, so for a longer time, GA has been exposed to and accepting F/F. And I think of anyone out there, My Big Gay Author King Berens is going to understand that.

WLW still has its own stigmas, I'm not saying it doesn't, but acting like resistance to it is on any cultural coding level parallel to the stigma against MLM is a weird display of intersectional privilege and lack of awareness.

Acting like it’s coincidence that they monkey-stomp packed as many identical lines and scene arrangements into all of one episode as possible, then dropped a bomb like that episode two, is silly. We know exactly what he’s after – hell, he said he was ecstatic we saw what he wanted us to see. So the real question is, why is it that “first love strikes quick” is taken without argument from the GA but a thousand up-nods for the M/M pairing with the same content – and TBH, far far far more that could never be packed into a single episode – has people take lines like “attached at the everything” and immediately have a portion of the audience start laughing, despite the surrounding substance around it?

Destiel fandom read into yet-again heaven and hell believing DeanCas are an item; antis decided it was an insult to “annoy” them. Even the angel in the past threatening to gouge Cas’ genitals over it. Because that’s what I do when I don’t believe it but am a religious zealot. Threaten to cut dicks off to annoy people. But somehow, it’s far easier to negotiate, to these people, that the male queer coded content is a punchline, rather than either a genuine or perceived truth. Antis choose to interpret MLM as a punchline. It’s that simple. No amount of surrounding content or story thematics can convince them otherwise. 

The same substance they monkey stomped, condensed, and largely stripped down for time limitations, into DreamHunter?

I’ll give a hint: it’s the same cultural stigma that – which late night show was it, where they started playing well-edited slash videos and the audience started laughing despite it being well timed and edited? It’s that. It’s the same thing that made Ateo unable to play queer roles in the industry as being “not believably gay” despite being a gay man himself, until the Hunter Husbands. It’s a horrific stigma that the audience has been coded to bite and gnash back against M/M content unfairly to the queer male audience and it’s gross, but it’s just there, sort of in the collective mind.

I absolutely don’t think Berens, of all fucking people, is unaware of this. And I see what he did as a really, really fucking coy set of actions beneath already masterful writing.

Berens knows exactly what he’s fucking doing and has basically coded a social experiment into the show that betrays people’s biases against M/M queer pairings while allowing the saturation (largely by fetishization) of F/F pairings to do the heavy lifting for him. Nobody out here yelling that Jody could be wrong about it or that “we didn’t see a kiss so it didn’t happen LOL they’re just in a sismance” – it is what it is. And here we are.

So on a social level I am fucking fascinated to see where he takes this next.

Berens has come out swinging for the queer male community whether anybody wants to accept it or not. Which is, modernly, by our demographics, at least an equal if not the greatest portion of our primary male demographic of viewers for the show. And I'm not just talking about the fandom census. I'm talking about Nielsen's demographics shift on gender since season 10, and general Kinsey-scale-esque testing of the true target demo at large in the US. Our ads count 18-49. CW targets 18-34.

Following the work of Berens within Supernatural will give you a very blatant papertrail. It started in deeply layered subtext; his first episode Carver directed Misha to play Cas as a Jilted Lover; after that, he took Robbie's work on Cain and manifest the Colette parallel coded into our story; he chose to take Dabb's Dean-speech from 12.1 and turn it into our coffee-Mixtape-Win spree that other authors shed from their pen in his wake, just like later in season 10 people continued his Colette grind. Berens has been an internal motion for the legitimization of truly structured and admittedly intentful elements of Destiel in the show. And people can scream that they don't like or see it all they want, but it's right there -- and with DreamHunter, it was What He Wanted Us To See.

It's grossly disingenuous activism to try to accuse SPN's first overtly queer author of queerbait while internally shifting the motions of our author room mechanics towards genuinely structured and intentful romance-skewed storytelling, whether it remains subtextual or not. Especially as that author continues to throw wrench upon wrench upon wrench into the no homo gears in ways the GA is perpetually exposed to and spun into having to think about. An eternal negotiation of poignantly delivered lines that catches even the most resistant ears and at least plants a seed in their mind about something else. A true normalization of it as a potential element to the story.

The same sort of normalization hyper-condensed into DreamHunter, but as per the above discussion, far more readily accepted. I have literally heard, from people who argued the "bromance, I'm not entirely convinced" on Destiel, that DreamHunter had been "obvious" to them and the "first love strikes quick" wasn't even necessary, because everybody knew. Cue me sending simple gifsets and script line side by sides and blowing their brains because suddenly their entire world scope just got bent sideways in -- why do I accept the one while I negotiate away the other?

Well, I covered why, above.

The problem with DreamHunter, I repeat, is that there is no problem with DreamHunter. People accept and see that it exists, without argument, even going so far as to label it "obvious" from a single episode, of a highly condensed version of only a fraction of the moments of another queer-coded duo in the show, but simply with culturally differing gender dynamics.

The concern troll of "bromance" or "why not let men be close" dies here. The idea of a bromance is letting two men have a friendship with the form of openness platonic female friends can have. That's fine, that's great. Dean-Benny would be a great example of this, and even then we once again had the offset of Dean-Cas to show different operations. I might even say Dean-Sam as an idea of that, but I don't think "bromance" is necessarily needed since brothers natively have a different sort of dynamic from growing up together. But once you are going out of your way to dismiss elements that we accept in hetero pairings with a laissez-faire “duh”, or even WLW scenarios as “it’s so obvious”, because it's MLM, we have left the area of "bromance" and "why not just let men be close without making it gay" and into “I am negotiating this away due to some sort of coded unwillingness to accept it, perhaps subconsciously, even if I consciously consider myself an ally.”

And that's the true masterpiece of this social experiment Bobo planted in the Supernatural universe with DreamHunter.

The world is grossly unfair and tilted in remaining cultural stigmas about queer males after ages of repressing them to limited niche capacities and stereotypes so strong that masculine gay men couldn’t even get cast in roles as gay men, where the world reads queer men as a punch line rather than a “duh” or “it’s so obvious” or “it’s just right there”, and DreamHunter is a walking fucking social experiment putzing around in Supernatural universe that gives no choice but to pick a side of the fence once you’re aware of these things.

Whether or not it’s physically consummated does not make it not-romantic. Being queer isn’t just about sex. It’s about feelings. And yes, we want our feelings to lead somewhere, and they deserve to lead somewhere, but is Jody acknowledging Claire’s “first love” now what suddenly makes it romantic, or is it the motions, the stories, and the feelings that preceded those lines, even though they never kissed and all hand-holding could be negotiated away the same way we can negotiate away our canon touches for two very emotionally involved men? “She was just leading her through the gate because she was scared,” “she was just consoling her as she died.” See how easy that is? But we won’t do that. And now, frankly anybody that does looks like a jackass.

So why, oh why, is this treated with ambiguity? This is a canon statement of “this relationship is being in love.” It was young love - it struck quick, in only an episode - but it was love. But name an element DreamHunter has to define that love that Destiel doesn’t? If you bend over backwards and try for the handholding, I can raise you hundreds of moments of intimate style contact. Try again.

Canon just confirmed what we already knew -- that Destiel is romantic. That there is love there. And not the kind of love we dismiss as Bros. Bobo just did that. Because every element of their relationship exists in Destiel, and a hundred times more. But it was first love. Dreamhunter was young love that came quickly, and not a single soul argued. Destiel is the same showcase of love, older, more matured, grown over years with dozens more moments of contact and display -- but in the very least, those moments -- those ones lived through DreamHunter in parallel -- that’s love. Canon literally just painted those sparse, compacted down elements, these behaviors we’ve seen, these moments, as coded romantic and in love. If you take nothing else from that -- take that. The elements that build Destiel are canonically romantic, when within DreamHunter and the question is -- without any physical affirmations or DreamHunter on screen, why is it romantic to them and not to Destiel? Why do we even humor this as a discussion, though we expect it, and what does this say of the coded phobias in fandom that we even have to expect it?

Dean and Cas haven’t kissed or dual-confessed to it in public, but you know... neither did DreamHunter. Unless of course we don’t talk down the timely placement of Need Yous and Love Yous and Big Wins and whatever else like people insist on doing with the MLM arrangement. Nobody’s talking down Jody’s third person “first love,” because we know better, and there’s not a mix of MLM and ship warring in play with DreamHunter. Bromance ends at the same line platonic female friendships end. Everyone accepts that DreamHunter is not platonic. Even without ceasing previous negotiations around poignant DeanCas lines, DreamHunter has established the romantic and loving engagements in retrograde. Canon has literally confirmed -- this relationship is romantic and in love.

And until this post, not a single person has tried to argue it down as Just Young Sis Love. Because we all know. Just like, deep down, everybody knows it about the mothership, some just don’t want to accept it. For whatever reason, subconscious or otherwise. I’ll laugh if the same antis that just tried to blind parallel it to W*ncest as a proof of love, while disconnected from the very origins and confirmations of DreamHunter, suddenly start rambling that doesn’t make DreamHunter canon either once this post gets around.

Berens is a fucking master ISTG.

I mean, I guess you’re free to celebrate any network level blockades going on right now while Bobo does Big Queer Fatal Combat from within, but allow me to celebrate DreamHunter whether or not we get consummation for Destiel, an MLM-scenario ship that has to deal with entirely other stigmas on a network primarily run by a bunch of old dudes. This is there. This will never be taken away. And cheering any blockades being run against MLM content with blatant intent does not make you the gr8 person here, m8.

This post is probably gonna have a low level of spread because it’s also something that forces even Destiel fandom to negotiate with themselves too -- how many lines and moments and whatever-else have we negotiated down, talked around, and chosen to interpret in the most left field way as if arguing ourselves from the position of an anti, only to get crack slapped across the jaw in this? How many have yelled queerbait without really observing what Bobo has been doing from within, how many have to face-or-deny the unfair queerbait shouting? How many hold-outs are we putting up, ourselves, because it isn’t the type or level of confirmation we want; we’re sitting here waiting for a bigger more dramatic reveal than a third person statement like that, or what-have-you, but when it’s not “our ship” that we are eternally defending from antis, and not a ship being targeted due to a mix of ship warring and MLM social issues, this is fine? And why is it okay when it’s not The Mothership and we totes accept it for DreamHunter canonization but we’re still talking circles around DeanCas like we’re our own antis? Why do we let anti-dom spin everyone’s head up in such knots that the majority expect Dabberens to live in stan twitter, abandon narrative properties and quality, and have Sam walk in on something while they profess their love and walk away with pictures as hard sealed photographic evidence when that isn’t expected of literally anybody else?

Can anybody tell me why Bobo Bookends Berens, who penned Cain -- Dean’s kindred spirit and fated path parallel -- calling out -- as confirmed -- that Castiel was his Colette, his wife, the love of his life that knew who he was, and what he was, that loved him unconditionally, forgave him, and only asked for him to stop -- a third person perspective -- has a third person, offscreen confirmation of the same sort, with far less plot weaving, taken universally as canon without the play of shifting goalposts via MLM social stigmas and/or ship warring stan twitter getting up in everybody’s heads?

Cuz it’s the same dude, guys. Same pen. A moment nobody even dismissed or TRIED to heckle out. If we just want to go third person while dropping punchline perception, we have everything from The Angel In The Dirty Trenchcoat Who’s In Love With You to Attached At The Everything. Y’all really think Bobo Berens is out here using his own sexuality as a tool and a punchline to be laughed at though? Bobo, “I protest human trafficing and ICE engagements front line in the body walls while people are being arrested” Berens? That guy? 

