#this makes me feel like shit because i inconvenienced everyone around me which is something i don't want to do

[kelin-is-writing]

lost my composure for a second after bottling up stress for almost 4 months and got called overdramatic, nice!!!!

[mrzombielover]

- slow ride ch1

feat. sinner!adam x fem!hotel worker!reader

series masterlist | next chapter

warnings: NSFW, enemies to fuckbuddies, adam and reader both suck, unhealthy relationships, size kink oooops, light degradation

a/n: oh my god this is so self indulgent. something is fr wrong with me bc all my favorite men are irrevocably fucked up and toxic and emotionally damaged and would treat me like shit teehee

wc: 2.2k

“You took my shame and you took my pride / And now you gonna take me for a slowride”

When even Charlie is trepidatious about checking someone in to the hotel, you know they’ve fucked up bad.

Adam had shown up, tail between his legs, admitting something about how he’s “desperate enough to try anything,” even this “stupid delusional humiliating hotel.”

Charlie, who’s more like an angel than Adam ever was, had ultimately decided that he could stay. After a lengthy and heated discussion, she’d reminded the group that the hotel’s policy states that everyone deserves a chance at redemption, regardless of the sins they’ve committed. Considering he killed your friend, you thought that was bullshit, but it’s Charlie’s hotel at the end of the day, and you’re just along for the ride.

You like Charlie, which is why you put up with having Adam around. She’s a good person- genuinely, deep down. There’s no hidden motives in her actions. You’ve not met many good people in your life, so she’s won your respect, even if you have your doubts about the hotel’s premise.

But for as much as you love her, you briefly questioned her sanity when she asked you to keep a special eye on Adam.

“…and how exactly is that the job of treasury secretary?” You deadpan.

“Wellll…” Charlie trails off, looking away for a moment. “It isn’t really. Buuut what if I was asking as a favor, for your friend?” She clasps her hands together, giving you a smile. You have to avert your eyes from the hopeful look on her face before your resolve cracks.

“No way in hell,” You say quickly.

“Please!”

“No,”

“Pleaseee!”

You bite your lip as you think. He’s obnoxious, yes, but what’s really the worst that could happen? You close your eyes and sigh.

“…you owe me one,”

You regret accepting every day. Nobody got along with Adam. Well, nobody except for Nifty, who seemed thrilled to have a real bad boy staying in the hotel. You, however, got along with him the least of all.

For someone who’d come to the hotel in his time of need- who was in no position to ask for anything other than forgiveness- Adam sure has a smartass mouth. It seems Charlie just wants to give you a brain aneurysm, that’s why she gave you this job. Even if that wasn’t her goal, that’s certainly the stage you’re approaching, because fighting with Adam everyday is 100% going to make you pop a blood vessel.

You can’t help it. Something about him- the way he acts, the forced proximity, just gets under your skin, makes your eye twitch. He should be groveling, begging for forgiveness, putting his heart and soul into bettering himself, yet all he does is bitch and moan. Constantly complaining would be one thing, hell’s full of whiners, but he also feels the need to voice every thought he’s ever had, which often includes insults and snide remarks about those around him. You’ve never been one to take that shit- though, nobody at the hotel really does. It seems to be much worse with you two, specifically, though.

The problem comes in because, as much as you hate to admit it, you might sometimes occasionally have some things in common with him. No, you’re not quite as loud or crude or obnoxious, you don’t generally insult people for fun, but if someone deserves it?

You’ve tore into people for way less than murdering your friend, showing up on your doorstep and being a pain in your ass 24/7, especially if you’re in a particularly shitty mood. Reduced people to tears for mildly inconveniencing you, having an annoying voice, wasting food, etc etc… all of which Adam does.

Generally, you’re apathetic to what goes on around you, especially at the hotel. You’re fed, don’t have to pay rent, and can pretty much do whatever you want, so dealing with the annoying, traumatized, dramatic residents and staff is a fair trade off in your eyes. Adam should, in theory, be no different than the rest of them to you. So you cannot, for the life of you, figure out what about him makes him so much worse than the rest.

You just try not to think about him as much as possible. But when you ignore him, he just seems to get worse.

“Jesus, you don’t think it’s a bit early to start drinking?”

You mentally groan as you hear his voice, avoiding eye contact as you crack open the bottle.

“I mean, Isn’t this shithole supposed to be for rehabilitation?” You can practically hear the smirk in his voice as he opens the fridge.

“Why don’t you focus on your own rehab first, dick? Been weeks now and you’re still an asshole,” You snap, before taking a swig of your beer. He shrugs, grabbing the orange juice from the fridge and placing it on the counter. He walks past where you’re leaning on the counter to get a glass.

“I mean, damn, you didn’t even try today, huh?”He laughs.

“Why are you pickin’ a fight with me right now?” You raise your voice a little, exasperated and too hungover to deal with this.

“oh, uh, i dunno… i’m bored?” He shrugs again, looking over to you with a self satisfied smile. You groan in frustration, then sigh, forcing yourself to keep it together.

“…and you wonder why your wives left you,” you mumble with a roll your eyes, turning to quickly leave the kitchen. you don’t see his face, but judging from the sound of a crash and footsteps quickly following you into the hallway, you hit a nerve. oh, god, here we go…

“you fucking junkie bitch!” he yells after you as you stomp up the stairs.

“you’re proving my point right now!” you say over your shoulder.

“Like you have room to talk? Let’s bring up your love life, huh?!”

“oh my god shut up!” Angel yells through the door as you pass his room. “Every fuckin’ morning with you two!”

Adam ignores him, continuing to rant as he follows closely behind you, every degrading name he can think of spilling from his lips.

“…fucking whore cunt- whose not even fucking listening to me!” he says as you turn into your room. you turn, attempting to slam the door, but he sticks his foot in the gap and grabs the door, shoving it back open.

“what in the fuck is your problem today?!” you yell.

“it’s you, bitch!”

“oh my god- how do you care about anything this much? Seriously, it’s not that deep!”

you jump a little as he suddenly slaps the beer bottle out of your hands, the glass shattering loudly and the leftover beer soaking your socks. your jaw drops, outraged, and you can’t help the reflex to reach up and smack the side of his head.

“ow!” he yelps, and you raise your fists to hit him again, when-

“you- fucking bitch-!” he shouts. you cry out in surprise as he grabs your wrists and yanks you with surprising ease, shoving you roughly into the wall behind you.

theres a struggle, both grunting with the strain of pushing against each other as Adam wrestles to keep the upper hand. You go to knee him, but he moves quicker, slotting one of his legs between your own and pressing his body against yours to pin you completely against the wall.

then, something changes. he pauses, the close proximity seems to have finally registered in his brain. his eyes widen and you pause too, both panting, faces inches apart. his grip loosens, and a flicker of confusion crosses his features.

“wait, what’s-“

“shut up,” you snap suddenly. before you even realize what you’re doing, your hands are on his chest, and you’re shoving him towards your bed.

“take off your shirt,” you command as the back of his knees hit the mattress and he’s falling backwards. he quickly does as you say, looking up at you with wide eyes as you straddle him and rip your own shirt off as well. he mumbles a nice when he sees you’re not wearing a bra. you reach to tug off the sweatpants you had on, and as soon as you can kick them away Adam’s hands are on your waist and flipping you over. He hurriedly rips off the rest of his clothes before he’s back on you, leaning down to eagerly press kisses down your neck. you have to tilt your head to make room for the horns now permanently attached to his head, and you think of the irony of this situation.

the sound of fabric ripping followed immediately by two of his fingers finding your clit makes you gasp. you bite back a whimper as he begins to rub rough and sloppy circles on your clit. the pleasure doesn’t last long before he’s pulling his hand back, only to shove a finger inside your cunt quickly, and you gasp again. being so unprepared, the stretch burns a bit. fuck, has he always had such big hands? he’s gentle at first, as he works the single finger in and out of you, and once the pain subsides, he quickly adds a second one.

“Oh, fuck,” you can’t help the curse that slips past your lips, and before long you’re rocking your hips against his hand. his movements are rushed and sloppy, impatient as he stretches you out. he chuckles dryly, and you shoot him a glare.

once again, before long, he’s pulling away, and grabbing you by the shoulders to make you sit up with him. you whine involuntarily at the loss of contact, and the cocky bastard laughs again.

“So impatient, babe,” He grins.

“Shut up,” You say again, pushing him so that he’s sitting up against the bed frame. You crawl over to him, and straddle his lap. His hands find your ass, groping it roughly while you grab the base of his cock and align the tip with your entrance.

You both gasp in unison when you swiftly lower yourself to take his full length. A strangled moan escapes from your lips and you let your head fall forward to rest on his shoulder. Eyes squeezed shut, you wait so you can adjust to his size. Seriously, how had you never noticed how big he was before now? Prematurely, Adam angles his hips and suddenly thrusts up into you, making you cry out in pain and pleasure.

“Oh you like that, bitch? Huh?” He says teasingly, running his hands up and down your back before moving his hips again.

“You have seriously got to learn to be quiet,” You retort through gritted teeth, reaching up to pull his hair from the roots. He lets out a groan, followed by a more pathetic whine as you begin to move on his length.

It must be all the pent up emotion, because you’re very quickly unable to speak beyond a few curses and wanton moans. Adam however, can’t seem to stop talking. Mumbling about how good you feel- for a whore, how he didn’t think you’d be so tight, how you’re so fucking sexy he wishes he’d done this sooner.

“Ugh, Adam- shut up!” You groan as you move desperately. He whines as you pull his hair again for emphasis, biting his lip as you feel his hips snap up into yours.

“Oh, god-“ You’re squealing, back arching as you can feel your whole body tense. You’re on top, but as you grow more limp, he’s holding you upright as he roughly fucks into you. “I’m close!” You warn, and it comes out a strangled sob.

You’re so, so close. Euphoria clouds your brain, and collapse onto him as he continues to hold you up to thrust into you.

You fall backwards, and Adam follows, caging you underneath him as he chases his own release now.

“oh- fuck- don’t stop!” You’re practically screaming as your orgasm crashes over you, and you wrap your arms around and claw at Adam desperately, fingernails leaving marks on his fleshy back. You only faintly register the breathless laugh he lets out at your state as he now pounds into you.

He slams into you with an intensity that forces the air out of your lungs, and even Adam can’t form thoughts or speak anymore.

“Oh, fu-uuck, fuck, fuck, oh my god,” He can’t believe the noises that are coming from him, but he also can’t find it in himself to care when you feel this good. You’re so sensitive, and still tight from your previous climax, and he can feel your pulse in the walls of your cunt as you clench around him.

Pleasure quickly turns to overstimulation, and you moan his name again, reaching up to pull at his hair, horns, wings, anything, as tears begin to prick at your eyes. Hearing you moan his name, seeing the look on your face, knowing he’s the one doing this to you is what he needed to send him over the edge.

“o-oh my god-“ he groans, hips stuttering as he presses his body as close to yours as possible, spilling his cum deeply inside of you with an actual moan.

He stays still for a moment, both of your breathing labored, sweat making your hair stick to your foreheads and necks, but you stay holding eachother. While both your brains are still fuzzy, thoughts muddled from the aftershocks, he takes a hand up and wipes your hair away from your face, and the tears from your eyes.

Eventually, he sits up and pulls out of you, rolling over to lay next to you on the bed. Neither of you say anything, too fucked out to think of the repercussions from your actions.

[sofiadragon]

Hi! Thinking back to your poll on concrit, I want to share my approach. When I am confused by a story, I might say "when X happened, I expected Y only for Z to happen." Or, "I'm not sure why X happened. Maybe A or B?" I never want to say that the writing is wrong, or make judgements about how to improve it. So far, people haven't even interpreted what I'm doing as criticism, even though imo it's the most valuable kind of feedback an author can get!

I'll be honest: I got a little frustrated about the most popular reblog basically saying "sit down internet rando, shut up, and say something nice or nothing at all. No questions, no additional commentary." What they seem to want is just another kudos button that works per-chapter. What they were describing as constructive criticism was full analysis beta reading, which, yes, gives good concrit in a supportive safe space. However, not all concrit is the sort of deep dive into plot, themeing, and characterization that should only be given in a dialog with someone who knows the writer's goals. I've gotten unsolicited public analysis of Hiraeth and that was just awful to experience. We do not suggest plot lines or additional scenes in the comments of a story - especially a completed story as was the case for my Doctor/Donna fic.

However, what you are describing is also constructive criticism. So is "I lost track of who was saying what around X line, was it A saying This Thing and B saying That Thing to C?" So is "I'm a nurse and I think you used the word catheter when you meant canula." I think there should always be an equal amount of attention given to what worked really well when you point out what doesn't, but for more superficial things writers should expect a few comments that aren't just "good job" or a star emoji. We shouldn't be telling our audience that we don't want feedback at all. Some of the best comments I've gotten contained questions about the story that would count as "unwelcome criticism" by the standard of that hard-line post.

Look, I don't want to sound like a crabby old woman griping about this new generation, but you are going to feel slightly inconvenienced or mildly irritated from time to time and that is no great crime against you. Curate your online experience with a sledgehammer to protect yourself from things that would cause you great emotional harm, fuck terfs and all that, but if something is just a mild irritant put the sledgehammer down and shoo it away with appropriate prejudice. So no, sorry if that makes me an asshole, but I think "don't be rude" is the better advice than "only say positive things."