You’re gonna go out of his way that hard to miss the point just because you have phobic asshats on twitter, and/or asshole haters with “opposite ships” on twitter, or it’s just not the kind YOU wanted to see for Destiel, even if it’s enough for you to take it as canon in DreamHunter, when you already Been Had It for Destiel?

Meh. So many problems with DreamHunter, in there not being any problems with DreamHunter.

All Dabberens. Every Dreamhunter moment was a Dabb or Berens written previous Destiel moment. The meaningful third party line from Jody was Berens. Just like the meaningful third party line in Executioner’s song, also by Berens. Not just a random jab - someone who knew them inside and out. And that - people will take that as canon, again, when there’s no rival ships or MLM phobias in play. Every inch of Dreamhunter (and far, far more) existed in Destiel, by the same authors, porting the same concepts across, piece by piece, and like magic, nobody protested.

And if you’re protesting, or worse if you hilariously ship Dreamhunter but reject Destiel, despite -- I dunno -- Bobo’s own book reviews on issues like queerphobia and intersectional issues -- you may want to introspect on the real reason you’re denying it.

Because that, my friends, is a strictly personal problem.

[swordliliesandebony-blog]

A Fond Farewell | CH 1/3

Pairings: Chapter 1- Promptis | Chapter 2- Highspecs | Chapter 3- Gladio/Sania

Warnings: Major end-game spoilers

Rating: M

Summary:

"You surround yourself with ghosts, you can’t be surprised when they start hauntin’ you."

Prompto thinks it's a dream. Maybe a nightmare. He knows it's impossible, but he sure as hell wants to believe in this particular ghost.

A story in three parts, wherein a crownless guard find themselves thoroughly haunted.

[Read on Ao3]

It starts with nightmares. Things like this always do.

The nightmares themselves, the concept of waking up in a cold sweat, with stinging eyes and pounding heart and too little air in the room, none of that is abnormal. None of that is starting only when Prompto takes up his new residence nestled in the remnants of a couple hundred years worth of dead kings’ legacies. He’s used to the gripping terror that comes with darkness twisting into memories that cannot be buried or forgotten, that continue to exist in perfect clarity and down to the finest detail. He’s come anticipate phantom burning across old scars, twisting smiles, words that mock and sing and ring through his head hours after he’s awake. He’s had ten years of that. He’s learned to wake early with the sun, to let light he generally resents sweep away the visitors the night inflicts. He’s learned that Ignis will mix him a potion, if things get a little too severe, that will allow him a little bit of rest. He’s learned not to ask Aranea if any of those nightmares were ever really anything but.

It starts with a new nightmare, to be a bit more accurate. It starts with a different should-have-been king and a different curse from that fucking crystal.

Prompto thinks, when he’s bolt upright in the bed, blankets across the floor and breeze at the window and night still surrounding, that he should have expected this. He’d been warned about this, and maybe the warning itself put the seed in his head, guaranteed its own fulfillment. It was Cid, by way of Cindy, who told him that ‘you surround yourself with ghosts, you can’t be surprised when they start hauntin’ you’. He remembers smiling and shrugging it off, maybe even pointing out that he’d never entirely unwrapped himself from the shadow his best friend left behind. Or, more likely, he just thought it and swore he would heed the advice while discounting it entirely, assuming it all abstract and metaphorical. Noct started haunting his thoughts before he ever died. Walking the halls, tracing faded footsteps, none of that was going to make it any worse.

Except, apparently, it has.

The nightmare was where it started. The one where he breaks away from Ignis’s grasp on his wrist to turn his back on the ten-year-tardy dawn. The one where he swears he sees silver and sad smiles beside the body of his king, his best friend, his goddamn only love pinned so neatly to that throne. The one where bile chokes his throat and the air is thick with blood and he goes to summon up a pistol only to find his hand trembling and empty. The one where his knees crack and scream when he hits the floor before the throne. The one where he knew what would meet him in that sunlight, where he forgot how damn bright it was, where he just fucking wishes they could have gone without a little bit longer. Just a little bit longer.

He didn’t throw the blanket off himself in his sleep. He’s done that before, woken all tangled in sheets and drenched in sweat, with blankets and pillows strewn around him, tossed aside in the struggle of the nightmare. Not this nightmare, though. He hasn’t had this one before, save the time he was living it proper and full color. And he didn’t throw off the blanket. It was tugged away, and that’s what woke him, he’s certain of it. He’s certain because it’s laid in a relatively neat heap on the floor, beside the open window. And he’s certain, too, that he hadn’t left that window open.

Prompto stays sat in bed with a new panic flooding him, a fight or flight response where his body is still too exhausted and sleep-addled to make pick one side or the other and instead opts to lock up, to leave him with darting eyes and pounding heart and trembling fists clutching into the sheets. He tries to take stock. His eyes don’t adjust so quickly to the dark any more. It didn’t take long for that to fade. It’s been a month? Maybe two? Already, it feels like those ten years were nothing but another nightmare. Like someone clicked off pause on the world and it all resumed just so quickly. Not for him, though. His eyes do adjust, though not so quickly as when darkness was the rule rather than the exception, and he surveys the room.

The window is open and the breeze is cold, biting even on sweat-soaked skin. It takes a few moments for Prompto to realize this, to place the greater cause for all those pinpricks on his skin. The room is freezing, in fact. The moon is full and bright and the light that filters in through fluttering curtains is enough for him to see his breath go to mist in front of him. He waits longer, ears pricked to any sound that might indicate an intruder. The bed creaks when he shifts and shivers, his blood is rushing in his ears, but there’s nothing else, no sign of life but his own. He’s slow still to swing his legs over the bed and make his way to shut the damn window. Prompto has the presence of mind, at least, to check the latch when he swings the glass shut.

There are two important details he takes in here. The first is that the latch is in perfect working order. That much shouldn’t come as a surprise. Ignis was hesitant to give Prompto the room in the first place. Prompto had pegged it out of a sense of respect or propriety, the simple fact that the childhood quarters of a fallen king weren’t appropriate living space for… whatever Prompto could be labeled as. Best friend? Covert consort? Illicit affair? He had given up on labels long ago. And it didn’t matter now any more than it mattered when Noctis was still alive, still prisoner to a fate they knew was cruel, if not by what measure. All such matters aside, Gladio had spoken to Prompto in private later, had asked after his state of mind. Things had been bleak. Things were still bleak. He said that’s what Specs was really concerned about, putting him up here. Prompto doesn’t think he reassured Gladio any on that front, but he does think he managed to put a bit of pity into his heart and that it was enough to convince Ignis, who wasted no time making sure the room was safe to inhabit despite his regularly reiterated best wishes. So, of course, the damn latch on the window was fine.

The second detail is the more important one. The one that doesn’t strike Prompto until he’s stood in front of the open window, playing at the latch with his face all close, squinting through the dark. The breeze that whispers against his face is comfortable, light, and perhaps most importantly, warm . The wrongness of that bit occurs to him and puts him stark in place again. Ironically enough, it sends a harsh chill through his body, all goosebumped arms and raised hairs. He tenses back up, that same half-panic that flooded him in bed. He’s listening again. There’s a sudden feeling flooding his brain, a sort of don’t turn around, don’t look behind you, refrain repeating heavy and quick, throbbing through his mind in time with his racing heart. His fingers tremble, warm breeze not quite warm enough, when he lets his hand away from the window.

Prompto makes an attempt at logic here, though it’s a half-hearted one at best. He still doesn’t turn around. He can’t. The cold is creeping in against his back, tugging at his shoulders, chilling him down to the bone while the summer night works opposite at the front. He feels dizzy. He feels like, if he turns around, he won’t be able to handle what he sees. He won’t be able to handle what he doesn’t see. There’s no winning and the discomfort is rising. He tells himself it’s a dream, a side effect of a day that made his brain spin. A dream-within-a-dream, because Noctis isn’t sitting dead before him any more. He pinches his arm. It hurts. Damn it all, it hurts. He tries for another direction of explanation. He maps out ceiling vents, a full half minute of near-calm washing as he considers this explanation, a long stretch of seconds before he recalls the limited power they’re still running on and the nonessential utilities that are thereby also nonexistent ones.

Fuck.

He has to move. That fact is far too present in Prompto’s mind. He can stand there, half-naked and dripping sweat, looking over the moonlit city for a while, this much is true, but he can’t do it forever. He wonders briefly if he can do it until morning, until the sunlight has chased away whatever fear is holding him there. Because it is, of course, the dark that’s doing it. It’s so easy to be afraid of whatever’s lurking behind you in the night when you know what some of the things that used to lurk were. It’s easier still, when you’ve lost your sense for endless darkness. He has to turn around. Prompto draws in a breath, holds it. He wills his muscles to relax, wills his heart to stop fighting so valiantly against his ribs. He wills away the cold on his spine and, when he exhales, he finds that it works .

He still doesn’t turn around immediately, but his hands aren’t gripping at the sill any more and the next breath comes deep and easy and barely shakes at all. It feels a lot, in fact, like someone has turned off the cool air and the summer night has filled it just as quickly. Prompto manages to laugh at himself. There must have been some mistake, some miscommunication. He’d talk to Ignis about it in the morning and that would be that. Someone would probably get a stern talking to about the importance of preserving the generator until power proper could be restored, and he would get a stern talking to, if he wasn’t careful, about letting his imagination run away from him; perhaps about finding a room that doesn’t hold quite so many memories. He’ll be careful. He nods to himself. It’s still late. The moon is high. It can’t be far past midnight, maybe one. Plenty of time to get back to sleep. He’ll go for the canteen, set into the ice bucket he’s made of the bathroom sink, and he’ll crawl back in bed. It was only the nightmares after all. He was only on edge because a new one struck him.

It’s as he’s turning that the door slams.

He catches a glimpse of it in the reflection the moon casts on the window. Just something out of the corner of his eye. It’s the sound that gets him, that gunshot banging shut that makes him nearly jump from his skin. The first thought is that someone was in the room, that some intruder had stumbled upon him, had stripped him of blanket. Had... turned the air to ice? His eyes dart to the entry door, the one Ignis made sure to have fitted with locks and bolts for him, a concession to certain fears that wouldn’t fade so easily. The chain hangs secure, half-taut in its slot. If there were more light than the moon, he’s certain he would see all the rest in place just the same.

He knows this, though. He knows, because he saw from the corner of his eye. He saw the door move- an impossibility for the entryway set in the corner farthest from the bed and the window. It was the closet. He’s shaking now, and he knows there’s no stopping it, but he’s no longer glued in place. That familiar instinct has turned soundly to fight.

“Who’s there?” he wishes his voice would sound a little bit braver, but there’s a trembling quality to it when he calls out and it makes the demand sound admittedly less demanding. Prompto goes for the bedside table, for the small torch set face down on it. It’s a good light. It’s heavy and long, the sort of thing law enforcement would have carried in a world that’s been gone for a decade. When he clicks the heavy button near the belled end, the stream of light is bright to the point of near-blinding. He focuses directly on the closet door. He watches it swing open, slow on its hinge, just a few inches of lingering momentum from a latch that didn’t catch.