As someone who writes unreliable narrator stories staring sneaky little shits like Loki, Tony Stark, Merlin, and so on I know people are going to speculate a bit in the comments. Heck, ffn calls them 'reviews' so when I post over there people are sometimes going to rate me out of 10 and write up an actual review. I'm going to get questions, and I'm going to give cryptic answer. A lot of time that's fun, but sometimes people get pushy or rude about it and I have to:

Deal with feeling slightly icky.

Ignore the comment or handle it with grace.

What I don't do is reply "no criticism accepted" and go at them like they ripped my baby apart or act like they had no right to irritate me. Take the nurse example. The specific comment I am thinking of came across a bit rude, it was just that I used one word and needed to have used another phrased like they were my elementary school teacher, but it was a 2/10 on the scale of rude things someone has said to me. I replied that sometimes I use the wrong technical word on purpose because the character doesn't know better, and then moved along because they were clearly trying to be helpful and just failed to communicate tone. We're writers, we're good at communicating via text. Not everyone is.

Opt-in is an approach that requires the audience know about it, but it is the right answer. It's people management. Signal to readers you know where you want the story to go, or if you are open to chatting in the comments. Set expectations and people will comment more and give feedback (mostly) on whatever you opted into. Otherwise turn the comments off, if you really just made it for yourself and don't want anyone to talk to you about it and you can't even handle a spelling correction.

[lou-struck]

Bumper to Bumper

Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

~ The explosion hero acts a little villainous on his favorite Theme Park ride.

Bumper Cars

This is yet another part of my 300 followers event which you could find HERE.

Although it took a lot of begging, pleading, and promises of affection, you finally managed to convince your boyfriend to go to the amusement park with you.

(Although you did have an inkling that he secretly wanted to go all along.)

It’s amazing how civilian wear can disguise even the most popular pro heroes when walking through a crowd. If Katsuki doesn't have a hero suit he can make it a whole day without being recognized. Especially when he is surrounded by so many sights and sounds that compete for their attention.

You happily go through your day of playing games and riding rides not getting interrupted by any ‘Extras’.

You can tell he has been enjoying himself as well but it's frustrating that Katsuki doesn't tell you what he wants to do. You may not be a telepath but you have gotten pretty good at guessing what he wants to do.

As of right now, you can tell that he wants to go in the bumper cars but isn't going to tell you. This makes you want to tease him just a bit. Leaning against his broad frame you hum. “Suki, what do you want to do next?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs “it all seems to be the same to me.” His seemingly indifferent attitude slightly infuriates you because you know he’s trying not to seem overly eager.

“You have to answer, Suki” you tease “Or else ill choose something that you really won't like.”

Clearing his throat he stares at you and clenches his fist, “You don't mean-”

“I do, if you don't pick a ride then we get to go on that one boat ride with the singing dolls.” 

Your threat reaches his ears and he clenched his jaw in defeat “Fine let's go in the bumper cars.” Happy that you have finally gotten a straight answer from your boyfriend you take his warm hand in yours and walk to the start of the line. 

You are able to see others enjoying themselves playing crashing into one another with the safety of the bumper cars. Some people are aggressive, and some people are downright brutal. You guess that’s why Bakugou likes them so much, pummeling villains during patrol is one thing, but he cant pummel a law-abiding citizen for inconveniencing him in public, not legally anyway.

The loophole that the attraction allows makes for the perfect outlet for his rage. He can hit people as hard as he wants to without consequence.

Suddenly something hard crashes into your shoulder. Turning your head you see that it is the group of rowdy teens behind you. They keep shoving eachother and just causing a scene that makes everyone around them uncomfortable.

“Hey, save the bumping for the cars.” you joke rubbing the spot on your arm. The teens continue to ignore you and one of them gets solved and steps on your foot hard. 

“Oi, watch it. Don’t ya see you’re bumping into people.” your boyfriend scolds coming to your defense. They roll their eyes and completely ignore him choosing instead to continue roughhousing. 

In response to the delinquent rudeness, He clenched his fist and is about to tell them off but you stop him. “Hey, let's ignore them for now. We’re next.”

With a shaky exhale he lets the tension out of his body but he still has a look of murder in his eyes. “Fine, they’re not worth it, but are you okay?”

“I’m fine, those little shits just need to be taught a lesson,” you grumble

With a nod, you step to the platform ready to get strapped into your car. Yours is an angry red color while Katsuki gets into an orange and black one that screams danger and destruction. 

You can feel the protective blood lust radiating off of him as he scans his regulated battleground spotting the teens from earlier getting into their own karts. When the gate closes and the buzzer sounds the car springs to life.

Katsuki speeds away on a warpath bashing into anyone and everyone in the way of his revenge, He crashes into the first car hard. It spins away as he continues on his destructive path grinning like a madman enjoying the fact he’s able to let out all of his aggression without actually hurting anyone.

For a moment you forget that you’re actually sitting in a bumper car yourself until someone rams into yours and causes you to spin into the edge. Play full blood list closet your vision as you two join your boyfriend on a destructive warpath.

You hit person after person watching them satisfyingly spin off into another group with a maniacal smirk on your face. You always keep an eye on Katsuki who still keeps targeting the teenagers laughing the ugliest chuckle you’ve ever heard. 

‘That’s my idiot’ you think to yourself as he once again crashes into the teens. you have a feeling they are so discombobulated they don’t know who or what is hitting them.

The ride ends and the cars come to a stop. Stretching your legs outside of a cramped car you see that some people don’t yet have their sea legs, they sway and clutch at the fence for balance like baby deer.

The group from earlier certainly is worse for wear, an attendant hast to physically help each of them out of the car as they stumbled to the gate. 

“I got ‘em,” your boyfriend's gruff voice declares behind you. Turning around you see him slightly swaying back-and-forth no doubt a result of his aggressive actions.

“ That wasn’t very heroic Suki.” You tease bumping into him slightly. He stumbles but recovers with a giddy expression on his face.

“Nah, I was just toughening them up a bit,” he mumbles, his cheeks a shade pinker than normal. Grabbing your hand in his larger one, he pulls you back towards the start of the line that's cleared out a bit after your display of goodnatured violence “Let’s go again!”

[lady-literature]

Found Family

holy shit did this one get way out of hand. Don’t expect them all to be this long because hot damn this is a monster compared to literally everything else but it just wouldn’t stop

(should I have expected this? probably. we all know how I am about found family.)

anyway enjoy 4.5k words ig

based on this post | @maribatmarch-2k21 | find more here

***

When Marinette had been chosen to intern with Monsieur Wayne’s PA, she hadn’t been expecting anything special. Sure, the Waynes were an odd breed and generally considered strange, but Marinette hadn’t actually expected to have much contact with them—if any at all.

She was here to earn credit for her business degree.

Instead, she has… well. She thinks she’s been somehow inducted into the Wayne family, mostly on accident and kind of as a joke.

That is, until it very much wasn’t.

***

Her first mistake, she supposes, was being too good at her job.

Marinette is an old hand at keeping track of multiple moving parts and riding herd on stubborn people who’d otherwise be too distracted or goofing off. (She was the Court’s leader for more than just being the latest in a long line of Ladybugs, after all.)

After the first two days shadowing Selina—“please, darling. Ms Kyle is so formal”—and learning the broad strokes of the job, Marinette felt confident enough to dig her nails in and get to work. Selina spent most of her time dedicated to international tasks and arranging Monsieur Waynes’ private affairs—all of which was highly classified and not discussed with Marinette—so she turned her attention to inter-company affairs.

Her first order of business was personally meeting with as many people in managerial positions as she could get. Not a requirement for the job per se, but these were people she’d have to interact with often and Maman had always stressed the importance of building connections in the workplace.

“People,” she would say, “are far more willing to do what you want them to when you’ve endeared yourself to them.”

So Marinette takes that advice and spends her breaks and lunches charming employees and giving baked goods to security guards and learning the names of the cleaning crew. She doesn’t speak to the department heads, because Selina handles their correspondences, but everyone else is free game as far as she’s concerned.

She becomes a well-recognized face astoundingly quickly.

***

Marinette probably should’ve seen the rumors coming.

It’s common practice in not only the Wayne family, but in most business conglomerates, for the children to quickly rise through the ranks of their company—if not just handed a high position right off the bat.

It took barely a month before the eldest was all but running Human Resources, and the second was placed as Head of Security practically out of nowhere. Monsieur Drake is the youngest (and most terrifyingly calculated) CEO to ever hold Wayne Enterprises, even if he does share the title with his father.

The other three are still too young or have yet to express an interest in the company, but people say it’s only a matter of time.

The track record speaks for itself, even if Marinette wishes it didn’t.

As a girl who’d come mostly out of nowhere and found herself with far more divisive sway in the company than she had any right to, it’s no wonder everyone thinks she’s some sort of secret Wayne finally coming out of hiding.

Marinette had nearly choked on her coffee when Selina dropped the bomb of that particular tidbit of company gossip.

“Most think you’ve been unofficially adopted,” Selina tells her, looking far too amused for Marinette’s liking. “Seeing as you’re too old for official avenues now.”

Marinette looks up warily from the schedule she’s rearranging. Selina had all but shoved the thing at her a month ago when she started suggesting more efficient ways of managing the CEOs’ valuable time.

“Only most? Does that mean the rest have common sense?”

Selina’s grin widens even further, if that’s possible, and Marinette regrets her question even before the older woman starts speaking.

“Oh, of course not!” she laughs delightedly. “The rest are hoping to hear news of wedding bells. It’s high time someone swept a Wayne off the market, don’t you think?”

***

“So you’re the new little sister I keep hearing about.”

Marinette stares up through narrowed eyes at the brightly smiling Dick Grayson. In her stomach, there are already the beginnings of resignation starting to form. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you!”

This man is going to bring her nothing but trouble. She can tell.

***

Dick takes a liking to her. And she, against her better judgment, finds herself doing the same to him.

It’s a little hard not to, if she’s being honest. He’s bright and bubbly and brings her bagels during his morning break without her ever having asked.

It takes practically no time at all before Marinette considers him a friend, relaxing when he’s near and laughing openly at his ridiculous jokes. Despite being the head of HR, he’s not great at the whole ‘professional’ thing and often employees will walk by to find him draped across a chair or balancing precariously on the edge of her desk while she tries and fails to get some work done while he’s around.

It really doesn't help all of the ‘Marinette is a Wayne’ rumors running around. Especially when Dick starts pointedly calling her every variation of ‘little sister’ that he can think of just to annoy her (and, she knows, because he thinks the entire situation hilarious).

***

Three weeks after befriending Dick, Selina all but shoves her into Monsieur Drake’s office and, in no uncertain words, says, “He’s your problem now.”

Marinette blinks at what she can describe as nothing other than a disaster area and just… sighs.

Tim blinks back at her.

The motion is somehow both completely blank and filled with an uncomfortable amount of knowing at the same time. There is also, she notices, a frankly ludicrous amount of concealer caked beneath his eyes and more coffee cups scattered on every flat surface than Marinette has ever seen in her life.

She knows his schedule like the back of her hand seeing as she spends hours of her day pouring over it to make sure everything runs smoothly. He has no prior engagements for the next three hours.

“You’re not going to take a nap just because I ask, are you?”

He snorts. “Absolutely not.”

She nods, having expected the answer; her phone was already at her ear before he even finished speaking. “Hey, Dick!” she greets, sounding brighter than she feels at the moment, and watches as Tim stiffens in front of her. “Yeah, no. I was just wondering if you’re busy right now.” She pauses. “Oh, good! Can you come up to Tim’s office for me? Yeah, I need you to knock him out so I can fix his dumpster fire of an office.”

Tim has since started waving his hands frantically at her, panic setting in behind his eyes.

Marinette stares at him, unmoved. “Thanks, Dick! You’re the best!”

The silence after she hangs up is deafening.

“I don’t know if I should be impressed by the ease you’re manipulating me or pissed off that you’re doing it in the first place.”

She hums thoughtfully. “Does your decision have any bearing on my future employment?”

His eyes squint. “…No.”

Marinette shrugs, mind already whirling with what she’ll need to get done first and calculating how long she’ll likely have to get it done. “Then I think you should skip right over both of those and land on resignation as quickly as possible, Monsieur, because you’re going to have to get used to it regardless.”

It’s silent for a long moment, and she worries for just a second that she’s severely crossed some sort of line. Then Tim bursts out laughing instead of, you know, firing her like he probably should have.

“Oh, yeah. You’re going to fit right in here.”

Marinette doesn’t ask where the ‘here’ is. She’s pretty sure she already knows.

***

It takes ten days for Marinette to wrangle Tim’s life into something resembling order. His office is clean and organized to his liking. She’s developed a system of filing so that all paperwork goes through her and is quickly sorted into ‘can be handled by Marinette’, ‘forge his signature and tell him about it later’, and ‘actually important enough to have Tim read through’.

His schedule is the most efficient it’s ever been and Marinette is quickly honing the skill of getting him properly dressed and out of his office in under thirty minutes. (Dick is, thankfully, a great teacher and has little to no qualms about giving her the key to all his little brother’s weaknesses.)

Selina stares at her when Marinette all but drags Tim from his office, a folder tucked neatly under his arm and the sugary monstrosity of a caffeinated beverage she’s bribed him with in her own, with a whole ten minutes to spare before his meeting with the Board.

“My dear,” she says solemnly, “you are positively magic.”

She doesn’t even look up from where she’s simultaneously wrangling Tim’s hair into submission and laying his tie down flat. “You have no idea.”

***

She knows Tim is capable of professionality. She’s seen the cool facade he pulls up in front of the Board members and the kind but impersonal smile he uses on the employees of Wayne Enterprises. (He is not the Ice Prince of the Wayne family, but Marinette believes he should have some equally ruthless sounding title.) He is aloof and sharp and every inch the businessman people praise him to be.

She’s seen it. And yet… 

“Monsieur. Why are all the Lexcorp contracts I gave you done in crayon?”

Tim doesn’t stop messing with his Rubix cube or even look up at her when he says, “Cause deadbeat fathers don’t deserve the respect of a pen.”

Marinette is very tired. She does not have time for this. “What are you talking about?”

“Lex is a bitchass absentee dad and I live to inconvenience him.”

“What about inconveniencing me?” she all but whines. “I can’t hand him these!”

That does make Tim look up at her, eyes wide with false innocence and mouth pouting up at her. “But sister dearest, I’m your little brother. It’s my job to inconvenience you.”

Growling in frustration is probably an inappropriate reaction to the situation.

But, Marinette thinks, so is the fact that both of the Waynes she associates with regularly seem hellbent on convincing the world that she too, is a Wayne, so.

(Is this how Alya felt dealing with the twins? Cause if so, Marinette takes back every joke she ever made—little siblings are a bitch.)

***

She meets Damian without warning.

Honestly, she never really expected to meet him at all but, well.

She finds him in Monsieur Wayne’s office, sitting at his father’s desk and doing something that she thinks is vaguely illegal, but she’s not about to tell her Boss a dozen times over how to parent his children.

Damian is a near-perfect copy of his father with darker skin and calculating green eyes. There’s also a more potent aura of danger around the child than there is around his father, like Damian hasn’t yet learned how to hide behind his public persona as his father had.

Or, Marinette looks at the teen thoughtfully, perhaps he just chooses not to.

“Monsieur Wayne,” she greets. Children like to be treated like adults, she knows, and Marinette doesn’t think this one is any different. “Selina hadn’t told me you’d be in the office today.”

“I don’t run my schedule by her,” he says flatly. A response she expected considering Dick’s stories.

“Of course not,” she agrees.

He finally deigns to look up at her and something flits across his expression, too fast for her to pick up on it. “Are those for Father? Bring them here, I’ll deal with them in his absence.”

Marinette raises her eyebrow. “I’m not sure that’s wise Monsieur.”

Damian scowls and sticks his hand out. “I’m perfectly capable of forging Father’s signature. Give them here.”

She does not move and, instead, lets her lips quirk up into the smile she’s been fighting since she stepped in here.

“I don’t doubt it,” she tells him, and she doesn't. Forgery seems exactly like the kind of skill a child who broke into the CEO’s office of a multi-billion dollar company would have. “But you’ll find that all forging of signatures has been finished for the day and that these,” she shakes the sheaf of papers lightly, “actually require your father’s attention.”

He snorts disbelievingly and it says a lot about Marinette’s life up until now that the blatant display of disrespect doesn’t piss her off but instead reminds her of Chloé and of the fact that she still needs to reschedule their spa day. It's been too long since they spent time together in person.

“Well,” she pauses and eyes the papers thoughtfully. “‘Requires’ in the sense that its information needed to trounce the Board when they start spouting off greedy bullshit about cutting corners on our humanitarian efforts. I’m not sure how much of it is actually useful for anything besides that.” She shrugs. “But homework is homework, yes?”

That gets her a thoughtful once-over. His hand lowers and he then turns back to whatever he’s messing with on his father’s computers.

“Very well,” he concedes. “Father will be back in approximately thirteen minutes. You can leave the papers and I’ll inform him of their… importance.” He smirks, but it’s more like he’s letting her in on a joke than anything else.

Marinette smiles back as she sets the folder on the desk, feeling, oddly, like she’s passed some sort of test.

***

The day after, both Dick and Tim are waiting for her with what looks like an entire bakery laid out in her workspace.

“Uh,” she says eloquently, setting her purse down on her chair because there’s not a single open space on her desk not filled with some kind of pastry. “What’s all this?”

She looks up to find neither Dick nor Tim has stopped staring at her since she walked in. “We heard you met Damian yesterday,” Dick starts warily, like he’s scared of her reaction.

The response does not abate her confusion. 

“Yes, I did,” she says slowly. “That does not explain all… this.” She waves a hand, trying to encompass them as well as the state her desk is in.

The two brothers share a look.

“It’s a bribe,” Tim tells her simply and Marinette is taken aback for all of a second before her eyes suddenly narrow.

Dick cuts in hastily before she can say anything. “It’s more of an apology, really. For Damian’s behavior.”

But Marinette is confused and frustrated and just a bit offended by the apparent not-bribe at this point. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, but it only does so much.

“Damain’s behavior was fine,” she tells them with measured neutrality. “You two, on the other hand, are being weird and it’s freaking me out.” She crosses her arms expectantly. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

Appearing from out of nowhere, Selina drapes herself along Marinette’s shoulders and snags a raspberry scone. “I do believe,” she says as if sharing a secret, “That they are trying to keep you from quitting, kitten.”

Marinette wrinkles her nose. “Why would I quit? I like this job.”

She also likes the Waynes (in general, if not right then) and she likes Selina. The woman was a good mentor who didn’t shy away from the dirtier parts of the job and taught Marinette all she knew. (Even the bits, she noticed, that had little to nothing to do with being a personal assistant and were more likely to be found in the repertoire of a thief.

But, Marinette is in possession of her own sticky fingers and knows how to not ask questions, so. You know—curiosity killed the cat and all.)

She doesn’t voice any of that, but Selina, at least, knows it anyway. Marinette isn’t quiet about her gratitude after all.

“First meetings with the youngest Wayne don’t often go well,” Selina tells her. “In fact, I think he has a habit of making the interns cry.”

Dick makes some kind of offended noise. “Hey! He hasn’t done that since he was twelve!”

Tim elbows him in the ribs and Marinette makes a vaguely skeptical face at all three of them before deciding it wasn’t worth it. She has actual work to get done today and pastries to get rid of before she can even start.

She pats affectionately at Selina’s hand before grabbing as many boxes as she can hold. “Come on you two,” she says to the brothers. “You’re going to help me hand these out to the rest of the company.”

Dick immediately starts doing as told but Tim hesitates, humming thoughtfully. “You know that’s not going to help your whole ‘I’m not actually a Wayne’ thing, right?”

She glares at him. It doesn’t stop Tim from grinning like the utterly unrepentant little shit he is.

***

Things are quiet after the Damian Incident for a whole two weeks. It’s the longest lull Marinette has had since she first started and became somehow involved with the Waynes.

It ends because Dick finds out about the crush Marinette has been nursing on the Head of Security for three months now.

The Head of Security who is Jason Todd: second eldest Wayne sibling and Dick’s brother.

He takes it better than expected.

(Almost, she thinks later, a little too well.)

***

Despite her friendship with Dick and Tim—or perhaps because of it?—Jason had never seemed very interested in her. At first, Marinette had shrugged and counted it as a win; there was one Wayne, at least, who neither found her situation funny nor used it to poke fun at her.

They were on friendly terms, she supposed. Security has always been one of her more regular stops in the building, so she’d spoken to him often enough. He liked complaining that she spoiled his team rotten with all her treats.

But she also noticed that he likes her cherry danishes, so.

And then she noticed how crooked his grin was when he smiled. And how he seemed to have an arsenal of nicknames for everyone he knew. And the small collection of classic romance novels filled with sticky notes he tries and fails to hide in his desk. And, and, and.

It was around the time she began unconsciously memorizing his schedule based on when he was and was not there for her pastry deliveries, that she realized she may have made a misstep somewhere.

Jason was stubborn and passionate and flipped between overly proper and crass light a damn light switch. He was also, as stated, very much not interested in her.

Not that she would’ve pursued him anyway. He was a coworker as well as her friends’ brother.

Now if only one of said brothers could understand that.

“You should ask him out,” Dick suggests not for the first time and Marinette sighs, also not for the first time.

She loves Dick—she truly does—but he has been an aggravating level of unhelpful since he found out about Marinette’s latest romantic disaster.

“I’m definitely not doing that.”

Dick groans, like she’s being the unreasonable one. “Why are you being so stubborn about this?”

“Because I don’t like embarrassing myself?” she asks rhetorically. “Not everyone can have a fairy tale romance like you and Wally.”

He throws his coffee stirrer at her. “We are not a fairy tale.”

She shoots him a flat look. She’s heard Dick talk about Wally and Tim’s told her all the stories and she was there when he and Wally finally got their shit together. Dick was unbearable for an entire week with his gooey, lovestruck new lease on life.

“You two are the definition of fairy tale. You two make fairy tales look like trashy romance novels.”

He opens his mouth to argue the point before forcibly cutting himself off. “No. Stop distracting me. We’re not talking about that; we’re talking about you and Jason.”

“There is no ‘me and Jason’,” she reminds him through her clenched teeth.

“Not yet,” he says optimistically. Like it’s a fact, like he knows something she doesn’t.

He makes her want to slam her face into a wall. Truly, he does.

***

Dick stops running his HR papers up to her office. Instead, he’s somehow convinced Jason to play errand boy for him even though he literally never looks happy about it. What used to be a flimsy excuse for Dick to slack off for a few minutes and gossip with her has now turned into awkward silence as Jason drops off the papers and leaves without even a ‘hello’.

During their shared breaks, Dick takes to orchestrating ‘chance encounters’ between her and Jason, all but shoving them into each other (and even actually shoving that one time).  She catches Jason shooting dark looks at Dick every time he does it, and if she’d been holding any iota of hope at this point, it’s been smashed to dust. Jason obviously knows of his brother’s meddling and isn’t happy about it.

But Dick just can’t take the hint.

Every failed plan of his makes him steadily worse about it all—more frantic and frustrated and like he wants to strangle her for her stubbornness. (The last feeling being more than mutual.)

Dick’s meddling starts to make her and Jason’s previously friendly, if distant, relationship awkward and embarrassing. With every pointed comment, she gets closer to just punching Dick in the face. Or, maybe, she’ll just tell Wally who really ate all the chocolate strawberry macaroons she made; it’d certainly be more devastating.

***

It all comes to head on a Thursday, after most employees have left for the day. 

They run into each other in a breakroom, and she watches as Jason suddenly goes stiff, eyes flicking over her shoulder to no doubt scan for Dick. That single action makes her expression sour and she slams her empty mug down with more force than was necessary.

For Kwamis sake, he looks like a cornered animal. An image not helped by the way he jumps a foot in the air and stares at her like he’s worried she’ll suddenly lunge at him.

“Can we agree this is ridiculous?” she says abruptly. “I don’t know what Dick is trying to accomplish with his wingman schtick, but we both know it’s not going to work. Can we just… agree that he’s an idiot?”

A complicated look crosses Jason’s face before he snorts wryly. “Yeah, we can agree on that. Dickie-boy has always been a few sandwiches short a picnic.”

“I know things have been awkward between us lately, and I’m sorry about that, but I hope we can keep being friends?” she says hopefully.

“What in the world do you have to be sorry about?” he asks before she can start catastrophizing about the bewildered expression he makes at her words. “It’s not your fault.”

The smile she shoots him is rueful and she shakes her hand in an ‘ehh’ type gesture. “Kinda is. And I understand if the-” she makes a vague gesture between them that she hopes properly conveys ‘my giant, stupid crush on you’, “you know, is too much for you. Just say the word I’ll try and keep out of your way.”

She’s trying to be comforting or understanding or something like that, but all her words seem to do is make him upset. “Absolutely not,” he insists. “Sunshine, you are not going to change your routine just to make me feel better.”

Marinette crosses her arms, frowning up at him. “Why shouldn’t I? If I’m making you uncomfortable-”

He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “Uncomfort- Marinette. ” She jolts a bit at the use of her name. She doesn’t think he’s used it since her second week at W.E. “I’m not sure who made you think otherwise—and if it was Dick just tell me cause I’ll kick his ass —but barring the fact that I still enjoy your friendship regardless of any… feelings-” Marinette concentrates very hard on not showing emotion when he says that, “-it’s not your responsibility to deal with it.”

Okay, but… that makes no sense. Of course her feelings were her responsibility, that’s the whole point of them being hers.

“If it’s not mine, then whose responsibility is it then?” she asks, wondering where the hell his train of thought is running.

“Mine, obviously.”

She gives him a look, complete with narrowed eyes and thinly veiled judgment. “What? Is this some kind of gentleman’s martyr complex? Is that what’s happening right now?”

Jason huffs a laugh, but there’s no humor in the sound. “If me taking responsibility for my own damn feelings is a martyr complex then sure,” he snarks, not unkindly. More like he’s trying to protect himself by retreating behind a sour attitude.

Her mouth is halfway around a retort when his words catch up to her brain and she freezes.

“Your feelings?” she repeats. “Your feelings for… me?”

His voice is carefully neutral when he says, “Those would be the ones.”