“I can see you. Just come out. Maybe I’ll let you live,” his voice is louder, but it’s higher too and Prompto knows damn well that the words are laughable. Reality is that he can’t see a damn thing. The open few inches of door, even with light shone against the wood, remain shadowed and dark. He doesn’t hear a damn thing; no shifting of weight, no breath but his own, no sign of whoever has hidden away inside. He takes a few steps, slow ones, shuffling to the side, to give him a better glimpse of what awaits.

“Pretty shitty burglar, y’know. There’s a blind guy right up the hall. He’s got way more expensive tastes, too,” Prompto almost wonders why he’s speaking at all. Almost. It’s a nervous habit, even- maybe especially- when he’s alone. The less silence, the better. He thinks, as he’s sidestepping the bed, changing his angle more, approaching the closet proper, it might even be a survival tactic. He’s pretty sure that’s what you were supposed to do if you wanted to survive; you talk to the intruder, make yourself human, make them care about you. He’s not convinced it’s working. He’s not convinced he cares. He is, after all, nearly close enough to touch the doorknob now, and he’s not made for the halls instead, he’s not screaming for help from anyone who might be close enough to hear.

When the range is right, he extends the torch arm, uses the head of the unwieldy thing to swing the door open. He jumps at the resulting noise, having pressed a little too hard and properly banged at the heavy wood. He nearly closes his eyes, but his instincts take hold and instead he raises the light high, aiming and prepared to strike.

The closet is empty.

It’s not a particularly large one, and a quick step forward, a sweep at each wall confirms the initial finding. Well, mostly confirms. It’s empty of any unwelcome guests. The floor, on the other hand, is a heap of mess. It makes Prompto’s stomach churn suddenly and violently. There’s bile rising and choking at him when he sweeps the light over the littered ground. He has to swallow back, cough, sputter for breath. This isn’t a mess he made. This isn’t a mess he would ever fucking make.

There’s a quick sweep of the room before he proceeds, back to the window, the bed, to the en suite, and back to the door. Empty. He expects that by now, though. He still feels sick. Sicker, maybe. His hand reaches to the closet doorknob and his hand nearly recoils. The metal is like ice, like the air that hung over the bed, like the opposite of the atmosphere of the room otherwise. He’s barely surprised when he sinks to his knees and the chill overtakes him again.

The pack was a parting gift of sorts. Something that Prompto had clung to for days, unable to open. He knows that its contents are what lie before him. He knows because he can smell it. He can smell him, all thick and heavy in the air. Not blood on a floor or a body gone cold. Actually, properly, him. Trendy cologne that had started as a shot-in-the-dark high school gift and become a favorite. Hints of mint. A little bit of sweat. He lets the torch fall beside him, lets it keep the scene lit, doesn’t so much as flinch at the clatter of steel on hardwood. His own breath hangs in the air above the clothes. Prompto almost expects, almost wishes it to take his damn form before him. It doesn’t.

He’s gentle when he lifts the shirt from the top of the pile. Soft, black, the smattered dark skulls. He lifts the fabric to his face and inhales and for a moment he’s not on the floor leaning into a closet at all. He’s in the tent, late in the morning when Ignis and Gladio have already gone to meet the sun. His face is pressed into Noct’s chest while Prompto pretends still to be asleep right with him. He can feel the warmth. He can hear his heart beating against his ear. He chokes against a sob, and reality, cold and icy, is back again.

Prompto shifts. He sits himself in the frame of the door, back pressed harsh and hard against the frame, and he works through the clothes in turn. He folds them, a little haphazard and mindless. He sets them in a pile, pats down each garment. He fights the memories. He fights the thoughts of the apartment and the nights they spent together in it, curled and twined and happy. He fights the morning they first left Insomnia, all bright futures and hope and a little bit of sadness for what they had to leave behind. Not knowing. Not having any fucking idea.

There are remnants of the trip, remnants of Noctis strewn in and beneath the clothing. A potion, clinking to the floor when shorts are set aside. A little clay figure, clumsy and vaguely cactuar-shaped. He remembers that too, and more tears fall. A joke, to be made part of Talcott’s collection. The figure has a friend of sorts in the pile, and that part makes Prompto freeze again.

“What are you doing here?” he can’t help but breathe the question to the little teal creature, and he thinks it’s a good one. He knows it’s a good one. Because he knows there’s no way in hell that Noctis went to the end of the world without that particular companion- the only one he wouldn’t have to leave behind. He thumbs over the curved ears, the little horn, down the back as if to pet the toy properly. His vision is properly blurred here. It’s impossible. This is impossible. This is a dream. Somewhere between dream and nightmare. He can’t quite decide. It absolutely isn’t real.

He looks back to the window, to the bed, and he tries to will a spectre properly into existence through his tears. That’s how it’s meant to work, right? You figure out it’s a dream, then you take control of it. Nothing happens. Noctis doesn’t appear in some shimmering facsimile on the mattress. He doesn’t appear at all. It makes the hurt, the sadness, go to anger, because Prompto knows it isn’t real. He knows it can’t be. It’s more than the icy air, pressing against his tear-streaked face and running through his hair. It’s more than Carbuncle, a strangely comforting weight in his hand. It’s more than slamming doors and strewn out clothes that convince Prompto he’s asleep or dead or simply gone mad.

It’s the sheet of paper beneath where the statue sat. Because it’s not a sheet of paper at all. It’s a photo, creased sharp down the center, battered around the edges as if it’s gone through hell in someone’s pocket. It’s face down, but maybe it’s better that way, because Prompto knows what he’ll see if he flips it.  

[txxil]

( your MASQUERADE; I don't wanna be a part of your parade. everyone deserves a chance to WALK with EVERYONE ELSE. )  ———  task 001. character questionnaire sheet 

general info

full name: nam taeil nickname(s): tae? i dont think he has any nicknames tbh. gender & pronouns: genderqueer male, he/him/they/them sexual & romantic orientation: demiromantic/demisexual age & dob: twenty-two ( 22 ) year’s old / November twenty-sixth, 1994 ( 11/26/1994 ) birthplace/hometown: andong, south korea parents/siblings: mother, father, younger brother astrological sign: scorpio dominant hand: ambidextrous  handwriting style: flows very easily; he usually writes in cursive language(s) known/spoken: korean, a little bit of english religion: n/a!  current living arrangements: a small one story house near a middle school, something like this maybe? occupation/major: stay at home author! i like to think he’s actually very popular

appearances

picture reference:  [ 1, 2, 3, 4 ] blood type: O+ nationality: korean skin tone/color: light tanned birthmarks & scars: n/a! height: 177cm build: 65kg hair color: black hair length: covers his forehead and down to his ears! eye color: brown eye shape: [ X ] diet: taeil doesn’t have a strict diet, but he loves little sweets and eating salads, especially really dressed up ones. it’s safe to say he has a pretty good diet. exercise & level of fitness: the most exercise taeil gets is walking around outside when it’s chilly how’s their posture ( or lack thereof )? he’s got a decent posture ! typical style of dress: [ 1, 2, 3, 4 ] - taeil dresses really casually? but he also likes to wear aesthetically pleasing things; like his rolled up jeans and sometimes ripped, shirts tucked in and he loves wearing hats too. he sounds like me, yikes. body modifications: none! 

body language and mannerisms

how does your muse walk? with his hands in his pockets if he is wearing a jacket, usually looking too far up and taking small, slow steps because he loves walking. how does your muse talk? quietly and subtly? he doesn’t like to talk that much, but observe, and he usually sounds really calming and poetic, i guess. what accent/dialect does your muse talk with? gyeongsang dialect ! how high (or low) is the tone of their voice? are they loud or quiet? taeil probably has a bit of a monotoned voice that is in the middle of high and low, but he is very quiet. what is their laugh like? have you ever heard jhopes laugh? probably the same, but less loud OTL how does your muse typically smell? he probably smells like pine. what kind of air do they carry? are they intimidating? a calming air, people probably feel like they can trust him easily because of the way he carries himself around quietly and calmly.

psychology

what makes your muse happiest? talking to his baby brother over facetime/texts/etc. what upsets them the most? being in a place he is still a bit unaccustomed and unknown to does your muse have any quirks? uhm, i don’t think he has any weird quirks, besides his tendency to go out at 1 or 2 am and walk the city when it’s cold. what are their hobbies? how frequent do/can they do them? he loves to write, obviously! and i can imagine taeil likes to do word puzzles, like crosswords and word searches, and maybe he likes to draw a little and probably read the newspaper? because of his ‘create your own work schedule’ deal, he actually gets to do most of things he enjoys a lot. do they have any guilty pleasures? things/people who smell like flowers, indie/acoustic music, beautifully written poetry. is your muse an extrovert? an introvert? neither? introverted for sure, although he can be open depending on his relationship with you. do they have high or low self-esteem? what about confidence? uhm, i would say taeil is in between for both? he is very emotionally distraught at the moment because he is in a place he is uncomfortable with and he still misses home, but he has high hopes for his dreams and himself. he knows he’s a decent guy. are they easily stressed? how do they respond to stress? taeil is not easily stressed due to the fact that he is constantly under pressure for his books. he has learned to deal with it by taking time off from what is stressing him and doing things he knows will make him happy. what is your muses worst fear? that he won’t ever see his family again, probably. what is your muses biggest dream? to be a best selling author! but also to provide for his family and loved ones with the royalties he makes. is your muse an early riser? a night owl? a night owl for sure. how intelligent is your muse? do they acknowledge it? uh, he’s probably fairly smart? not book smart though, but probably more in the.. he knows random facts and about the subject he is writing about smart. what is their sense of humour like? uhm.. probably nonexistent OTL he has his moments though ok

relationship tendencies

what’s their sexual orientation? what about romantic? taeil is a demisexual and demiromantic! the same as yoonsik. are they currently in any sexual or romantic relationships? no they’re not :( what is their experience with relationships? uhm, probably NONE lol. taeil never really cared for relationships because they were always harder for him? how does your muse view the idea of friends with benefits? have they ever had one, or would they ever? he wouldn’t really care, tbh, BUT he also wouldn’t care for having one. he’s not like that. sex, is it important to your muse? yes! what are their biggest turn on and turn offs? see below!

sexualy turn ons: body worship, slut shaming, vanilla sex, orgasm denial, over stimulation sexual turn offs: bondage, gagging, pain, forced domination, forcefulness in general natural turn ons: lip biting, glasses, smooth talking, poetry natural turn offs: loudness/obnoxiousness, desperation, overly flirtatious 

does your muse find it easy to make friends? not really to be honest. how important is friendship to them? very important! he really values his friendships to help him get through his hardships of living in seoul. quantity or quality of friends? quality. how important is family? VERY important. are they close to their family? why or why not ? yes! taeil’s parents ( specifically his mom ) have always accepted him for who he is. his brother was always a key role in his life, too, and he always protect his baby brother with everything he had. his family is what keps him going every day.

headcanons

001. you know those people who are creative in every single fuckin’ way? that’s taeil, but he won’t admit it. 002. as you saw above, he writes with both hands, but he is better with his right. 003. at least twice a week, he has the same dream about going back home and when he wakes up to see it’s not true he gets kinda sad? 004. while most of his stories are on a computer and typed out, he has one or two that he hand writes just for the hell of it. one of these stories is about his baby brother. 005. every other day he calls his family to check in on them, specifically his baby brother. 006. anyone who knows taeil well would easily be able to tell how homesick he is. 007. his favorite genre to write about is modern realistic. his favorite genre to read is probably modern fantasy or crime novels. 008. he doesn’t watch a lot of television. 009. nature muses taeil the most out of everything; other things that muse him are music, other people, his surroundings, flowers ( specifically ), weather, etc. i think all the BASIC things. 010. he never holds grudges and is easy to forgive. you could toy with him and he would still be your friend. he’s a doormat, basically. 011. his favorite season is fall, his favorite weather is when it sprinkles and is chilly, his favorite time of day is sunrise, and his favorite day of the week is Monday.

i did eleven headcanons because i did eleven for yoonsik, too! this was so much fun to do.