Her mouth opens and closes and opens again. “You like me? Seriously?”

His face spasms at the question, starting at anger before he properly looks at her and the surprised expression on her face. He pales.

“You didn’t know?”

“No!” she squeaks, something she hasn’t done since she was fifteen. “Well Dick said but I didn’t believe him!”

And fuck, she thinks. This means Dick knew the whole damn time, didn’t he? Oh, she is so going to kill him the second she gets the chance.

Jason runs a hand down his face, covering his mouth as he gathers his bearings. Suddenly, his eyes shoot back open and land on her. “Wait. If you didn't know, then what the hell were you talking about just now?”

She blushes to the tips of her ears and buries her face in her hands so she doesn’t have to look at him. It was easy when she thought he’d figured it out himself. It’s harder now that she has to tell him. “I- I was talking about my crush on you.”

He’s quiet for so long that she gets antsy and peeks out from behind her fingers to see his expression. He’s still looking at her, but now there’s a wide, crooked smile on his face. The expression softens something in her chest and she lowers her hands.

“Really?” he asks, leaning closer.

Marinette nods, feeling a small smile spread across her lips.

He jolts forward, hands reaching for her before suddenly stopping just shy of touching. She startles a bit at the motion but doesn’t move away.

Jason licks his lips, smile smaller but no less bright. “I- can I?”

She blinks. “Can you what?”

“Kiss you.”

The blush returns full force, but with it also comes a smile, giddy and bright. She nods and no sooner than she does, is he swooping down to pull her into a toe-curling kiss. His hands cup her face with a tenderness that makes her smile, makes her giddy, and it’s not long before they’re both smiling too wide to actually kiss and are forced to break apart.

His hands fall to her back, practically engulfing her, and his chin drops onto her head. It’s warm and cozy and she thinks she could so very easily get used to this.

Later, they’re going to have to deal with Dick and Tim and Selina and the teasing they’ll no doubt have to endure—not to mention how much worse the rumors are going to get—but right now? Right now Marinette pulls Jason back down for another kiss and very pointedly doesn’t think about it.

[you-cant-fuck-megaman]

is it possible to actually be in a relationship with protoman tho? like no fucking included? asking for 8 year old me

technically speaking, it's easily possible to be in a relationship with anyone.

you can be in a friendship with someone you think is super-cool and like hanging with. you can be in an acquaintanceship with someone you've bumped into a couple times and don't hate. and even if you really hate someone, a rivalry with someone you hate or just plain want to be better than is a competitive relationship.

which is all nice and good but this is an 8-year-old that's being channeled to ask this, so it's time for me to go all ranty old geezer and say honestly it all boils down to "the blog is named you can't fuck megaman, go wild with whatever else idc"

h*ld h*nds with protoman, sure, go ahead

draw art about protoman and how he's j-just hanging around, he d-didn't mean to give you chocolates, b-baka, go ahead

make an au where you're there with him wrestling with the angst of his dying nuclear core. or where you're a super-doctor who knows all the degrees and fix him. and then he makes a modification to his whistle in your honor or something. go ahead

make a cool self-insert oc and ship yourself with vile or bass or dynamo and write a fic where he's still a strong angry gun-happy trigger-shooty douchebag but for some reason something about you makes him smolder with rage and he doesn't know how to handle his feelings and over time you open him up to the fact that maybe there's slightly more in life than being angry except he's still angry to everyone else except your cool oc because they get special privileges and then you draw a poster where your OC is really battered and being held by them and they hold their gun to an invisible threat and it's all AAAAAAAAAA and they're all AAAAAAAAAAAAAA and everyone's all AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA and then there's kissing or something idk, go FUCKING AHEADDDDDDD

in this you WILL engage in a relationship with him, more specifically a creative relationship. i know the internet has raised a lot of people to suppress their interests, because being excited and passionate about something is "annoying" or "embarrassing" or "cringe" and the unsaid opinions of people they will never see or meet weigh down in the back of the mind for fear of mildly inconveniencing them with excitement or making a mistake and not shitting out something utterly perfect on the first go, but a creative relationship is the most fulfilling kind of relationship there is.

dear 8-year-old robofucker, your parents may have given you the world's most unfortunate name, and i'm probably going to need to march down to your house and kick them in both the face and the groin at the same time in a fiery flaming dropkick from orbit, but coming from someone almost 5x that age i assure you that

yes, you CAN have a relationship with protoman.

just don't fuck him because 8-year-olds really shOULD NOT BE DOING OR THINKING ABOUT THAT IN THE FIRST PLACE!!!!!!!!!!

i woke up ten minutes ago, i'm too sober for this shit. time to brush my teeth with a bottle of jack.

[letsfluxshitup]

companionship is stored in the fried bread [ao3]

Techno wasn't entirely sure how he'd ended up here, (somewhat) prisoner at his own kitchen table, as Tommy furiously kneaded dough in front of him.

-

bedrock bros but with old routines and new trauma aka tommy and techno fry bread

Techno wasn't entirely sure how he'd ended up here, (somewhat) prisoner at his own kitchen table, as Tommy furiously kneaded dough in front of him.

He remembered waking up from another week long nap, Phil recounting any news he'd picked up, and stumbling back towards his bedroom. He'd barely made it to the stairs before his door had flung open, bouncing off of the wall and slamming shut again.

Techno blinked at the door, before it was flung open again, this time much gentler and followed by a string of curses and taunts.

"Your fuckin door sucks, y'know that? Trying to lock me out? Stubbed my fuckin toe on it, you should get a new one, piece of garbage attacked me." Tommy hissed as he walked through the door, not hesitating to slam it behind him. The door swung back and hit him from behind, bouncing off of a spare shoe that had fallen in the way.

Tommy paused, face and shoulders scrunched up as he sucked in a deep breath, cheeks and ears flushing red in Tommy's signature lead up to I'm

-going-to-throw-a-tantrum-but-it's-not-called-a-tantrum-technoblade-I-am-not-a-child-technoblade-but-that-will-not-stop-me-from-bursting-your-eardrums-because-I've-been-inconvenienced-technoblade.

"Are you hungry?" Techno blurted out, remembering back to SMP Earth, and the foolproof method of derailing a Tommy Innit Tantrum— offering food and/or shiny things.

Tommy deflated in one long exhale, shoulders relaxing and face smoothing as he grinned at Techno.

"Actually, I am, big man! What do you have available? I'm quite hungry actually, I've been walking for a very long time, and it's very rude of you, actually, to not offer me something to eat sooner," Tommy inhaled again, catching his breath. "Did you know that, Techno? Did you know you're very rude?"

"I'm aware," Techno deadpanned, spinning on his heel and heading for the kitchen. Tommy was directly behind him, stepping on his heels more often than not.

Techno gestured towards the kitchen table, in what should have been a universally recognizable symbol of please-sit-down-you're-in-the-way, which Tommy completely ignored by climbing on to his counter to dig in his cupboard.

RaccoonInnit, echoed in his head, startling him slightly since Chat had been unusually quiet since Tommy had appeared.

Techno sighed deeply as the voices picked up slightly, humming their thoughts into his ears. Mostly protect-protect-protect, but there wasn't really anything to protect him from. If he slipped and broke his neck from falling off the counter then that was his own problem.

That train of thought earned him a near unanimous shriek of voices, demanding he make sure Tommy didn't fall.

He sighed again, ending it off with a slight growl as he moved towards Tommy, figuring he may as well entertain the voices for now.

Tommy's head whipped around at the sound of the growl, and he reeled back as Techno moved closer, a stuttering of "sorry- sorry- I didn't-" cut off as he slipped off the counter.

Techno lunged forward without thinking, catching Tommy around the shoulders and lowering him to the ground. Tommy's eyes were wide as he made eye contact with Techno, terror twisting Techno's stomach as Tommy let out a childlike little whimper.

Techno opened his mouth, to speak, to apologize, to break the silence, but was awarded with a face full of sweaty hand, Tommy smacking him away and cursing up a storm as he stumbled to his feet.

When Tommy made it out of arm's reach he paused, shifting from foot to foot, glancing between Techno and the doorway.

Techno blinked, slowly rising to his feet, hands spread out.

"Sorry," he rumbled, voices in his head screaming for him to apologize, "I didn't mean to scare you."

Tommy huffed, puffing up again, forcing his shoulders back and head held high.

"You didn't scare me, dickhead, just startled me a little." He grumbled, arms crossed as he deflated slightly.

Techno certainly wasn't going to argue semantics after nearly causing the kid to crack his head open, and instead brushed the non existent dirt off of his pants.

"So," Tommy huffed, gesturing towards the cabinet. "Where's the flour? I want to fry bread."

--

He'd managed to sparse through Tommy's nearly incoherent ramblings to pick up that Tommy was hiding from everyone else- or rather, "taking a break, because Big Men don't hide, Technoblade-".

"You needed a break from the drama so you ran to your worst enemy?" Techno deadpanned, reaching for the flour as Tommy sent him a pleading look. His hands were covered in too sticky dough, having ignored Techno's insistence that they needed to add more flour. He couldn't really knead it like that, he was more just squishing it between his fingers.

Techno would be more grossed out if he hadn't watched tommy thoroughly wash his hands. He'd hovered nearby as Tommy aggressively scrubbed before Techno had even let him near the dough, Tommy complaining the whole time about how he knew how to wash his hands and didn't need a babysitter.

Tommy huffed in response, wind whistling between his clenched teeth as he worked the flour into the dough.

"You're not my worst enemy," he snarked, something vulnerable in his eyes and the set of his jaw. "My worst enemy is in prison, currently."

"And hopefully that's where he'll stay," Techno hummed absently, watching as Tommy's shoulders relaxed minutely. "Things have been a lot quieter around here, startin' to wonder if him blaming you for all the problems on the server was just him projecting."

"Yeah, right, of course. He was being a projector and shit," Tommy let out a slightly incredulous laugh, and yeah, Techno realized it was hypocritical of them to place the blame on Dream. But, Tommy looked tired and tense and other t-words with negative meanings that Tommy didn't deserve the weight of.

Tommy rolled out the dough, flour-y hands causing puffs of flour to cling to his shirt and pants and hair. Techno huffed a laugh at the smear of flour across Tommy's cheek, and vaguely gestured towards his own face when Tommy raised a questioning eyebrow.

Tommy immediately swiped a hand across his face, smearing more flour in the process. His eyebrows furrowed, surely able to feel it, and he glowered at Techno, daring him to say something. Techno just snorted as he stood up, ignoring the coos roiling through his head, and waved Tommy away from the rolled out dough.

"We've gotta cut it up now, so we can fry it," Techno said, reaching for the knife he'd left out for this exact reason, carefully watching Tommy for a reaction.

"I know that, dickhead, you don't have to explain," Tommy snapped, head held high, as he watched Techno section up the dough.

Techno kept his eyes on the dough, carefully watching Tommy through his peripherals. In a, frankly, unearned show of trust, Tommy turned his back to him to wash his hands of the flour and sticky dough remnants.

When he was done, though, he whipped back around, watching Techno's hand on the knife. He'd apparently exceeded his reserve of unfounded-trust-for-the-person-who'd-essentially-ruined-his-life for the day.

Which, despite the voices' croons of distress at being untrusted, Techno thought was totally fair.

Tommy was nervous, and on edge, but he didn't seem to be explicitly afraid of Techno, just anxious in general, and Techno wasn't sure if that was better or worse.

Blinking back to the present, realizing he'd just been staring blankly at the cut up bread, he looked to Tommy.

"Do we want to make shapes or just fry as is?" He asked, carefully skirting past Tommy to drop the knife in the sink.

Out of sight, out of mind, hopefully, Techno thought. He quickly rinsed the knife, and cupped his hand to let the water run over the flecks of flour and dough that clung to the sides of the sink.

Tommy opened his mouth to respond and moved past him at the same time, towards the table, shoulder barely brushing across Techno's back. Techno tensed slightly in surprise. Tommy froze, and from the corner of his eye Techno could see he was tensed up as well. After no reaction, Tommy carefully made his way back to the table.

Techno kept fiddling around at the sink, letting Tommy play with the dough while he pretended to be busy. He knew Tommy liked making all sorts of shapes out of the dough, but wouldn't do it if he thought he was wasting Techno's time.

Techno busied himself with finding a proper pot, then filling it with the appropriate amount of oil. He measured it out carefully, and tried not to be bothered about the deafening lack of Tommy's insistence that you didn't have to measure it, the right amount of oil was something you felt in your heart.

He remembered the first handful of times, way back in Hypixel, when Tommy had insisted on teaching him how to fry bread. Those attempts, rife with errors and Tommy shouting about not needing to do silly things like measure, were near disasters, almost always saved by Techno's insistence on following instructions.

Once Tommy's hands stilled and the oil was at the appropriate temperature, Techno consciously relaxed his shoulders and smoothed out his face before turning around, eyeing the flour that had made its home on Tommy's clothes.

"We'll have to get you an apron," he drawled, already thinking about the leftover rolls of cloth he'd made, and if he had any red dye laying around still.

Tommy blinked, hands nervously fluttering at his side, caught off guard. Techno stared blankly back at him, having an idea of what was going through the kid's head.

Technosoft, bounced around in his head and he rolled his eyes when Tommy wasn't looking.