[rosyredlipstick]

Rental Love* (1/?)

(*Read Terms & Conditions) - Male/22/Long Island N.Y.C. Tired of showing up stag at holiday events? Want your family to stop thinking there’s something wrong with you? Just want some arm candy for a work event? Look no further. Your solution is here! I will attend holiday events with you as your paid date. Accepting all genders as applicants. Email solace.w@fastmail.com if interested. Interview & application will be set up there. - Nico di Angelo has been telling Hazel Levesque about his boyfriend for weeks. The bad part? Nico doesn’t have a boyfriend, the holidays are coming up, and not all of Jason’s ideas are horrible. They’re all a bit surprised about the last one.

It, like most things in his life, started as a joke.

And it, like most of the problems in his life, was completely Jason’s fault.

“It’s...an ad.” Nico declared, handing back the other boy’s phone. “Is that what you were all excited about? Showing me some weird Craiglist showing?”

Jason nodded, still excited despite Nico’s dull voice. “It’s an ad for a date!”

Nico paused, his arm hanging in the air. He finished shelving the book before turning on the other boy. “Jason, are you attempting to find me an escort?”

Jason choked, now clenching onto the plastic and metal of his phone. “No! No, it’s not bad or anything.” He brought up the ad again, shoving it in Nico’s face. “Listen, you’ve been telling Hazel you have a boyfriend right? To get her off your back about not dating?”

Nico took the phone once again. “Yes?” He agreed, because yeah, yeah he had, but his voice was unsure.

Jason nodded eagerly. “Yeah! Well, listen - this guy’s entire job is to come to your holiday event and pretend to be your date. So like, you could bring him home and introduce him to your family as the boyfriend you’ve been dating for a few months. It’s perfect to go along with what you’ve been telling Hazel!”

Nico was already shaking his head, handing the phone back a second time. “I’m just going to tell her we broke up or something. It’s less messy that way.”

Jason nodded once again, and he was nodding so much that Nico feared he would get a crick in his neck and, an even bigger fear, that Nico would have to hear about it all night. 

He continued speaking, his hands coming up to gesture excitedly.“No, but listen – Hazel will only get worse if you tell her that. Remember The Percy Thing?”

They both winced at that. It wasn’t a topic of casual conversation. But Nico nodded because he did, in fact, remember The Percy Thing. Clearly. Vividly. Usually before bed when he was reflecting upon the most cringe worthy moments of his life.

Jason continued nodding, “She went totally overboard trying to set you up and get you back out into the dating scene, didn’t she?”

Nico nodded again, now unsure. Hazel went completely overboard, with half the time strange men showing up at he and Jason’s apartment, expecting a dinner and date. It got so bad, he and Jason had simply lamented a polite note for the door and called it a day.

Jason continued, “Okay, so instead of just making up this sob story that’ll get Hazel all teary for the sake of this nonexistent relationship that ended just before the holidays, you –“ Jason held up the phone in excitement, the ad still glowing bright on his phone. “Hire a date for the holidays! It’s perfect. You guys can ‘break up’ –“ He did this with finger air quotes, “after Christmas on the down low, and Hazel won’t be nearly as broken up about it.” He shrugged, “She was just telling Piper and I how excited she was to meet this dream guy.”

Nico bit his lip, thinking it over. He never wanted to disappoint his sister, especially right before Christmas.

It wasn’t the worst of Jason’s plans, and Nico had gone along with far less.

“It’s not his worst plan.” The bundle of blankets on the couch declared his exact thought, causing Nico to jump and probably lose a few years off his life.

Piper stuck her head out of the bottom of the bundle, her messy braid falling to the ground. “It could actually kind of work.”

“What could work?” Asked the over side of the bundle, and it only took another moment before Leo’s head was poking out of the top, shaking his curls out.

“How many people are in there?” Nico exclaimed.

“Three if you count Leo’s left hand as a person. He does most nights.” Piper declared, crackling in glee as Leo attempted to push her off the couch. But, as the dumbass didn’t consider, they were both still incredibly entwined in the blanket burrito, and they both fell to the ground in a cursing, messy heap.  

Nico rolled his eyes as Jason cracked a smile and went over to help untangle them.

“You should do it.” Piper told him, finally free from the tangle of blankets as she pulled him down on the couch with her. She picked up Jason’s phone where he had tossed it when he went to help them and unlocked it. “Anyways, he’s hot like burning. You should go for it.” She told him this as she turned the phone around to show him the attached picture.

Sure, the guy was attractive. Grinning at the camera, blond with a wicked grin and golden curls. He was wearing a sleeve-less shirt, his tan arms shining in the sun.

Nico has always had a horrible weakness for a good pair of arms, and the smirk on this guys face seemed to know that.

“He is hot.” Leo’s voice told him, much much too close to his ear. Nico jumped, pushing the other boy away from over his shoulder where he had been examining the photo. Leo grinned and continued, bouncing out of the way of Nico’s flailing hands.

“I’m an arsonist and I have experience with hot things and I can tell you. That guy?” Leo snapped his fingers, shooting finger guns at Nico. “He’s scalding.”

“Where did you even find this?” Piper asked, scrolling up on Jason’s phone. Jason choked out and tried to grab back his phone, unsuccessful against her attempts as she held it out of his reach.

“Craigslist? Really?” Piper shot Jason a look as Leo popped his head over the side of the couch, his eyes dancing. She rolled her eyes, more affectionate than anything else. “I thought we agreed he wasn’t allowed on Craigslist anymore after he found the ‘free pets’ section.”

“It’s just, it’s just so sad they don’t have homes!” Jason choked out, holding his phone to his chest.

“Yeah, and we’ve adopted seven of them.” Nico gave him a dull look, gesturing to their apartment. It was three fish, two cats, a hamster, and a stray dog seven pets worth, but Jason was always looking to up that number.

“Back to the subject at hand.” Leo pointed towards Jason’s phone. “Are you gonna hire an escort for Christmas?”

Jason sighed, “It’s not an escort! It’s a date for hire!”

As Leo loudly whispered to Piper does he know what an escort is? Nico’s head fell onto the back of the couch, actually considering it.

“Fine.” Nico sighed, pulling out his phone. “I’ll contact him.”

“That’s good because I’ve already emailed him as you.” Jason informed him with a small grin, ruffling his hair, “Your interview is tomorrow.”

Nico cracked a smile at that. “And if I’d said no?”

Jason shrugged, “I would have cancelled it. No problem.” Jason tapped away at his phone and only a second later, Nico’s phone dinged. “That’s the info. You’re meeting him at noon. Apparently he has meetings all day so, like, make a good impression.”

“What’s his name?” Nico asked, opening the text. Leo, at their feet, was leaning against Jason’s legs, looking up at them with a grin.

“Will Solace.” Piper read off the glowing screen of Jason’s phone, now curled around Jason like an octopus that he was only too content to let her do.

Jason flashed him a grin, “I think you’ll like him.”

Nico rolled his eyes, fond despite everything. “Whatever you say.”

Getting ready to meet your hopefully fake date for hire was harder than he thought.

But that might have had more to do with his audience.

“Turn.” Piper demanded, spinning her finger in the air. Nico did as told, sighing.

She nodded. “The jeans are good. I don’t really like the shirt – Leo?”

“Wear that jacket you wore to Annabeth’s birthday party over the summer.”  He advised, balancing a large bowl on his knees, talking through the food in his mouth. There were a few shiny popcorn kernels in his curls, but he didn’t even seem to notice. Nico didn’t tell him.

“What are you even doing here? You don’t even live here.” Nico paused, cocking his head to the side. “Wait. Do you live here?”

“You wish.” Leo stuffed a handful of popcorn in his mouth, most of it missing his face entirely and landing in his lap.

“Jason, what do you think?” Piper asked, still eyeing his outfit.

Jason, his face buried in Nico’s comforter, lifted his head to sleepily eye Nico. “Nice pants. Different shirt.”

Piper threw her hands in the air. “That’s what I said!” She pointed towards his closet. “Go. Pick out something new.”

Nico sighed, turning back to pick out something new. He found the jacket Leo recommended and a dark maroon shirt, one of the only instances of color in his entire closet. He stripped, knowing full well Leo and Piper were both eyeing him with interest, and dressed quickly.

“That’s it.” Piper declared with glee. “That’s the outfit. There’s no way he can say no when you’re wearing those painted on jeans and that leather jacket. It would be just –“

“Impossible.” Leo agreed. “Now, what are you doing with your hair?”

Nico shrugged, beginning to throw back all the discarded clothes into his closet. “Probably this? Whatever?”

“Put it up.” Leo, Piper, and surprisingly Jason, ordered him at once. Piper flicked a hair band off her wrist towards him, her eyes a glare.

Nico blinked. “Um. Okay? “ He did as told, as most the time it was earlier than arguing with them, and glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to get going – I’m almost late.”

Jason had texted him the address of a local coffee shop they both frequented often where Will was holding the interviews, and Nico was relieved that it was so close to their shared apartment.

They all wished him good luck – Leo’s wishes in the form of several loud kisses and a piercing wolf whistle – but Nico managed to escape quickly.

The weather was nice for December – the heavy snow new enough that it was mostly white, not yet gray sidewalk sludge, and was also happy to note the low number of occupants in the shop. Usually, especially on a weekend, the shop was overflowing with peppermint-mocha deprived customers, each seemingly needing to bump and crowd into Nico’s space.

He grabbed a quick cup of coffee – black, two creams, five sugars – and glanced around the nearly deserted shop.

The head of golden curls was a familiar sight, and the online photo seemed only to dull the true shine of them. Nico swallowed, pulling on the end of his scarf – stolen from Jason - and beelined towards the other boy. Should he sit down, or talk to him first? Make sure – even though Nico had basically memorized the photo of the other boy already – that he was even the guy Nico was looking for?

“You’re late.” The boy declared, deciding for Nico, not yet looking up at Nico as he arrived at the table.

Nico almost raised an eyebrow at his hostile tone. “By two minutes.” He raised his cup up, even though he hadn’t yet looked up from his notebook. “Got coffee.”  

The guy shrugged, still focusing on writing in his notebook, and Nico slowly took a seat.

“There’s a contract, application, and a down payment that has to go through before I notify if you’ve been chosen.” The boy told him, sliding a folder across the table. Nico picked it up, leafing through it. “If I choose not to accompany you for your holiday event, a full refund will be issued within one to three business days.”

“There’s an application process?” Nico questioned. The boy - Will – finally looked up to him, and the pause in his actions and the hitch in his breath was only noticeable to the boy himself. Nico blinked a few times, meeting Will’s eyes, and was a bit startled by the blue blue blue that stared back at him.

Will shook his head, just a bit to shake himself back to reality, and continued on. “Of course. I have to make sure you’re not completely crazy. It’s mostly necessary information about family members I’d need to know, along with a few pages of personal. I’ll need a few references as well.”

“Completely crazy?” Nico raised his eyebrows.

He rolled his eyes, “You are attempting to hire someone as a date to convince your family you’re well adjusted. So. Certain amount of crazy.”

Nico nodded slowly, already accepting that yeah, this wasn’t a normal situation. He took a slow sip of his coffee, peeling off his jacket, and laid out the paper in front of him.

“Do...you get a lot of business?” Nico read the first few lines of the contract, a bit surprised at its formality. He’d have Reyna read it over later, get some use out of her pre-law degree.

He nodded, “Thanksgiving and Christmas are the busiest, but I’ve also done weddings and a few birthdays. It’s not that uncommon.”

“Have you been doing it long?”

“Since I was 19.” Will nodded, taking a bite of a muffin and talking through it. Nico hoped he would have better manners in front of his family. “Four, five years now. Now. Enough questions about me.” He flipped a page in his notebook. “Some questions about you. Name?”

“Nico di Angelo.” Nico, almost without noticing, let his faint accent wrap around his words, a habit he only fell into when he rarely flirted. He bit his lip, hoping the slight dusting of color on his cheeks could be blamed on his steaming drink.

Will seemed to make no notice of it. “How old are you?”

“22.” Nico answered, playing with the ring on his finger as Will wrote it all down in his notebook

“What is the date of the holiday event?” Will sucked the syrup off the tips of his fingers before grabbing a pen to scrawl down some words. Nico had to glance away.

Nico took a deep breath. “I would need a date from the 21st to the 2th.”

Will hummed. “The 21st and the 2th? What times?”

“No...uh, the 21st through the 2th.” Nico rubbed the back of his head at Will’s surprised look. “Uh, my family kind of goes all out for Christmas. We, um, go back to our childhood home and stay there.”

“That’s...almost two weeks.” Will told him, as if Nico didn’t know that very fact.

Nico nodded, “Yeah. I know.”

Will blinked a few times, considering, and apparently just deciding to go back to the interview. He asked a few more questions before jumping into the rules, handing Nico his own handout.

“You get three instances of PDA. No tongue unless the moment calls for it, no longer then five seconds.”

“Last question.” Will glanced up at him for this one. “Why do you need to hire a date?”

Nico had prepared for this one. He sighed, “I kind of told my sister I’ve had a boyfriend for the past few months. She…worries.” A fond smile crossed his face in an instance. “She’s the best, but she feels better knowing I’m not alone. I’d tell her me and this ‘boyfriend’ just broke up but I don’t want to, I don’t know, upset her right before the holidays. So yeah.”

Will was still observing him, his face neutral. “Seems like you screwed up.” He finally offered.

Nico nodded, hanging his head a bit. “I’d need you to come stay at my family’s manor for the time and, uh, interact with my family I guess.”

 Will nodded, making a note of something, before meeting Nico’s eyes, narrowing a bit. “This is what I usually charge for a one night event.” He scrawled a pair of numbers down on a napkin, sliding it over. He pointed to the number next to it. “This is what it will be for a two week job.”

Nico barely glanced at the number. “Money will be no problem. I’d pay for your traveling fees as well.”

Will’s eyebrows furred together. “Traveling fees? It’s not in New York? Where even is this event?”

Nico bit his lip. “My family’s manor.”

“Your family has a manor?”  Will looked truly at loss with this. “Like, a mansion?”

“Um, a few actually. We’re visiting the Chicago one this year.”

Will blinked a few times, “A few?”

“In California, mostly.” Nico finally told him, chewing on his lip. “I grew up near Los Angles.”

Will’s eyebrows shot up, “Really? You’re a California boy? With that pale skin?”

Nico took offense at that, a flare of irritation flaming up – not only at the other boy’s dismissive, patronizing tone, but also the slight insult in the words. “Not all of us are the embodiment of a surfer dude.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I’m guessing you have the brains of one too?”

“I’m actually pre-med.” Will sneered, breaking his neutral face for the first time since Nico sat down, “What are you studying, the history of My Chemical Romance? The evolution of Hot Topic?”

Nico almost gasped in offense. “I’m a literature major.”

He seemed almost amused by this. “What, did Edgar Allen Poe totally speak to your soul or something?”

Nico rolled his eyes at that, completely aware of how quickly downhill this interview was going. “Better then a Grey’s Anatomy wanna-be.”

Will’s jaw dropped, “First off, Grey’s Anatomy is a total inaccurate portrayal of the medical field and –“ His jaw snapped close, his eyes narrowing. He flipped his notebook close, gathering his notebooks. He sneered again, “Email me your application by the end of tomorrow. We’ll be in contact if I’m interested.”

He stormed off leaving Nico bitterly, a bit angrily, noting how nice the other boy’s ass looked in a pair of jeans.

Nico tore his gaze away, wondering if he should just call Hazel right now and lament about his break up.

Well…that didn’t go great.

The email was short, direct, and to the point.

“He...agreed to do it.” Nico stared at the screen in surprise. He blinked a few times, making sure he just wasn’t seeing things. “He said he’d actually do it.”

“That’s good, right?” Piper took a bite of her leftover noodles, giving him a look. “That’s what you wanted?”

“I mean…” Nico licked his lips, shaking his head. “He said that Christmas is one of his busiest seasons, and he can usually only take on two or three clients and I’d need him for such a long time…”  Nico blinked. “All we did was fight at the end of the interview, like, what?”

Piper shrugged, stuffing her chopsticks in her mouth and turning back to her DS. “Stranger things have happened. Maybe he’s into that. He probably took one look at your hot ass and checked the fuck out of that ‘yes’ box. He’s gay, right?”

“Bisexual.” Nico corrected her, “But yeah, no, it’s definitely not that.”

She looked at him systematically, “If it’s not that then it’s probably the fat ass check you agreed to write for him.”

Nico blinked a few times, still staring at his glowing phone. “Yeah. I guess.”

She shot him an amused look, “Looks like you’ve got packing to do, di Angelo. Don’t forget protection!”

He flipped her off, not really paying attention to her crackling laughter in response, and focused back on his phone.

Nico carefully tapped out a reply, a confirmation he was still interested in Will’s services, and pulled out his rugged suitcase.

It seemed like he had packing to do.

“When are you meeting Will?”

Nico zipped his suitcase close with a sound of triumph, Leo echoing the sound in response from where he was laying across Nico’s bag, successfully pushing down the contents. 

“I’m meeting him at the airport.” Nico pulled out his phone to click out yet another passive aggressive text to the number Will had sent him, aggravated at the lack of response. And, when Will actually bothered to respond, it was always littered with multiple grammar errors and half spelled words, always an indecipherable jumble. Nico vaguely wondered if he was doing it on purpose.

Jason was grinning from the kitchen, a few sandwiches in process of being assembled in front of him. Piper’s disgusting tofu-lunch meat was on display, and Nico had to wrinkle his nose in response to the sight.

“Gross.” He only said, ducking around Jason in their small kitchen to grab a water bottle from the fridge. Gods, he hoped Jason would actually remember to clean while he was gone. It was a long shot, definitely, but that didn’t stop the heavy persistence of Nico’s prayers. He slipped the bottle in his bag,

He swung his backpack over his shoulder, making sure he had the last of his items. Wallet, charged phone, headphones, plane ticket, a pack of pills in case the airplane got too much for Nico, a favorite book  – the essentials – and wandered back into the living room to stare at his somehow-zipped bag.

Piper was laying on the couch, a Playstation controller in her hands, today apparently not the day for a shirt. Nico glanced at the screen just in time to watch several zombies blow up on screen, a mess of gore, and had to glance back to Piper, her bored face showing no emotion. There was a stain of mustard on the front of her sports bra, no concern in the world except for the wave of zombies attacking on screen.

He sighed, shaking his head. “See ya later, Pipes.”

She saluted him, still focused on her game and honestly, Nico could respect that.

Leo and Jason both grinned at him from the kitchen as he gathered his bags, Piper throwing him a thumbs-up from her spot on the couch.

“See you guys later.” He told them, rolling his eyes. Honestly, ever since Nico woke up his morning it had all been smug grins and low laughs, and the convenient ‘lingering’ around that hardly took place on a weekend.

“See you New Years!” Their unison voices would have been creepy had Nico not known they probably rehearsed it the night before. They were all a bunch of co-dependent dorks.

His phone finally – Jesus Christ finally – buzzed with Will’s response just as Nico shut the door behind him. He glanced at the message, groaned loudly, and called an Uber.

He wasn’t even on the plane yet and he could only tell how long of a ride it was going to be.

“I hate planes.”

Will didn’t bother looking up from his notebook. “Planes are perfectly safe.”

“I feel like toothpaste. Toothpaste that is about to die.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“The concept of planes is ridiculous. Who thought of this? ‘Let’s put people in metal tubes, launch them through the air without wi-fi, and charge them hundreds of dollars’. It’s horrific and ridiculous and we’re going to die.”

Will huffed out a sound of irritation. “You’re being absolutely ridiculous. Just – try and focus on something else or something. Put in your headphones and take a nap.”

“I can’t.” Nico clenched his teeth and took a deep breath. “My ears are popping and I forgot my gum.”

Will sighed again, tucking his magazine for a second to ruffle through his backpack. He flipped a pack of gum towards him, turning back to his entertainment like it was his lifeline.

“It’s grape.” Nico wrinkled his nose, “I hate flavored gum.”

Will rolled his eyes so hard, Nico feared he would get stuck that way. Nico was not showing up with him in tow if that happened.

“Then don’t chew it and let your ears pop to death.”

Nico studied the horrifically purple pack of gum, and how the memory of it always tasted gross and rusty, but also took a moment to focus on the painful bursts happening in his ears.

He popped the piece in his mouth, making a face, and threw the pack back to the other boy without a thank you. Hazel would be ashamed at his lack of manners.

Nico glanced around the plane for a moment, already bored and looking everywhere but the few open windows around him, before turning back to his annoyed companion.

“So, how did we meet?”

“Through mutual friends.” Will told him, now looking up.

Nico was already shaking his head, “That won’t work – Hazel and I share the same friend group, she’d want details.”

“Hazel’s your sister? Dating Frank?” Will clarified. Nico nodded, and he continued, “Okay, then we met through a study group, that’s easy.”

“I don’t do study groups. Anyways, you’re pre-med and I’m English lit, we wouldn’t have any overlapping classes.”

Will rolled his eyes. “It can be a Gen-Ed, I don’t know. We don’t need to figure out every single little thing, Nico. Some details can be glossed over.”

“Hazel will want all the details.” Nico shook his head, “We have to clear the story up now or she’ll get suspicious.”

“Fine.” Will blew a breath of hair up into his frizzy bangs, and Nico kind of hated how cute that was. “Um, we met in the library. We were both studying after lunch and I offered to buy you coffee and it’s been magic ever sense.

Nico wrinkled his nose. “Magic? Really?”

“Pure, perfect magic.” Will repeated, his voice still a breeze.

It was Nico’s turn to roll his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, well, you’re paying this ridiculous to be your company for the next 11 days.” Will gave him a smug grin, “So this is all on you.”

Nico leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. “I should have just bribed Jason along. Hazel wouldn’t have bought it but I bet we could make it convincing for everyone else. Jason likes to drunk-make out with everyone, he would have sucked it up for me. We totally could have done it.”

“Shoulda done that then.” Will flipped his magazine page. Jerk. He got the window seat and wasn’t even bothering to use it. Even though Nico wouldn’t have taken the window seat if it was literally the last seat available in the world, Will could be bothered to glance out every once in awhile. Jerk.