"You're assuming this is gonna be a regular thing?" Tommy tried to snark, but it fell flat, voice coming out too vulnerable and soft. It pitched up at the end, as if asking for permission.

"Yeah," Techno grunted. Tommy's eyes snapped back to him, and narrowed slightly before he huffed.

"Yeah, ok, fine." Tommy crossed his arms in front of himself. "I get it, I get it, you can't live without the great Tommy Innit's amazing fried bread."

Techno snorted as Tommy continued on.

"No, no, I get it, truly, it's just not the same when I don't make it, right? I have the special fried bread making touch, I know, it's a special talent of mine that gets all the ladies." Tommy scooped up the tray of dough, bringing it along to the stove where Techno stood.

"What ladies?" Techno grunted, as he reached for dough to test fry. He ignored the fact that it really didn't taste the same when Tommy wasn't there to help/be a menace.

"I'll have you know, Technoblade, I get lots of ladies-" Tommy puffed up, moving to put his own bit of dough in the oil. Tommy wasn't really paying attention, head tilted up to try his best to look down on someone who was taller than him, as he continued defending himself.

His hand moved down too quickly, and the dough flopped down into the oil, splashing a considerable amount back on to Tommy's fingertips.

Tommy cried out, jerking his hand back to his chest.

There was barely a breath before Techno's hand shot out, grabbing Tommy's around the wrist and dragging his hand towards his face.

Tommy flinched violently, his other hand coming out to swing at Techno, catching him hard across the jaw. Techno let go of Tommy's wrist, shoving him away in surprise, sending him careening into the side of the kitchen counter.

They both stumbled away from each other, standing on opposite sides of the kitchen as the oil kept sizzling away. The only other sound was Tommy's heavy breaths and slight sniffles, and Techno watched as he furiously swiped at his eyes.

"Do not grab me like that, alright?" Tommy snarled, shoulders tensed as he looked ready to run or defend himself.

Techno slowly held his hands up again, forcing himself to relax.

"I'm sorry," he grunted out, "You're right. I shouldn't have grabbed you like that."

Tommy squinted at him, swaying back on to his heels as he relaxed his arms from where they'd curled up defensively in front of him.

"Sorry for hittin' you." Tommy grumbled slightly, crossing his arms.

"I deserved it," Techno huffed back, scratching the back of his head. "I was just worried about your fingers. Sorry again."

"I accept your apology," Tommy said finally after a tense pause, head tilted back again, a look on his face as if daring him to say something.

"I accept your apology," Techno said back, carefully. Communicating, expressing his feelings and being a "good person" was so hard sometimes. It felt like he was walking on eggshells and if he said the wrong thing everything would fall apart.

Tommy sniffed.

"How's that for communication, huh, Puffy?" He muttered to himself, uncrossing his arms and making his way back to the stove.

"Cmere, dickhead, we have more dough to fry."

Techno relaxed as he made his way back over, and they settled back into banter and teasing.

--

Techno looked down at their fried bread, an assortment of shapes and figures.

Some were more distinguishable, like the twin T's and the handful of misshapen hearts.

Before Techno could say anything, not that he would've, Tommy started to talk.

"They don't mean anything, dickhead, they're just easy to make. We're not friends or anything, alright?" Tommy puffed himself up again, and Techno absently wondered why he did that, was it subconscious? Was it for confidence or to make himself seem bigger?

Instead of acknowledging anything Tommy said, Techno lightly bumped their heads together. Techno watched as his face flickered through several different emotions, ranging from happy to sad, before he just huffed and turned back to the finished bread.

"Everyone knows the best topping is sugar and cinnamon, I don't know why you even have the honey out," Tommy snarked, aggressively sprinkling sugar on to the bread. The image was kind of ruined by how careful Tommy was being, only covering pieces that were resolutely "his".

"I like the honey," Techno responded, loading his plate with a handful of pieces of bread. He picked up a few plain pieces, unshaped and just flat bits of bread. Tommy slipped a few shaped pieces onto his plate; one that was shaped vaguely like a pig, a crown, and one of the letter T's.

On Tommy's plate was the other T, a bee, and a horribly misshapen cow, along with a majority of the wonky hearts.

Techno drizzled the honey on to his bread, eyeing the excessive amounts of sugar and cinnamon Tommy put on his.

"Y'know, you'd like the honey if you tried it," Techno hummed, ignoring the glower Tommy sent his way.

"You always say that and I never like it," Tommy hissed back, petulant and childish. A warm feeling filled his chest as Tommy settled into their old argument, that Techno knew would eventually devolve into all the other things Techno dared to like that Tommy didn't.

Techno tuned back into-

"You said the same thing about mushroom stew! And cod and broccoli. Who even likes fuckin' broccoli?" Tommy dropped down into the seat next to Techno, pulling his plate to be in front of him. Techno didn't respond, focused on lightly slathering a small piece of fried bread.

3... 2... 1...

"Well, maybe I'll try a little bit," Tommy huffed, accepting the small piece Techno held out to him with a grumbled 'thanks'. Based on his reaction after he stuffed it into his mouth he still didn't like the honey, but he didn't say anything.

They ate in silence, Tommy quickly scoffing down the bread like he was worried someone would take it. Techno ate slower, hoping Tommy would pick up on the fact that he didn't have to choke down his food. This inevitably led to Tommy finishing first, and he silently started cleaning up.

Techno quietly finished up, helping Tommy with the rest of the dishes, before going to settle in the living room. Tommy followed behind him, looking a bit lost.

Techno was hit with the abrupt realization that he didn't want this to end. He liked having Tommy around, his energy filling the house with a warmth Techno never could.

Tommy cleared his throat awkwardly, shuffling his feet.

"I guess I should be heading out then-" Tommy started, eyes flicking to the door.

"No," Techno said, suddenly, too loud and aggressive, making Tommy flinch back.

"I mean- do you, uh, want to have some hot cocoa?" Techno fiddled with his braid, trying his best to give a reassuring smile around his tusks. Based on Tommy's expression it didn't really work, but Tommy stopped looking like he was about to sprint away.

"Sure, I guess," Tommy grinned at him, false bravado coloring his tone. "You missed Big Man Innit? I know, I know, my company is just so great, I see why you wouldn't want to miss out on it."

Tommy practically flounced over to the couch, and flopped down on it, resting his feet on the coffee table. Techno was silently grateful that Tommy was naturally overbearing, and more than willing to make up excuses for the both of them.

Techno retreated back to the kitchen, and it wasn't long before they'd settled into the living room, Techno in his arm chair and Tommy on the couch.

Tommy had loudly insisted on a blanket and pillow, saying he was cold and the couch was uncomfortable, and Techno was quietly hoping he'd just fall asleep there. Then he could avoid kicking him out or, even worse, asking him to stay.

He'd much rather Tommy just take advantage, instead of having a conversation.

Eventually, Tommy's constant stream of chatter petered out, and he slowly slumped back into the couch, falling asleep.

Techno waited until he was sure he was asleep, before carefully checking he wasn't at an awkward angle, he didn't want to deal with the kid complaining about a crick in his neck, ok? He started towards the stairs to his room before hesitating on the first step.

The voices, practically feasting on his reluctance, started loudly protesting at once.

What if a zombie breaks in?

What if the Butcher Army comes back?

What if he has a nightmare?

Techno huffed, ignoring how irrational the last two were, the Butcher Army long disbanded and it's not like Techno cared if the kid had a nightmare.

As if the universe itself was daring him otherwise, a scared whimper broke the silence. Techno looked back to the couch, where Tommy was tightly gripping the blankets around him, and his brow was furrowed. He could see from here how aggressively Tommy was clenching his jaw, and winced in sympathy.

He made his way back over, a quiet rumble in his chest. It was a soothing noise, meant for baby piglins but it worked just as well on Tommy considering how quickly his face smoothed out. Techno settled back into his armchair, accepting that he'd be up late watching over the kid and chasing his nightmares away.

He couldn't believe he'd gotten so soft.

[pucksnsticksnhockeyboys]

captain’s best friend

summary: it’s a competition to see who is Gabe’s best friend, but is that really what you and EJ are focused on?

warnings: mentions of alcohol, drinking, I think like two swears, unedited writing 

word count: 3.6k

note from the writer: everyone say thank you @burkymakar​ bc she chatted with me through this entire thing (which I wrote in one day) 

Game days were some of your favorites. The electric crowd, a whole stadium cheering for the boys on the ice that you knew so well. Overpriced food and even more expensive merchandise. But no matter how much you loved it, it was after a good victory that you truly felt your happiest.

“What? No Johnson jersey?”

You playfully rolled your eyes at the sound of an approaching voice, turning around from your conversation with Aleks Zadorov Mel Landeskog only to come face to toothless face with none other than Erik Johnson.

“Oh, you know, gotta support my best friend.” You teased, tugging at the hem of the Landeskog jersey Gabe had gotten you years ago. The same jersey you wore every game day, so it really shouldn’t have been a surprise to him. EJ scoffed, his own playful grin taking over his features.

“I’m Landy’s best friend.” He stated matter-of-factly and you quickly shook your head at him. Mel, wanting to avoid yet another childish bickering match over who was her husband’s best friend, bumped her hip against yours while balancing a sleeping Linnea on the other side.

“What are you doing tonight?” She asked as more of the boys started emerging from the locker room. You glanced at EJ, having heard about tentative plans to go out to a bar or two if the Avalanche came out with a win, but before you could say anything either way, Andre had swung an arm around your and Erik’s shoulder.

“We’re celebrating!” He cheered, a little too loudly for Linnea sleeping nearby, before removing the arm that was around your shoulders and clapping EJ on the chest. “Two assists, man! I’m buying you a drink tonight.”

“Yeah, you better.” EJ responded goodnaturedly as Gabe arrived, sweeping his daughter into his arms and planting a kiss on his wife’s cheek. After greeting them, he pulled you into a quick hug as Mikko, Tyson, and JT arrived.

“You kids have fun tonight.” Gabe joked, before his gaze fell on you with a faux-serious look. “I’m putting you in charge of making sure they all get home in one piece.”

“You’re not my captain.” You teased, and Gabe narrowed his eyes at you playfully. He kept quiet, bidding you and his teammates goodbye as you made plans with Mel to get brunch the next morning while the boys were at practice.

“Who am I riding with?” You asked as the Landeskogs left. You didn’t have much of an opinion—as long as you didn’t ride with Andre, who acted as if he was in NASCAR each time he drove. Tyson’s face twisted up in a mischievous smile that you didn’t get to question before he started speaking.

“You can go with EJ.” He said, as if it was some big deal. Mikko chuckled then, too, while JT smirked smugly and you felt entirely out of the loop. You glanced to EJ with your brows furrowed, only to find him already glaring at Tyson. That only deepened your confusion, because as far as you knew, you had a pretty good friendship with the defenseman.

“I mean, if it’s fine with him.” You offered, figuring that if he truly had a problem with it, he’d take you up on your offer out. Instead, his gaze snapped to meet your confused one, and his look softened incredibly.

“Yeah, no, of course it’s fine.” He cleared his throat, and with one last glare at Tyson who was snickering, everyone made their way to the cars. The place Andre picked wasn’t far from the area, and it was only after a few moments of the radio playing softly did you gain the nerve to speak up.

“I could’ve made one of the other guys drive me, you know.” You explained, still feeling some of the awkwardness from the previous conversation. You weren’t sure why you were so concerned with making sure he didn’t feel inconvenienced by driving you, but you did.

“I’m sure you could have, but I don’t mind driving you.” He chuckled, turning to glance at you for a second before returning his attention to the road. You blatantly studied his profile, watching as the lights of Denver cascaded across his face. He probably felt your gaze, because the corners of his lips quirked upwards mischievously. Your attention snapped forward out the windshield as he opened his mouth to say something, probably about how you were staring. “There’s a team dinner at Landy’s next week, did he tell you?”

“Not yet.” You responded, practically hearing the smirk in his words as you admitted that Gabe told him something he didn’t tell you.

“It’s because I’m his best friend. He told me first.” He said proudly, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Or maybe, it’s because it’s a team dinner, and I’m not on the team.” Though factually, you weren’t on the team, it had been a long time since you hadn’t been invited to an Avalanche as someone’s plus one. Gabe had brought you around the team so much that they progressively became your friends just as much as they were his, and slowly it was just expected that you’d arrive at any and all team events.

“I’m pretty sure Landy would hate it if you didn’t show up.”

“Just Landy?” You asked without processing how flirtatious the question actually was. Your heart was beating in your chest as you waited for Erik’s answer, and you felt his attention flick to you as he pulled into a parking spot a short distance from the bar.

“No, not just him.” He said quietly but clearly. You nodded, missing the fond look he sent your way as you picked at your nails. The air in the car felt thick, and even though you had taken off the jersey, opting to wear the shirt underneath that you had on in preparation for going out, you felt incredibly warm.

You heard your name being called out, and you saw Andre and Mikko standing on the sidewalk in front of the car. You smiled, thankful for the distraction, and climbed out. You heard EJ get out, and he soon fell in step with you.

The bar was much more crowded than you thought it would have been, but then again it was a Friday after an Avalanche win, so people were in a good mood. Nate and JT immediately slipped away to get a table big enough for the crowd that had arrived with the team, while the other boys headed into the crowd. You had been momentarily distracted by the atmosphere and trying to decide what you wanted to do first, so when a hand settled on your lower back you understandably jumped.