“We should go over the details again.” Nico bit his lip, still a bit nervous. Hazel would flip out if she found out the truth, and that wasn’t a Christmas present Nico wanted to receive.

Will huffed out a sigh. “We know enough for the first day, it’s fine. I know everything important.”

“What’s my favorite color?” Nico challenged.

“Black.” Will answered promptly, not even looking up from his magazine.

Nico blinked in surprise. “How’d you know? We haven’t gone over personal info yet.”

Will did look up at that, rolling his head to the side to give Nico such a dry look, he was feeling a bit thirsty. He lowered his eyes down obviously to Nico’s outfit before speaking, “Nico, you’re literally wearing the entire Matrix crew ensemble at once. I’d be surprised to hear that whatever Hot Topic you walked out of to buy that outfit was still open from the amount of stock you bought out of it.”

Nico stared at him, his mouth a bit open. “You’re gonna come after me for my outfit?” Nico scoffed, “Okay Hollister. Did you just see a hipster on the street and decided that’s how you were gonna live your life?”

“I’m not a hipster!” Will protested.

Nico rolled his eyes, “Says the guy wearing a beanie and flannel.”

“It’s cold!” Will bit the side of his cheek, seemingly in annoyance. “It’s better than you Mr. Fingerless gloves. Who does that even benefit? Gloves at meant to warm your hands and you’re literally choosing to not follow that simple task.”

“It’s so I can use my smartphone, dumbass.” Nico bit out, despite his full knowledge of how ridiculous his gloves actually were. Sure, they looked pretty cool but that didn’t change the fact that 90% of the time his fingers were freezing.

Will huffed out an annoyed breath. “They literally mass produce gloves with that exact purpose. They’re sold everywhere. Gas stations. Convenience store lines. Amazon. Everywhere.”

“I’m not going to buy gloves when I already own a perfectly able pair.” Nico rolled his eyes instead.

Will rolled his eyes but didn’t respond, instead pulling out a pair of headphones to completely ignore Nico even further.

That’s how the rest of the ride was - Will ignoring him while Nico flipped through the personal files on both of them. Nico was almost used to the routine hell he went through around every holiday – the two hour or so ride that he could blur out with the help of an old audiobook or paperback. The turbulence was – thankfully – at the minimum, save for the quick instance of bumpy panic Nico had at their landing, a jump that had Will loudly snickering into his sleeve, not bothering to hide it. 

After getting off the plane, Will apparently decided he was done ignoring Nico. They grabbed their bags, each rolling their eyes at the others bags – Will’s an ugly bright yellow and orange plaid, Nico’s black leather with gold – when Will turned to him as if something just occurred to him.

“How are we even getting to your mansion in the middle of nowhere?”

“It’s a manor,” Nico corrected, “And my chauffer is picking us up.”

Will’s eyes widened. “Your family has a chauffeur? What the hell? How rich are you guys?”

“Jules-Albert isn’t our chauffeur, he’s my chauffeur. We have a different one for the family.”

“You have multiple chauffeurs?”

Nico rolled his eyes. “Yes, Will. Keep up.” He scanned the crowd, knowing Jules-Albert would never be late, and grinned when he spotted the deadly pale man leaning tall over most of the crowd.

“There he is.” Nico declared, fully for Will’s benefit as he headed towards the other man.

Jules-Albert was as straight faced as ever, his face blank, but Nico barked out a laugh at the white board held up in his hands as Nico got closer.

“A skull? Really?” Nico grinned,

“I thought it to be a proper distinction to draw your attention.” Jules told him, his French accent thick, and took Nico’s luggage with a practiced air. He spotted Will at Nico’s shoulder, and gave Nico the dullest look Nico had ever seen.

“You’ve brought a guest?” Jules stated the obvious as a question, “And you hadn’t thought to warn me? Or even introduce him?”

“He’s my hired date for the holiday.” Nico shrugged, ignoring Will’s surprised expression at their secret being spilled. He began following Jules towards the parking area, enjoying the familiarity of the older man’s presence.

“Nico!” Will hissed, annoyance passing over his face, “Are you literally unable to keep a secret?”

“I am able to be discreet, don’t worry.” Jules reassured him, pausing a moment to shift Nico’s luggage over to expose a hand.  “I am Jules-Albert, Master Nico’s personal chauffeur. I imagine if you two will be venturing out of the household for any period of time this holiday, I will be the one to guide you.” He shook Will’s hand quickly, nodding, before continuing.

“Jules won’t tell anyone.” Nico shot the older man a fond look, “He’s kept secrets before.”

“If you are referencing your Prom event of Senior Year, I assure you that I have remained most careful on the subject.”

“See?” Nico grinned, already feeling more confident, more calm, in the familiar man’s presence. He and Jules had gotten close his high school years, always a willing and able confident.

They approached the limo, and Nico was half-tempted to slide in the front seat – like old times – to force Will to sit the long back by himself. Jules glanced at him, his gaze hard as if he was already guessing Nico’s thoughts, and opening the back door for both of them.

Nico sighed, doing as he was told, and slide across the leather seats as Jules threw their luggage in the back and Will climbed in after him. Jules started up the limo shortly after, pulling into the city traffic with easy practice.

Will was still staring at the limo, his backpack clenched in his arms, and gave Nico a surprised look.

Nico was never one to flaunt his wealth – too many years as a kid without anything near it – but hell, there were expectations for everything.

“Maybe we should have gone over the personal info.” Nico gave him a smug smile, enjoying how wide Will’s eyes were, “Maybe then you’d know about Jules and Beatrice here.”

Will rolled his eyes, probably not catching how Jules was mumbling about how his vehicle was most certainly not named Beatrice, and returned back to his earlier mood.

“I should have guessed it – what, with your multiple manors and such. What, are we going to be taking the horses out for a race while we’re here? That’s what rich people do, right?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Will.” He paused, willing the emerging grin off. “Horse racing season doesn’t start until April.”

Will sputtered, probably about to start another round of one-liners and sneers, when Jules-Albert spoke up.

“There are refreshments in the backseat, please do feel free to help yourselves.”

Nico grinned in victory, turning to dig through the small cooler build into the side. Jules-Albert continued, his voice pitched a bit higher so Will could hear. “I do hope your chemistry will improve before Sir Hades is introduced to the both of you.”  “I’m not worried about Hades.” Nico popped the tab of the soda, enjoying the fact that Jules had picked up his favorite kind.

He saw Jules glance at him through the rear view mirror, his gaze knowing. “Lady Hazel, I’m assuming?”

Nico groaned, “Yes.” He rubbed his eyes, his smug grin sliding off easily at the mention of her name. “If anyone’s gonna see through this, it’s going to be her.”

Jules hummed, clearly in agreement, and that nearly sealed the deal.

“I’m regretting this already.” Nico groaned into his folded arms. “Jules, take us back. We’ll tell Hazel the plane crashed or something.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Will repeated for the second time that day. Jules, the traitor, kept driving with his small smirk still in place.

“You’re ridiculous.” Nico shot back.

Will buried his hand in his hands. “I just – 11 days. I’m going to be doing this for 11 days.”

Nico tilted his head against the window. He’d always enjoyed the short ride home with Jules from the airport. This, again, was proving itself to be an exception. A few low songs played out – definitely Jules’s personal picks – and wondered how long it would take for Will to break the silence.

Not long apparently – barely ten minutes it seems.

“You know, I take pride in my ability to get along with my clients and their families. I’m easygoing and charming. I don’t get in fights, it’s like a thing.” Will seemed to be evaluating his entire existence from Beatrice’s backseat, his backpack still clenched to his chest.“It’s my thing.”

Nico hummed. “Apparently not.”

Jules-Albert pulled up to the front of the manor, and Nico wasn’t surprised to see how well done the yard was trended, even through the thin layer of snow. Persephone always had a knack for those kinds of things. Will, leaned forward beside him to see through the window better, went still again, probably at the extravagance Hades liked to throw together during the holidays.

Even Nico, who had thankfully become mostly immune to it after living with him for several years, could admit Hades had gone a bit overboard.

“Thanks Jules!” He called out, rushing out before the car had even fully stopped, mostly just so he could have a moment of peace.

“Be careful!” Will scowled from the open door, following him after a moment. “If you twist an ankle, I’m not getting paid to nurse you back to health.”

Nico huffed out a frustrated breath, “Don’t worry sweetheart, I wouldn’t trust your pre-med knowledge with anything more complex than a paper cut.”

Jules-Albert, coming out to help with their luggage, was laughing lowly into his sleeve. Nico cut a glare towards him, close to actually calling him out on the fact but decided he liked actually living more. Jules waved them off, letting Nico and Will start walking towards the entrance.

Nico turned to Will as they stood on the doorstep, eyeing the other boy with barely hidden distaste. “We can’t bicker in front of my family.”

“We won’t have to bicker in front of anyone if you’d just act mature.”

“Oh my god.” Nico hissed, pounding on the front door, probably with too much force.

The door swung open so quickly, that the opener must have been waiting since they hit the drive way. Which, knowing his dad, he totally was.

“My son.” Hades greeted, pulling him in for a too-tight hug. Mid-squeeze, Hades paused, apparently looking over Nico’s shoulder. “And my…other son?” Hades questioned, pulling away from him.

Nico huffed, suddenly a bit nervous because, um, the situation was happening and one-too-many annoyed remarks would blow it all. “He’s not your son. That’s my, um, boyfriend. He’s my boyfriend. Um, Will Solace.”

Hades beamed suddenly at that, “You have a boyfriend? And we haven’t spoken of this earlier?”

Nico raised an eyebrow. “You thought you might have had another son that would show up on your doorstep without prompt?”

Hades shrugged, still blissfully happy as he drank in the sight of Will. “The eighties were an odd time, my son. And my other-not related son!” Hades pulled Will in for the same-too tight hug that Hades was infamous for. Will’s arms, pinned to his side, were unable to return the gesture, but he immediately put on a face of charm as Hades pulled away.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. di Angelo. I’ve heard so much about your family from Nico here.” Will gave him such a genuine smile, Nico paused for a second. He…hadn’t considered how good Will might be at this.

Hades held the other boy at arm’s-length, his hands still around Will’s shoulders. He looked close to tears. “Oh, Persephone will be ecstatic. Oh, and your sister!” He nodded, “Hazel, he’s here!” He yelled over his shoulder, causing Nico to wince. He turned back to them both, “You know sometimes I feel like we’re in a little club, Persephone and I. All we do is sit around with tea and worry about you two.”

Nico sighed, not really that annoyed. “I’m fine. We’re fine.”

“Perhaps we’d know that if you bothered to call or visit at all.” Hades told him, still holding Will like a teddy bear, now under his arm. Will, the perfect actor, seemed to find nothing out of the ordinary about this.

Nico sighed, but his mood immediately shot up at the sound of pounding steps down the staircase, and Nico turned just in time to find himself with a face-full of wild curls.

Hazel squealed his name as he pulled her in, his arms tight around his sister as he buried his face into her neck. Her perfume was familiar, some vanilla sugar spray Persephone always bought her, but Nico had missed it.

“You act as if we haven’t seen each other in months rather than days.” Hazel mumbled into his jacket, despite hugging him just as hard. “We see each other almost once a week.”