“Easy there, killer.” EJ teased as you turned around to see who it was. You relaxed upon realizing that it was him, and not some stranger, and subconsciously you stepped closer to him. He leaned down enough to whisper in your ear in an attempt to speak over the clamor of the bar, and you reasoned that the heat rising to your face was a result of the crowd. “Do you want to get a drink first or sit down?”

“A drink.” You settled on. If he was going to be hanging on you all not—not that you truly minded—you would need some liquid courage. For a second, you saw his toothless grin widen in mischief before his hand slipped into yours and he used it to keep you close to him as he used his large frame to make a path through the crowd.

A strong drink, you decided.

And if it was a few strong drinks, who could blame you? Erik had barely left your side the entire night, warding off any creepy guy that approached and keeping you company. Even when you pulled Tyson and Andre to the floor to goofily dance around as your drinks started to hit you, you felt his eyes on you. Tyson must have noticed, because he gave you a shit-eating look no less than three times, but as the drinks kept coming, you found it harder and harder to care.

The end of the night came quicker than you thought it would, but the boys had practice in the morning and Nate was there to make sure everyone made it out of the bar by one in the morning.

“And to think you were supposed to be in charge.” He teased, watching as you giggled at seemingly nothing. You were drunk, not terribly so, but drunk nonetheless. Nate patted you on the shoulder and Andre pulled you in for an obnoxiously dramatic hug, and then it was just left with you and EJ at the bar, who you had seen nurse the same beer all night.

“Come on, I’ll give you a lift.” Erik offered, closing out his tab and yours, despite your protest.

“I’m fine, EJ. I can just get an Uber.” You shook your head, but he didn’t see, as he wrapped an arm around you and began the trek towards the exit.

“There is no way I’m letting you get into an Uber by yourself, while you’re drunk.” He huffed, rolling his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world. You tried not to think about how your heart skipped a beat at his thoughtfulness, or how his touch on your lower back as he led you through the crowd set you aflame. “Landy would kill me if I let you do that.”

Oh.

“Yeah,” You chuckled, a little breathlessly as the cold Denver air pricked at your skin. You decided that sober you would have to deal with why you felt more than a little disappointed that the only reason he wasn’t letting you climb in an Uber was Gabe. “Landy would hate it if you left me, his best friend, to find my own way home.”

“C’mon.” He chuckled, surprisingly not taking the bait for your age old argument of who was the captain’s best friend. You found yourself wrapping a hand around EJ’s arm and moving closer to him in an attempt to both steal some of his body heat and not get lost in the crowd of people on the sidewalk, with the added benefit of making him slow his steps down so he wasn’t using his long legs to race ahead. “Let’s get you home.”

The next morning you woke up to an empty house and a dull headache. While it wasn’t that bad of a hangover, you still felt the effects of the one too many drinks you had the night before. The first thing you did upon waking up was check the time, seeing you still had a little over two hours before you had to meet Mel. After responding to a few texts, you rolled over in preparation to get up and make breakfast, only to see a glass of water, a bottle of painkillers, and a note that you certainly hadn’t left on your nightstand. Picking up the note—which really was a napkin stolen from your kitchen—you recognized the scratchy handwriting.

Drink up. —Landy’s best friend

You couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face at the simple note, and quickly took the medicine and water before busying yourself with getting ready for brunch with Mel. It didn’t work, and you caught yourself more than six times thinking of the tall, toothless blond that shared the spot of the captain’s best friend with you. Even as you made your way to the predetermined diner, you couldn’t wipe the dopey smile off of your face as a result of the previous night’s events.

“So, you and EJ?” Mel teased the moment you sat down at the table. You had been cooing at Linnea, but stopped abruptly upon hearing her suggestive question. There was no you and EJ. There was you and then there was EJ.

But why did your heart skip a beat at the idea?

“No?” You said, unsure what it was exactly that you were denying. She simply shot you one of her unimpressed mom looks that you had seen directed at Gabe more than Linnea, and you gave her a confused look of your own.

“JT told Gabe that you left the bat with EJ last night.” She explained, and you rolled your eyes at the redhead who apparently couldn’t help but gossip. Mel was looking at you expectantly, and part of you wondering what made her think that something would happen between you and her husband’s second best friend.

“Erik just helped me get home last night, so I wouldn’t have to take an Uber.” You explained, and you quickly regretted your word choice as her smile turned mischievous.

“Oh, so he’s Erik now?” She teased you for calling him by his name instead of his nickname that everyone called him. Linnea saved you from coming up with a response, deciding she hadn’t gotten enough attention and babbled loudly, gaining her mom’s attention.

Arriving at the Landeskogs later that week, you hadn’t realized it was wine night, until you spotted four different bottles on the island table. You shot a confused look to Mel, you gave an exasperated sigh.

“They’re EJ’s, he’s getting into wine collecting, and brought some over for Gabe.” She explained, and you chuckled. You remembered him telling you something along the lines of his new hobby, but after your conversation with her over brunch days prior, you weren’t going to readily tell her your communication with Erik had increased.

“Is he here?” You asked casually, picking up the bottle that was closest to you. As if in response to your question, you heard Erik’s loud laugh fill the house and you couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on your face. You followed Mel into the living room, finding EJ and Gabe both sitting on the large sectional, with Linnea bouncing on Erik’s lap.

“Hey, you made it!” Gabe cheered upon seeing you, and Erik’s head snapped towards you, a smile on his face. Your heart skipped a beat momentarily at the sight, but you were dragged back to reality as Linnea cooed at you, making grabby hands.

“I was promised dinner.” You teased, dropping into the spot besides Erik. He seemed to be able to tell what you were after, and set Linnea in your lap. His arm went to the back of the couch behind your head, and you tried your best to focus on making faces at the baby in your lap instead of his proximity.

“You were promised dinner? I was just told to bring wine.” EJ joked, earning chuckles from everyone else in the room.

“That’s because I’m Landy’s best friend.” You said smugly, glancing at Erik out of the corner of your eye. He grinned, and from the mischievous glint in his eyes you could tell he was taking the bait this time.

“He trusts me enough to pick out a good wine, I’m the best friend.” He replied, and you heard Gabe and Mel groan in good fun. It wasn’t the first time you and Erik had gotten into the playful argument about who was Landy’s actual best friend.

“It doesn’t count as ‘picking out a good wine’ if you just bring four bottles. That’s cheating.” You grinned, your attention fully on him then.

“Oh my god, just kiss already.” Gabe groaned, earning an elbow from Mel, who honestly didn’t seem all too concerned with actually putting a stop to her husband’s comments. Your stomach dropped and your face warmed, and you turned back to Linnea, who had begun pulling on your shirt in a bid for attention.

“Why not?” Erik teased, surely he was joking, but his knee knocked against yours after a beat of silence. You spared a glance up to Mel, who had the audacity to look smug while you were freaking out.

“Why don’t we give you guys a moment.” Mel suggested, patting Gabe on the knee so he got the message and scooped up Linnea from your lap. You watched in confusion about why you and Erik would need a moment as they left, but just before Gabe disappeared, he turned and pointed a very captain-like finger at EJ.

“Just say it, man.” And then he was gone, leaving you even more confused and flustered as Erik moved his arm from on the couch behind you to his lap, where he anxiously fiddled with his watch.

“Say what?” You questioned, turning slightly to face him.

“Fuckin’ Landy.” He muttered, though you assumed he was speaking to himself as he had yet to look up to meet your gaze since Gabe left. “Alright, here goes nothing.”

“Erik—?”

“I like you. Like, a lot.”

And that truly was not what you thought he was going to say, so you said nothing out of pure shock. You weren’t upset that he had told you his feelings, far from it, but he had caught you off guard.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. I’ll just—” He started, and made to get up to leave, but your hand shot out before you could register you were moving and grabbed his forearm, causing him to stop his rambling.

“No, no. I just, I didn’t think you’d like me that way.” You confessed, and EJ laughed like it should have been obvious. He settled back into his seat, but you could tell he was still tense.

“Are you kidding me? I’m crazy about you. Whenever we go out, I’m stuck by you, and barely drink, just I can be the one to drive you home. When Landy first started bringing you around, he used to give me so much shit because I asked about you all the time. He still does, but it’s because I took forever to make a move.” He confessed. “But I was nervous, you’re so fun, and witty, and kind.”

“You’re all those things and more, too, you know.” You assured him. You were certain you had never met anymore more witty and fun than him.

And then it hit you exactly why your heart stuttered each time you saw him—why you suddenly had the urge to kiss him only moments before.

You had feelings for your best friend’s second best friend.

Erik called your name softly, and when you met his gaze, he was looking at you with a look of utter seriousness that you had truly never seen before on the lighthearted man. While you adored his playful smile and the mischievous glint in his eyes, you were incredibly grateful he wasn’t treating this as a joke.

“What’re you thinking?” He asked, avoiding the question you could tell he actually wanted the answer to. You turned in your seat to face him, tucking one leg under yourself while your knee pressed gently against the side of his thigh.

“I’m thinking,” You hesitated, trying to find the words that encapsulated how you were feeling, while still keeping true to the banter that defined your relationship with him. “that I wouldn’t mind sharing being Landy’s best friend if it was you I was sharing with.”

He chuckled at this, and briefly you could see relief wash over his features. But then he brought one of his large hands up to cradle your jaw and hold you still as he crashed his lips against yours. You hadn’t realized how long awaited the kiss was until he was pressed against you and you felt as if you were breathing for the first time. You felt blind for not seeing it before, how you felt for Erik and his reciprocated feelings.

“Neither of you will be my best friend if you keep doing that on my couch!” Gabe teased from the doorway, and you had your suspicions that he had been listening in the entire time. You tilted your head back with a loud, gleeful laugh as Erik exchanged some choice words with his captain. Gabe tossed his hands up in innocence before shooting you a wink and slipping back into the kitchen. Erik’s hand dropped from where it had been holding your face to link with yours, and he pressed a series of gentle kisses to your fingers.

“Softie.” You teased, but made no effort to stop him. In fact, you leaned forward in search of another sweet kiss and he readily complied.

“Want to get out of here?” He questioned, just as you heard Mel’s cheers as Gabe, presumably, told her what he had seen. You smiled at Erik, ready to go along with whatever he had in mind.

“Lead the way.”

Game days. Your favorite.

You were bouncing in your seat the whole night, and Mel rolled her eyes playfully at you as you jumped out of your seat to cheer for Erik as he scored the goal that cemented Colorado’s win.

“What’re you doing after?” Mel asked as you waited with her and the other partners of the players for the boys to come out of the locker room. You had kidnapped Linnea and had been making faces at her while she was perched on your hip.

“Movie night. It was supposed to be my turn to pick, but Erik scored, so.” You explained. She didn’t have the chance to reply as the door to the locker room opened and the blond you had been waiting for emerged, his loud voice filling the hallway.

“What’s with the Johnson jersey?”

“Oh, you know, gotta support my boyfriend.” You teased, handing Linnea back to Mel as Erik approached, pulling you in for a quick kiss. You hadn’t told him you were wearing it, instead of your usual Landeskog jersey.

“Damn straight. I think it’s good luck.” He mumbled against your lips, before straightening back up and taking in your mischievous grin. He admired you, knowing that he was in for some comment or another, not wanting it any other way.

“But I’m wearing Landy’s next time, I still am his best friend.”

[laufire]

(CW for mentions of csa)

A lot of Commonly Accepted (Often Through Uncritical Repetition) Wisdom in fandom leaves me baffled, when not straight up ticked off, but one that's been on my mind lately, that never fails to bring a scrunched up expression to my face, is the idea that Bela Talbot's backstory was some last minute add-on to her character.

You might argue that the reveal was rushed since the writers caved in and killed her off against their original plan (or at the very least, earlier than). Or that using abuse is a trite way to raise sympathy for an antagonistic character. You could even say that some of the finer details might’ve not been set in stone until they sat down to write her exist, although that one is dubious. But I’m never really going to buy that Bela’s backstory hadn’t been already planned, likely in big part.

The reason why is Season Three Episode Six, “Red Sky At Morning”, Bela’s second episode, co-written by Eric Kripke himself. As all episodes with Bela were, may I add; which means he had a hand in crafting her story from the beginning, as creator, director, and writer.

There Dean, a character that has been shown as sharp and intuitive (although his success rate ain’t that great when it comes to Bela, admittedly xD), immediately pegs her as someone with Issues TM, asking “how did she get like this”. He even taunts her by referencing her father, showing off his talent to hit where it hurts by asking if he “didn’t give her enough hugs”, ‘cause he’s classy like that. This visibly affects Bela, changing her demeanor in their conversation, from more playful to defensive. Hell, I remember during my first watch in real time this moment, especially paired with the rest of the episode, was when I first thought it was possible she came from an abusive family.

Because, c’mon. This whole episode is about parricide. The monster of the week is a ghost who haunts those that “spilled their own family’s blood”. We get two other examples: a woman whose accidental car crash killed her cousin, and two brothers who killed their father for the inheritance. Clearly, the ghost doesn’t have a narrow criteria when it comes to means or culpability -which makes sense given his particular story: he was tried for treason and his brother, the captain of the ship, issued the sentence.

And just as we find out this information... Bela sees the ghost ship that foretells her death. This, paired with the insinuations about an unsavvory past and her discomfort at the mention of her father, aren’t a wealth of information, but they start to paint a picture. We now know for a fact that Bela caused the death of at least one relative (mom and dad); that she wouldn’t have needed to do it directly (she made a crossroads deal); and that she might’ve had a sympathetic motive (her father sexually abused her and her mother turned a blind eye).

That scene offers some more tidbits of information about her past that seem too in tune with 3x15 to be coincidental, and that absolutely break my heart: Bela’s “You wouldn’t understand. No one did.“ and “I’ll just do what I’ve always done. I’ll deal with it myself”. See, I always thought Bela must’ve told people, when she was a kid. That she reached out for help not just to her mother, but to everyone around her that she thought could’ve help: teachers, maybe even law enforcement; adults that should’ve being worthy of that trust and protected her. Except no one did (and the fact that her family seemed to be not only very rich but influential paints a very bleak picture that surely contributed to her cynic view of the world). So she took matters in her own hands, and sold her soul for ten years of relative safety and freedom from her abusers.

To tie it all up, her final scene in that episode offers some more moments that again, are very in line with her backstory. We see how she treats relationships as transactionals: she pays ten grand to the Winchesters for saving her life, like she paid with her soul. Dean, again, draws attention to her likely messed up past by calling her damaged, and she replies that “takes one to know one”. Terrible childhood, ammirite. The show wasn’t been subtle here: it’s telling us Bela has a terrible past, like the Winchesters do, but of a different kind that has resulted in a different kind of person. So yeah, I think all the facts were hinted at back in 3x06.

We could go even futher back and point out 3x03, Bela’s introduction. One of the very first things she says in the show, during her first face to face with Dean (a character that just condemned his soul to Hell), is “We’re all going to Hell, Dean. Might as well enjoy the ride”. Sure, it could be an incredibly fortuitous coincidence; as a writer, I’ve had those and they’re damn great. But it seems VERY lucky, and more likely to be a case of the kind premeditated, well-placed foreshadowing that Kripke excels at.

So, okay. I’ve established why I think Bela’s backstory wasn’t a spur of the moment decision. But why is there a notable narrative in fandom that it IS?

First thing first, I want to get something out of the way: you don’t have to like it even if it was planned ahead. I understand it’s a very thorny subject, and to make matters worse, it’s inherently tied to her death. You might even be fine with the what, but not with how it was dealt with (although personally, I appreciate that neither the abuse nor her death were shown onscreen. In fact, the worse violence we see Bela on the receiving end of in her run is Dean’s threats and manhandling, which seems like a very purposeful choice ngl. Even Gordon freaking Walker was gentler lmao).

But I do disagree with some extended fandom opinions on the topic, and I guess that’s what the post is about. For one, I don’t see how the show “condemned” or morally judged Bela in this scenario. If anything, they clearly wanted to make her sympathetic, AND they showed Dean as being in the wrong by robbing him of information. Dean’s opinion on Bela couldn’t count for shit, for once, because he didn’t have the full picture; because Bela had deemed him UNWORTHY of the full picture, and thus anything he had to say on her couldn’t be taken at face value (except this is Supernatural, so I guess this was a little too much to ask of some people?). I think saying that just because Bela died and went to Hell as a consequence of her deal, IN THE SAME SEASON the same happened to our co-lead, because the writers deemed her evil and irredeemable is simplistic at best, and the audience projecting their own feelings (or being unable to see past Dean’s) onto the writing.

All that said, to go back to the initial point of all of this xD: WHY does fandom seem to insist on viewing this narrative choice as some cheap last minute addition?

There might not be one explanation that fits all, but I have a few ideas. One is that, if this wasn’t planned for and hinted at from early on, some people might feel as if this “absolves” them of their previous (and disgustingly hateful and misoginistic) reactions to Bela. Others will see this as absolving Dean, and maybe even Sam to a lesser extent, for not helping her and for being callous towards her; if her tragic backstory was this artificial, rushed choice made by Those Writers, then Dean wasn’t responsible for reprehensible attitudes towards someone who deserved his compassion (and it can’t be denied that this fandom loves absolving Dean of responsibility lmao). And a lot people are probably only repeating what they've heard from others as the accepted narrative, especially those that didn't even watch all of s3 if at all (Castiel is my fave too, but seriously, s1-3 are worth it).

It’s like they’re creating this imaginary separation between Bela pre-reveal, and Bela post-reveal, to make the situation easier to themselves. See, Bela pre-reveal was this annoying bitch who inconvenienced and embarrassed our leads (not to mention dared have chemistry with them), and thus deserved to be punished for it; or, if we’re going with more modern fandom sensibilities, she can be made to fit into the shallow #GirlBoss mold, with a side of “Secretly A Lesbian And Therefore Not A Romantic Threat” flavour -the current preferred method to make controversial female characters more palatable.

The reveal throws a wrench into this narrative. “Bitch who deserves her comeuppance” is a hard sell when you’re talking about a character who survived csa. And a shallow #GirlBoss reading doesn’t work if you have to acknowledge that Bela was one of, if not the most tragic characters in the entire run of Supernatural.

She spent over half her life at the mercy of her abuser(s), hurt by those who should’ve loved her and protected her most. The rest of her life was extremely lonely, with seemingly only a cat as company, and a surface-level freedom that hid under the sentence that loomed over her head. She died without a single friend, or a simple show of kindness and compassion, without anyone bothering to fight for her. And then she ended up tortured for who knows how long until she became one of her torturers.

All of that is extremely difficult to digest. And when things are hard to swallow, people do as people do, and they try to simplify them. So, sure. Bela’s reveal wasn’t ever hinted at, it’s completely removed from her character and the person we met, and is not even worth trying to fit into the narrative. Sounds easy.

[fawkes-rinzler]

Spoilers ahead. I’d you haven’t played FFXIV or are just atarting and don’t want spoilers, just skip this entire post, eh? Okay so random thought on FFXIV. I’ve been playing the game since about July, And have progressed to the second half of the Shadowbringers MSQ. I am absolutely in love with FFXIV’s storytelling method and their writing. I deeply appreciate that they put special emphasis on important things like how much Haurchefant and House Fortemps means to the WOL. I love that as you progress in game and become more well known, it results in NPCs just getting absolutely flabbergasted at the sight of you. it’s adorable, it’s narratively interesting, and I appreciate so much of the game for making characters I love enough to cry over.

but…. I kinda dislike the entire way around which the Scions stuff occurs. lemme explain the best I can….

When you first get introduced to the Scions it’s very much that feeling of being the Chosen One in the story, that’s fine. You’re expected to do all these things… and this extends to being a critique to ARR at large but the way in which you become the Errand Person of the Scions left me feeling really under appreciated. A Primal would show up and theyd just point WOL in the direction of it like a sentient weapon. Very little concern is directed towards WOL and who they are as a person. Again, this is also an ARR critique, but it also means there’s a weird setup fail….

because when we get to the later expansions, I don’t really feel like the Scions care for WOL (except Minfilia).

Thancred’s acting like he outright blames WOL for Minfilia’s disappearance and his lack of magic, Y’shtola seems so utterly inconvenienced by our existence, Urianger doesn’t care about anything, Yda’s entire motivation discovery in Stormblood feels out of nowhere and vaguely bothersome, and the only one I love is Papalymo. It just leaves me feeling So utterly frustrated when they show up in Stormblood because it feels like theyre Now trying to make friends after spending like…. years together. Thancred still annoys the shit out of me. Y’shtola’s development is…. Strange….. and Urianger’s is just hilarious. It’s like the man developed a personality after 3 expansions of waiting. It all feels so rushed though. I wanted to care about these characters earlier but I really didn’t….. I wish that ARR had given more tender and friendly moments between everyone. Something in a similar emotional vein to Tataru’s journey of self discovery.

I dunno man. maybe I‘m the only one who feels this way. But it feels like I’m a game that so focuses on the relationships we have and the friends we made that characters as central as the Scions would have had more friendship and development. or did I miss something?? Please let me know. Thancred’s entire character arc also really chaps my hide.

[depressedhatakekakashi]

Animal Parade

AU: Animal Whisperer Au

Words: 1239

Rating: General

Characters: Takatori Houki, Uzumaki Boruto, Uchiha Sarada, Metal Lee, Hatake Kakashi

Warnings: None

Summary: While making his way through the village, Houki can’t help but notice something odd passing him by. Especially when he realizes that his Hero, Lord Sixth, is involved.

Morning training had been a little harder than usual, with Sai-sensei running multiple scenarios that Houki and his teammates had to solve. Sometimes the problem could be solved by taking the enemy down and capturing them, but other times they would have to leave the target alone. Coming up with a way to gather information without being caught and getting it back to their Sensei.

So far, they still needed a lot of work on the information-gathering missions.

“I’m certain there’s something we can do.” Houki whispered under his breath, barely paying attention as he made his way through the village. With just a little planning, he was certain that he could figure out an effective plan. One that would make Sai-sensei proud, and may even catch the attention of Lord sixth.

Stopping in his tracks, he thought back to the last exercise his team had done. All the ways that they had messed up, and how they could improve when he felt something bump against his foot.

Turning his attention to his side, he frowned when he saw a dog walking past him. Not just one dog though, besides it was a whole parade of animals. Lions, tigers, cats, and even a few snakes.

“What…” searching for whatever it was they were headed towards, Houki followed the line of animals to the front, his eyes widening when he saw what, or more appropriately, who, was leading all of these animals through the village.

Lord sixth.

“He has been walking like this for an hour,” hearing a familiar voice behind him, Houki turned to find Boruto standing directly behind him. A serious look on his face in place of the usual goofy smile Houki was far more used to seeing. “Sarada and I have been following him everywhere but we can’t figure it out.”

“I told you,” Sarada came up behind Boruto, arms crossed over her chest and eyes focused on the parade of animals. “They’re probably following him because he has some sort of food on him.”

That didn’t make any sense.

“There-there’s squirrels and chipmunks in there,” Houki spoke up, frowning when Sarada looked his way. “They don’t like the same food as Lions and tigers.”

“He has a pack on his back. I wouldn’t put it past him to put a bunch of food in it just to make a show of himself,” Sarada argued. “He’s always doing embarrassing stuff.”

There were so many questions running through Houki’s mind at that moment, but he had to focus. There had to be a logical reason for why Lord Sixth had a parade of animals following him through the streets of Konoha.

“Hey!” Hearing a familiar voice, Houki turned to see Metal running towards them. “What’s going on? Why is everyone standing around here?”

“Can’t you tell?” Sarada jabbed a finger towards Lord Sixth and the parade of animal’s behind him. “We’re having an argument about why the old man has all of those animals following him around. I think he has food in his pack.”

“It’s not food,” Boruto insisted. “I bet he got sprayed by some experiment that makes him smell good to animals.”

Houki cringed at that idea. It didn’t sound pleasant at all.

“Oh, is that all?” All three of them gave metal a confused look. “This is normal. He looks like he’s thinking about something and he probably hasn’t noticed all of the animals following him.

Normal?

“Normal!?” The three of them screamed at the same time.

“How is this normal?” Sarada asked. “I’ve never seen him come to the house to visit mom with a parade of animals behind him.”

“Same when he comes to my place,” Boruto insisted. “The only dogs I ever see with him are his dumb hounds.”

Houki narrowed his eyes towards Boruto. “They’re not dumb,” he insisted. “They’re bloodhounds that could rip an enemy apart with ease.”

“Alright, jeez,” Holding his hands out in front of him, Boruto sighed. “Sorry. I forgot you were the old man’s number one fanboy for a second.”

“How could you possibly forget that?” Sarada asked. “He always dresses up like him.”

Houki wasn’t sure when this had become a conversation about his status as ‘number in fanboy for lord sixth’, but he was quite done with it already.

“So,” he turned away from the other two with a little huff of annoyance. “You said this was normal?”

“Ya,” Metal chuckled lightly. “He’s always waking up from his naps surrounded by animals. Usually, when he’s out in the village he tells them to leave him alone, or at least not create such a…” glancing towards the animal parade he sighed. “Well, such a show.”

“He does look like he’s thinking about something,” Sarada noted, “and when he thinks sometimes it feels like he’s not paying attention to anything going on around him.”

“There’s probably some big problem going on in the village that needs his attention,” Houki declared, his eyes shining as he thought about all of the things that Lord Seventh could be struggling with. “I bet he’s thinking really hard about how to help the village grow even more.”

“That’s not his job though,” Boruto sighed. “My old man…”

Glaring at Boruto, Houki huffed. “Do you really think your old man would be able to come up with an answer to a tough problem without help?”

“Well, no. That’s why he has Uncle Shikamaru to help him.”

“I bet they still asked Lord sixth for advice,” He couldn’t imagine Lord Sixth not having a say in it. He was the reason Konoha had grown so much since the fourth great shinobi war. His advice was invaluable.

There was no doubt in Houki’s mind that whatever the ex-Hokage was thinking of, it was a huge issue. It was the only explanation for why he hadn’t noticed the parade of animals following him around the village.

Drumming his fingers against his chin, Kakashi hummed as he went through his options. There weren’t a lot of choices, so he couldn’t understand why he was having so many difficulties.

“Come on, Kakashi,” he whispered to himself. “Hot Springs or a fancy dinner out. Or maybe both? Could we do both?”