“It’s been almost two weeks.” Nico told her, not even embarrassed. He caught Frank’s eye from his place over Hazel’s shoulder and gave him a small grin. He waved back, looking amused at Hazel’s octopus imitation. “I had to cancel lunch on Sunday because of finals, remember?”

She hummed, tightening her arms around his waist. “That makes this a bit more acceptable then.”

Will laughed then – either at Hazel’s mumbled comment or whatever Hades was going on about – and that had Hazel freezing and pulling away from his arms.

Hazel’s face lit up, more than it had when she saw Nico, he noted a bit jealously. Not very jealous, just a little. She was his sister anyways.

“You must be Nico’s boyfriend.” Her voice was filled with glee as she turned on him. “I’d say I’ve heard a lot about you but Nico here has been surprisingly tight lipped.”

Will laughed at that, “You know Nico.” He told her, his voice fond as if he actually did know Nico. “Anyways, the treatment hasn’t been the same on my end – I’ve heard so much about you. Nico can’t stop talking about you.”

Hazel beamed up at him at that, and a seed of guilt began to bloom in his chest at her expression. She looked so happy at this lie. She leaned in close to him, her voice only loud enough for him to hear.

“He’s cute.” Hazel looked ecstatic at this fact. “Like, he’s really cute.”

“I agree.” Hades grinned, whispering back, apparently close enough to hear as well. “He’s hot.”

Nico groaned at that, loudly and completely embarrassed. He shoved his face into his hands, turning away from both of them. Hazel – the traitor – was giggling into Frank’s shoulder.

“What?” Hades voice was a barely hidden laugh, “Is that not what the kids are saying?”  “Leave the children alone, Hades.” Persephone said as she entered the room, a poinsettia under her arm. She beamed at the sight of them – all still gathered in the entrance.“Nico, it’s so good to have you home.” She said, kissing him on both cheeks quickly. She frowned as she pulled away, grabbing onto his elbow with her free hand. “I’d say it’s nice to see you.” She declared coolly, “Except you’re absolutely bone-thin. Have you not been eating? I’ve been sending fudge once a week, is that Jason eating all of it?”

Nico smiled, soft and true. “I’ve gotten all of it, yes. And Jason’s only eating the separate container you care to send for him. So thanks for that.”

She nodded, looking a bit more satisfied. “You’re going to be eating nearly everything while you’re home.” She informed him.

“He will be eating something delicious.” Hades butted in with his own laugh, thankfully drawing the attention away from Nico. Hades nodded towards a slightly-blushing Will, speaking and grinning along with Hazel, and winked at his wife.

Persephone immediately passed off the wildly grown poinsettia to Nico, turning on Will with such intensity, he stopped mid-sentence to stare back at her.

“You must be Nico’s boyfriend.” She declared, staring at him.

Will nodded, trying for a kind smile. It came out more nervous, despite his best efforts. Will was a good actor, but Persephone could be slightly terrifying at homes. Nico knew.

“I am, yes. Will Solace.” His eyes flickered over to Nico’s, and his smile took on a more gooey aspect that must have been practiced. “Four months now.”

He could almost feel Hades beside him, holding in the ‘awwww’ that was definitely passing through his mind.

Persephone cocked her head to the side, coming up closer to Will to study him. “Wouldn’t you rather spend the holidays with your family?”

Nico knew what this question was – Persephone was never one for being subtle. Her eyes were sharp, catching on the worn areas of his jeans, and the loose button on his flannel, and the thinness of his cheeks.

She was always looking for more children to mentally adopt, and Nico could already see the mountain of sweaters and food that would be pushed onto the other boy. Good. Better him than Nico.

“My sisters don’t get back into town until the fifth so we’re putting off Christmas.” He shrugged, still a soft smile in place. “They’re always traveling during the holidays.”

“And they do not invite you along?” She frowned, leaning forward to smooth down Will’s collar.

Will let out a small laugh, probably used to the mother-henning after all the families he’s met. “They do.” He reassured her, “And I usually go, but after hearing about how wonderful Nico’s family was –“ He shot a warm smile to everyone in the room, and there was almost a literal sigh that passed through the air, “I just had to meet you all.”

Persephone melted at that, her shoulders dipping down in happy surrender as she pulled him into a hug. “Well, we’re just so happy you could join us.”

“I’m so happy I could be here with you guys.” Will’s voice was strong and genuine, so much so, that Nico shot him a curious look. Had Nico not spent the entire trip here bickering with the other boy, Nico might have believed it himself.

Persephone clapped her hands over her face in joy, shooting Hades a gleeful look that he only returned with a ‘yes I know!’ nod. She took her overgrown plant back from Nico, calling Hades out into the green house to help her with it, probably just so they could gossip about them in peace.

“We have to decorate the Christmas tree now that you’re finally home!” Hazel jumped up, grinning as they left. “Frank and I already carried all the boxes down from the attic but we were waiting for you guys to start. Hades and Persephone totally won’t mind if we get started with getting everything out.”

“That sounds fun.” Will grinned, looking totally up for helping with a bunch of strangers Christmas decorations.

Hazel turned to him, beaming. “You can help me organize the ornaments.” She decided, taking his arm. “It’s a lot of fun, I promise.” She turned to give him and Frank a look, amusement across her features. “Will and I will be requiring sustenance for our task. The hot chocolate and eggnog are in the kitchen.”

She lead them both of out the room, Will’s ringing laugh trailing them.

Frank and Nico were quiet for a moment.

“Did we just get ditched in favor of your boyfriend?” Frank asked, a little blank. He blinked a few times, clearing the confusion off his face.

Nico nodded sympathetic, already turning to the kitchen. “Sorry to break it to you Frank, but that’s totally what happened.” He smiled, just slightly, at the twin bells of laughter drifting from the living room. “Now c’mon, they’re expecting famous di Angelo hot chocolate and it’s best to not keep them waiting.”

The tree, of course, was ridiculous.

Much, much too tall – although he wasn’t sure if it was to blame more on Hades or Persephone. Both, probably. They both had such a draw to the extragence, it was a wonder there was even space in the over-decorated parlor for them to sit in.

Nico set down the steaming mugs, Frank behind him with a handful of peppermint sticks and a plate of cookies, one of which was immediately swiped by Hazel herself.

She stuffed the cookie whole in her mouth, grinning around the treat, as she began unloading the surprisingly dust-less boxes.

“Awwww.” Hazel cooed as she pulled out a worn box, a few crumbles flying out with the action.

Nico recognized it immediately and groaned. “I thought we agreed not to do the embarrassing elementary school photos this year.”

“I’d never make that promise and you know that.” She told him, pulling out a particularly bad school photo – seventh grade. Nico cringed, wanting nothing more to grab the entire set of photos and dump them into the active fireplace.

“Nico was very into hair dye that year.” She told Will, a satisfied grin on her face. “Although I personally think that green is just not his color.”

“I hate you.” Nico declared instead, taking a smooth sip of his drink, attempting nonchalance.

Will was staring at the photo in pure glee, his grin wide and real as he laughed. Nico filed away the warm feeling in his chest for later, not really willing to examine it in at the moment.

 Nico gestured for him to hang the horribly made construction paper piece, rolling his eyes in fond amusement. He caught Hazel's eye, a happy expression content on her face as she watched them interact. 

Hades and Persephone joined them shortly after, bringing along plate of cookies. Persphone gave him a stern look, dropping a few cookies into his lap, apparently already making good on her promise. Hades boomed out a laugh as he pulled out the few ones from Hazel's childhood, her beaming, young face giving them all a crooked smile. 

Will seemed to actually enjoying himself, sipping on a cup of eggnog Hades had shoved in his hands. Someone had put on holidays music - Frank, probably - and the air was still warm with the heat and scent of fresh cookies. 

They put up the rest of the ornaments - Nico glancing over at Will every so often, a bit impressed with the other boy's acting. Hazel was just putting up an old family photo piece - glitter and glue galore - when she glanced at Nico, a bit unsure, her gaze darting back to the box.

And Nico knew that look. He stood, his movements easy, and took a small breath.  

They were quiet as Nico lifted the last shoebox from the ornament box. It was plain, worn, with a small hole in the side. He set it on the table, the mood shifting a bit, and edged off the lid slowly. If he turned, he would see Will shifting in confusion at the mood change, not understanding and unwilling to be the one to break the silence.

Nico smiled slightly as he pulled the first item out. “Do you remember this one?” He asked his father, not looking away from the item. “She was so upset when it broke.”

“And you spent the rest of the night gluing it back together to surprise her the next morning? Of course. She was so happy.” Hades added on, taking another delicate ornament out of the box. He tsked, “I remember this one. Dreadfully ugly. I am completely sure that she picked it out on that sole fact.”

It was truly ugly – Hades wasn’t exaggerating for once. A mess of neon green and pink, with dashes of yellow feathers on a grinning bird ornament.

“She totally did.” Nico laughed, “I was there. She wanted to see if you’d actually put it on the tree.”

Hades sighed, the sound showing laughter. “On my professionally decorated tree, no less.”

“You did.” Nico pointed out with a small smile.

Hades, now standing next to Nico, grinned slightly at that, ruffling his hair. “What we do for our kids, yes?”

Persephone, her shirt flowing color across the pale carpet, held up a paper ornament with a faint smile. It was one of their school made projects, her picture messingly glued to the construction paper snowman, the standard school photo small and neat despite the glitter and sequins attached. Nico grinned, setting it carefully on one of the higher branches.

“Oh!” Nico smiled, picking up a cloth wrapped piece, “This one was from mom!”

Hades peeked over his shoulder, his grin widening. “Oh yes, she bought that after we were married.”

It was a simple piece – clear, perfect glass making up the shape on an angel, wings extended. Along the bottom, neatly engraved, read famiglia di Angelo.

He let Hades hang that one, his gaze heavy with the memories Nico only had brief flashes of – soft hands smoothing Nico’s hair back, soft eyes edged with humor, pale cheeks filled with rosy color – and let Hades have a moment then, his fingers smoothing over the glass slowly as he hung it. 

They pulled the rest of the ornaments out slowly, exchanging familiar stories and remarks as tradition. Hazel and Persephone – along with Frank, and oh, yeah, Will this year – always kept back for this part, satisfied with watching them.

There was a moment of silence after Nico hung the last one, the low crackle of the fireplace being the only placeholders.

He turned back, their eyes on him, and began collecting empty mugs, mostly for just something to do.

“I’ll get refills.” Nico gave them a weak smile, already knowing about the thin layer of worry they felt for him around the holidays. “Any requests?”

There were none – all for hot chocolate – but it did surprise him when Will jumped up, volunteering his help. He was committed to the job, Nico guessed, as Will followed him in the kitchen.

Nico set the tray on the counter, the collected mugs clacking together as Nico took a moment, a quick, brief moment, to take a breath.

Will’s eyes were heavy on his back, and Nico wasn’t sure how he felt about the whole situation. Barely two hours ago, they were counting down the days till it was over and rolling eyes and sneering with snapping words and now…Nico was taking a deep breath, his mind still stubbornly lingering on the young sharp photographed grin and the vague memory of his mother’s dark hair.

“Your sister…” Will seemed to be struggling with it.

“Dead. 17, car accident.” Nico shrugged, carefully hiding all the familiar tension that came with the subject. His voice was quiet, no chance of being overheard.

Will ducked his head, “I….I didn’t know.”

“We should have gone over personal information.” Nico shrugged again, making the stiffness out of his limbs to start pouring the drinks.

Will was quiet. His eyes were on the title, his hands shoved in his pockets, and when he finally did speak, his eyes flickered up.

“Need any help?” He asked.

Nico observed him for a moment, deciding. “Sure.” He finally said. “Grab the whipped cream. Hazel likes it sweet.”

“And you, what, like it bitter and steaming?” Will was grinning slightly, nothing like the mean sneers they had been tossing around earlier. “Don’t think I didn’t notice your plain black roast coffee in the shop. What, does frilly coffee ruin your punk vibe?” 

“Whatever you say Hollister.” Nico rolled his eyes, his voice somehow not as mean as it was this morning. He'd...have to work on that. 

Nico paused, his eyes too-easily catching on the strong lines of Will's shoulders, lingering on the thin bit of skin that was exposed as Will reached to grab the milk carton. He swallowed. 

Well. 

Fuck. 

Notes: Yeaaaaah...this was suppose to be done by christmas....it's two months late, clocking in at 15k, and still remains unfinished. But my lil shipper heart is working on an angst piece and I NEED fluff sooooooo B) It's almost done - should be updated soon! Thanks for reading - please review if you enjoyed! I live and breath on reviews tbh they keep me going. - Rosy

[angelsfalling16]

Batting for the Same Team

Ship: Ollie/Sawyer

Rating: Teen

Summary: The school year is almost over, and with so many changes coming, Ollie hits the batting cages to clear his mind. He almost succeeds until Sawyer shows up, making him more confused than ever.

Word Count: 2227

A/N: Okay, I know there won't be a lot of people who read this fic because the fandom for this book is pretty much nonexistent, but after finishing the book last night, I needed more. And as soon as I read Ollie and Sawyer's first interaction, I shipped them and was sad we didn't get to see more of them, or Ollie in general. So I wrote this.

(Also, yes, it's a little weird that one of the characters has the same name as me, but I think that's part of what drew me to them.)

If you haven't read this book, please do and then come tell me what you think (and read this fic)!

Read it on ao3

***

There’s a week and a half left until school is out for the summer, and I am unsure how I should be feeling. The house is full of excitement from Halle, Nash, and the rest of their friends as they prepare for graduation this weekend and their next steps, but underneath all of that excitement, lies a thick layer of nervousness that none of them are willing to voice aloud even though it’s something they all share.

I feel some of those mixed emotions, too, but it’s different because I won’t be graduating for a couple more years. My nervousness stems from the fact that for the first time in years, I will be returning to the same school with the same friends. I’m happy about this, but it’s also a new feeling that I’m not sure how to handle. On top of that, I’ll be a junior counselor at a camp this summer when I’ve never been to camp. I still can’t believe they accepted me.

Even with this nervous excitement, I feel a bit of sadness.

Next year, I will be alone.

I mean, I’ll have Gramps of course. And all of my friends. But mom and dad will be across the county in LA, and Halle will be in New York, chasing after her dreams. I’m not sure how I’ll get through the school year without Halle here to watch Toy Story with me anytime something major happens. And who’s going to bake me cupcakes when she’s gone?

I’ll miss her. I’ll miss my family. But I’m glad I’m staying here in Connecticut.

I can’t sit still with all of this running through my mind. I need to go somewhere to think.

I stop by Halle’s room on my way out, but she’s not in there. She’s probably out with Nash, spending as much time with him as possible before she goes to Israel for the summer with our parents.

Honestly, it feels like she’s already gone sometimes. She’s rarely at home anymore, and when she is, Nash or Autumn and Molly are with her. I never get the chance to talk to her, even if I did know how to tell her I’ll miss her next year.

I sigh and head downstairs to tell Gramps that I’m headed to the batting cages for a bit.

“Have fun,” he says with a smile that was rarely present a year ago.

It’s nice to see him look more like himself now.

***

I swing my bat as the ball sails towards me, and they connect with that resonant tone that always brings a slight smile to my face. The machine pops out another ball, and I focus in on the ball as it sails through the air towards me. I take a deep breath then swing, once again making contact with the ball.

The repletion of the pop of the ball, the smack of the bat, and the clang of the fence as the ball bounces off brings me a comfort that helps clear my mind until all I’m thinking about is hitting the ball. Pop. Smack. Clang. Pop. Smack. Clang.

I keep going like this for a while before deciding to change the speed of the machine. I rented the cage for an hour so that I can keep hitting the ball and not have to worry about anything else for a while.

I take up my position again as I wait for the machine to send out another ball. It takes me a few pitches to get used to this speed, but soon, I’m hitting every ball as they come. I feel at home in this cage.

Moving around all the time for mom and dad’s job meant never really feeling like I had a home, but baseball always brought me that sense of comfort, of having a place I’m meant to be. Being in this cage, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone enter the cage beside mine, and as the machine loads another ball, I glance over at the newcomer. Then I do a double take because it’s Sawyer.

I swing for the ball but swing way too late and miss it completely, making a complete full of myself in front of him.

I glance at him again, and he nods and smiles at me. I nod and smile back, hoping he thinks the redness of my cheeks is from the heat and not from seeing him.

He lifts his bat and turns towards his own machine, so I turn back to mine, adjusting my helmet and taking up my position once more.

I continue batting at the balls, but I’m only hitting a fraction of them now. If this were the beginning of the year, I definitely would not have made the Varsity team, the only sophomore to do so.

My timing is off. And my gaze keeps skipping over to the cage next to mine. To Sawyer.

His whole body turns perfectly as he hits the ball, his arms stretched out in line with the bat as it makes contact with the ball, the sound of it echoing in my ears. I watch him swing again, not paying any attention to the balls still sailing out of my own machine.

Sawyer really is so good.

You don’t make captain of the varsity team or get into college with a baseball offer without being amazing.

I shake myself and force my attention back to the balls that are continuously sailing towards me. I bite my lip then lift my bat back up. I came here to clear my mind, not have it muddled by feelings I still don’t fully understand. I have to focus.

I clip the first ball but hit the second one nicely. As I continue hitting the balls, I start to relax again, almost forgetting Sawyer’s presence nearby. Almost, but not quite, because suddenly, I can feel his eyes on me, watching me bat.

I feel a flutter in my stomach at the attention.

It’s not the first time he’s watched me bat – we’re on the same baseball team after all – but this feels different somehow. Like he’s not watching my technique, but like he’s watching me.

I swallow around the lump in my throat and swing again, hitting the ball with so much force that it makes my arms vibrate with the force of it.

I force myself to keep my eyes on the balls as they exit the machine and sail through the air just before I hit them with my bat.

Even though I’m hitting the balls, I can’t focus anymore. I need a break.

I switch off the machine, gather my things, and step out of the cage. I head for the restrooms, needing water and space from Sawyer to try to get my thoughts straight, unsure if that’s really possible for me.

I pull off my helmet as I walk and wince at how soaked my hair is with sweat. Normally, I wouldn’t care, but I still imagine Sawyer’s eyes on me as I walk.

The water fountains are around the back of the restrooms, connected to the faded brick walls, and as I turn the corner, away from where everyone else is, I feel like I can relax once more. I drop my bag and helmet to the ground and lean against the wall, letting my eyes fall shut, as I try to calm the rapid beating of my heart in my chest.

This is stupid. I shouldn’t feel this way about him. He’s captain of the baseball team and a senior. I’m barely even on his radar.

Except he invited me to these very cages the first day we met, and I haven’t stopped thinking about him since.

“You all right?” A familiar voice says, and my eyes fly open to find Sawyer standing right in front of me.

“I’m sorry if I scared you off.”

“Oh, uh—. You didn’t. I mean—.” Ugh. Why can’t I form full sentences around him? “I just needed a break.”

“That’s cool,” he nods. “Hydration is important.”

Did he really follow me all the way over here to check on me?

He’s not leaving, though. He’s just standing there watching me, and I can feel my cheeks warm under his gaze. I almost imagine that his cheeks are red, too, but it must be from the heat.

We’re silent for a moment, just watching each other, and he’s the one to move first.

He steps towards me, then leans an arm against the wall next to me, his forearm resting against the bricks next to my head.

He does it so casually that my brain short-circuits for a moment, and my heart skips a beat. He leans closer to me, and I start to panic as his face inches closer to mine.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” I blurt, feeling stupid for doing it, but I don’t want to be that guy. The side guy who gets ignored in public and is nothing but a dirty little secret, something to be ashamed of.

I may not fully understand my own feelings, but I know that’s not what I want.

“We broke up a few weeks ago. We’ve been keeping it quiet,” he adds in response to the look of surprise on my face. “We didn’t want the news of us parting to overshadow everything else that’s been going on. Plus, I think everyone’s been too busy to even notice how different we are now.”

I nod in understanding. I had a whole relationship — with Sawyer’s sister of all people — and my own sister was too busy with her own life to notice any part of it.

“I understand,” I say, meaning it.

He doesn’t move, and neither do I.

His eyes drop down to my lips briefly, then he looks back up at me, a question in his expression. I don’t have any other objections or reasons that we shouldn’t do this, so I simply nod.

A moment later his lips are pressed to mine and one of his hands is on my hip, lightly pinning me to the wall. I could break away from him if I wanted to, but I don’t want to.

I reach for him, wanting to touch him, too, and one of my hands finds his waist while the other presses to his chest, just over his heart.

He steps closer to me, and as he does, I wish I weren’t so sweaty. I feel gross and am in desperate need of a shower.

He doesn’t seem to care, though. He just leans into me and keeps kissing me.

Kissing Sawyer isn’t like kissing anyone I’ve kissed before. His kiss is electric, and soft. So soft.

His lips move slowly against mine, and it feels completely right.

When we finally part, I’m breathless, and my head is spinning from how amazing that was.

His hand moves from hip to the side of my face, and I sigh softly, knowing that I must look so stupid as I feel myself melt into his touch, but I don’t care. This moment feels too good to care what I might look like.

He’s smiling softly at me, and I wonder what this means.

Does it mean anything? Or was it just a kiss for him? Do I want it to mean anything?

Before I can let my thoughts spiral too far, I lean forward to brush my lips against his in one final kiss before we pull apart.

“See you at graduation?” Sawyer asks, running a hand through his hair.

“Absolutely,” I reply, fighting a stupid smile that threatens to take over my face.

I watch him walk away, fully aware that I’m staring, but I don’t care how lovestruck I seem when he turns back to look at me with a soft smile before he rounds the corner.

As soon as he’s gone from view, I sink to the ground, burying my face in my hands and allowing myself to grin as stupidly as I want now that he can’t see me. I let myself sit there like that for a couple of minutes before trying to pull myself back together.

I may not be able to put a label on my feelings, but I definitely like Sawyer. And I need to tell someone.

Toy Story tonight? I text Halle.

OMG what happened?!? She replies only a minute later, knowing that Toy Story means something big.

Tell you tonight. I say, still smiling. I tuck my phone back into my pocket and stand.

I think I might be feeling a little more excited than nervous about staying in Connecticut now.

I suppose Sawyer could always bake me cupcakes when Halle is gone. And he’ll be here for the summer and around during the school year since he’s going to be less than an hour away for college.

I don’t expect a relationship from him — I’m still not sure that’s even something I would want — but who’s to say I can’t drop by his family’s bakery now and then to chat?

With a smile on my face, I head home, realizing that Gramps’s house feels like a home to me now, too.

Staying in Connecticut keeps looking better and better.