Planning an anniversary surprise was no easy task, and he’d yell at anyone who tried to tell him that it was. At this rate, he’d be lucky if he figured out what to get Gai for a present.

“Shit,” he stopped in his tracks suddenly, grunting when something slammed into his back. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Turning to face whoever it was he had inconvenienced, Kakashi cringed when he saw a long line of animals there behind him. Lions, tigers, squirrels, dogs, cats. He’s pretty sure he even spotted a few monkeys somewhere in the crowd.

“Great...and how long have you been following me this time?” He placed his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes. “I bet I look like a spectacle because of all of you.” He’d have to go into hiding for a week just to let the gossip simmer down a bit, which was going to put a damper on all of his hard work planning that surprise for Gai.

It couldn’t be helped though. Just looking around the area he could see people staring at him, including four nosey genin’s off in the distance smiling and waving at him as soon as they noticed him looking their way.

[jennrypan]

I rewrote the part where Scourge and Sonic have that "Just like me convo" so it can fit my au of them.

____________________

Fiona cheating on him with his anti didnt make Sonic angry..

Fiona actively lying to him didnt piss him off, maybe annoyed him..but it didnt piss him off.

What did piss him off however was how she antagonized Amy and Tails, and how she seemed to preen at the slightest attention Scourge gave her..because she wanted someone to protect her..someone to care about her, he didnt know..and what set him off was how she slapped Tails away, mocked him for crying and all to impress his anti! 

"What the hell Fiona!?" 

Sonic snapped, though this just caused the vixen to roll her eyes before she looked at him..god her attitude was grating his nerves,

"What?" She mused as if she didnt just slap his best friend for no reason,

That ..that made him scowl, and without warning he moved- he wanted to actually..throw her, her attitude annoyed him, her disregard for his friends pissed him off- he hadnt accounted for Scourge actually protecting her, as when he moved..so did the green hedgehog and before he could touch Fiona a fist crushed into his cheek causing him to let out a sharp grunt and lose his footing for a brief minute, instantly turning his attention towards Scourge..he still had that same sleazy smile..taunting. 

"Bad move, blue." 

Scourge drawled out, and Sonic just clicked his tongue watching as Scourge slowly paced around him..hes been itching to fight him for who knows how long..that much Sonic knew, but Sonic just hummed,

"Oh so you can help other people besides yourself, I was beginning to worry you had no redeeming qualities!" He stated sounding visibly amused, 

Scourge just scoffed lowly, "Please, thats not a redeemin quality, raise your standards." He sneered, and without warning he ran forward..and the fight began.

Amy had since charged at Fiona but Sonic could barely focus on that as Scourge kept matching him blow for blow..only thing was Scourge was a lot more violent..a lot more aggressive.

It wasnt everyday Sonic worked up a sweat fighting an opponent as not many people matched his speed..Shadow and Metal were the only ones..now Scourge had been added to that list of people that seem to want to kill him for no reason.

"Jeez its hard to believe someone so bitter could be me, like damn dude, did your favorite jacket get discontinued?" 

Even during this fight Sonic didnt stop being taunting, as he landed on top of a rock- narrowly avoiding being kicked into a tree, watching as Scourge turned towards him, his eyes were surprisingly still shielded by his shades but Sonic could still feel him glaring at him, 

Scourge moved again and this time he successfully swiped Sonics legs from underneath him and when Sonic fell the blue hedgehog instinctively moved to the side as Scourges fist came crashing into the floor were his head had previously been,

"Lets see you keep makin jokes when I break your fuckin legs." Scourge hissed- despite his words he sounded delighted by the thought, pleased with the thought of hurting him and hes use to this from Shadow and Metal, they were both assholes who worked with Eggman on their worst days and they just genuinely didnt like him that much but Scourge? Theyve only met three times before this and he didnt remember antagonizing the male enough to make him want to hurt him that much-

Scourge charged forward once more and Sonic quickly moved to the side, arm pulling back before he crashed his fist into the side of Scourges face as he had done to him earlier..knocking the shades from his face which caused his anti to pause briefly, glancing down at the shades for a millisecond as they landed on the floor, cracked and lopsided.

That millisecond was soon forgotten as Scourge retaliated..his body moved lower and his leg rose before he kicked Sonic straight in the chest causing the male to grunt, stumbling back at the force but the kick wasnt enough as Scourge had soon punched him in the stomach,

"God- I still got a few more jokes- first, those shades were lame anyways- not a joke but a fact!" 

Sonic stated quickly, jumping out of the way from Scourge once more as the male just growled,

"Im not takin shit from someone who thinks 'Way past cool' is a thing people actually say!" Scourge retorted, 

"Hey people said it before!" 

"No ones ever said that shit before!" 

It went on like this for what seemed like a few minutes with both of them arguing with each other, Sonic just wanted to see exactly why Scourge was going out of his way to hurt him- even trying to actually break his leg if he was given the chance..the rage was so weird..he knew antis were different but he didnt expect his anti to be so..angry,  so violent- his anti seemed more like a very verbal Shadow with the way he kept attacking him, 

"Ya know being an asshole isnt as rewarding as ya think it is right?" 

Sonic questioned- grunting when he got into a tree, thankfully avoiding Amy as she chased Fiona around still, she had tried to help but Fiona kept distracting her.

"Pfft, its more rewardin than wastin my time saving a buncha useless dicks who dont deserve it!" Scourge replied, sounding amused by the sheer thought of saving someone else...Sonic couldnt imagine not wanting to save people..yeah sometimes he thought some people didnt deserve it but still, 

"Youre still a Sonic! Still me- you should want to at least try and help people!"

"Why? Cuz thats what you do?" 

Scourge just laughed and without warning he moved forward..punched him in the stomach, then his chest- he didnt wait for a retaliation as he kicked him into a tree, he found with the purpose to bruise and scar while Sonic fought to distance and distract-

His head spun for a split moment, the wind knocked out of him, 

"You dont get it! Rulin people with fear and hate, is soo much better than tryna be some glorified saint!" 

Scourge stated, his eyes were blazing..the rage was back..he looked nothing like him right now..something was off, Sonic didn't like how unhinged he was,  how cruel- 

"That isnt true, and it never will be."

Sonic declared and Scourge just sneered at him, laughing, fist pulling back as Sonic quickly moved from his spot, his knuckles slammed into bark instead of Sonics nose,

"When you finally realize not everyone deserves to be saved, when you see how much more freein it is to be above people than to depend on them- you'll be like me, all it takes is one bad day, one bad situation and you'll see that." Scourge hummed out, side stepping as Sonic went to kick him, only to have his leg grabbed and he was forcefully thrown down, causing him to grunt lowly, and without warning Scourge stepped on his chest, Sonic could only stare at him for a brief moment before he just grinned- 

"Thats where your wrong dude, a bad day doesnt just make someone a villain..but a good day? A good day could change a lot, all it takes is someone showing you an ounce of kindness, someone showin you the love you never got and you'll be like me, a good person..maybe even a hero." He stated, grinning.

He expected another mocking laugh instantly, expecting Scourges foot to press down but for a brief minute..the green hedgehog paused, eyes widening ever so slightly, and for that minute Sonic was sure he got to him..he knew deep down Scourge wasnt evil, he could just show him he didnt have to be like this, he could help him..he didnt know anything about his anti besides the fact something was severely wrong with his mental state and he took too much enjoyment in hurting him but he knew he wasnt evil.

Then.. the green hedgehog just smiled, his expression hardening as if it hadnt changed in the first place, 

"How naive." 

He sneered and that slowly shattered Sonics hopes of getting through to him..he just dismissed his words-

"Not naive..hopeful." Sonic retorted, moving his arm to grab his ankle but his foot had moved towards his neck and Sonic jolted- the malice in his eyes was so..floundering..he could never imagine that look on his own face.

"Same thing." Scourge stated dismissively, and Sonic didnt get the chance to reply as a blur of yellow and brown crashed into Scourge, pushing the older teen to the ground successfully allowing Sonic to sit up instantly,

"Get away from him you bully!" Tails screamed, Sonic heard Scourge cursing and soon Tails was thrown back, causing Sonic to quickly move to catch him.

"Thanks bud." Sonic murmured, staring at Scourge who just fixed his jacket- appearing inconvenienced as Fiona neatly landing besides him as Amy ran up next to Sonic, "Stop running you coward!" The pink hedgehog hissed, Scourge just plucked out a warp ring from his jacket, just smiling at Sonic.. His smile was so..mean looking, it was too sharp..too fake,

"Til next time blue."  

Was all Scourge said in a sing song like voice as he let Fiona into the portal first and he followed quickly after just as Amy chucked her hammer in their direction, who she was aiming at specifically he had no clue.

"Dammit! Stupid! Assholes, ugh!" Amy screamed, storming over to snatch her hammer up,

"Theyre such bullies! Why did I even like her!" Tails exclaimed, Sonic just frowned before he sighed quietly, glancing from Amy to Tails. 

"Lets just go, theyre gone now, might as well enjoy the peace." He stated with a simple shrug, giving them a small smile, the smile made Amy visibly melt while it comforted Tails slightly, the young pink hedgehog was at his side instantly, clutching his arm- which he allowed for the time being while Tails was a little slower to approach him, still dejected.

He knew his anti despised him but he'll never get the reason why, and unfortunately..Scourge was too far gone to talk down from whatever path he was taking..the friendly route was no longer an option.

[drarry-we-meet]

Valentine’s Day Sucks

Part 1

Draco grit his teeth as another wave of ooohs and ahhhs sounded across the small collection of cubicles. He tried to ignore the outbreak of distinctly feminine chatter and focus on the report he was currently writing. After reading the same paragraph three times, he was finally able to get back into the flow of things. He was halfway through drafting his next sentence when a loud bang followed by assorted squeals and giggles broke out, and he couldn’t help but sneak a peek.

Longbottom was currently surrounded by a cloud of glittering pink smoke that smelled strongly of roses, and there on his desk was a humongous box of chocolates. Draco sighed, he was more than ready for this Valentine’s Day nonsense to be over with. It was bad enough hearing all the witches in his department cooing like a pack of wild doves each time one of them received a flower delivery, which of course was every few minutes. But to make matters worse, this year the wizards seemed to be getting just as many gifts thanks the Wheezes new ad campaign which insisted that witches must also get soppy romantic trinkets for their gents.

Draco would have admired such a brilliant marketing strategy, that had surely doubled their profits this year, if it didn’t cause him to have double the annoyance at the same time. While the witches gifts were more traditional and quiet; flowers, chocolate, jewelry. The men’s gifts were far sillier; singing heat shaped telegrams that burst into miniature fireworks at the end of their song, stuffed bears that did cartwheels across desks before exploding into a shower of confetti, and large boxes like Longbottom’s that went off like a bomb, leaving behind chocolates once the smoke had cleared.

Of course it didn’t help matters that Draco knew he wouldn’t be receiving anything this year. It wasn’t that he was alone, at least not technically. He had been seeing, or at least sleeping with, Harry-savior-of-the-whole-fucking-wizarding-world Potter, for just over 4 months. Not that it counted though, probably. They had never discussed whether or not what they were doing was exclusive. For Draco it was, and he was fairly certain it was for Harry as well, seeing how he barely had any free-time as Deputy Head Auror and all. But a lack of time to see other people, and actually wanting to date someone were two very different things.

Case in point was the Mountain of gifts that Draco could see steadily growing in the office across the room filled with their cubicles. Witches and wizards from all over the world sent Harry gifts each holiday, but this one always seemed to be the worst. Two curse breakers were currently stationed in the room sorting, screening, and vanishing questionable gifts, while Harry himself was still out meeting with the muggle liaison of Interpol for some reason or another. He wasn’t due to return until Monday, and by then his office would be clear once again.

The safe candy was set aside to be distributed to various departments in the ministry, particularly those inconvenienced the most by this whole fiasco; the mailroom, the janitors union, the curse breakers, and of course the aurors. All of the mail was piled neatly for his secretary to review. The majority of it would be vanished of course, but a few of the most polite ones would be answered eventually.

In fact, now that Draco thought about it, his willingness to always be available to Harry no matter how last minute or weird the hour was, in order to be able to see Harry in between his many meetings and trips abroad might be the only reason Harry even bothered with him at all. It was that thought, paired with the reminder that so far whatever ‘this’ was between them had remained a carefully guarded secret from even their closest friends, that caused a sharp clenching pain inside his gut. Draco determinedly pushed all thoughts of the idiot-who-lived far from his mind and tried once again to focus on work.

By lunchtime, the continuous loud bangs and rose scented smoke that accompanied them, had the beginnings of a migraine forming behind Draco’s eyes. He decided to escape the ministry for a bit and get some fresh air at the cafe across the street. He had just finished, and stood up to don his coat when a shadow appeared across his desk. He looked up into the sneering faces of Zacharias Smith, his well-endowed girlfriend, and a couple of brand new trainees whose names he didn’t care to remember.

"I was just about to head to lunch Smith so whatever it is you need will have to wait till after I return,” Draco kept his most impassive face in place, but his voice was firm. He knew the only thing Smith wanted was to start trouble and he wasn’t in the mood for any of it.

Smith smirked, “I just wanted to ask you where your Valentine’s Day gift was," he asked with a faux sweet voice.

That threw Draco for a loop for a minute, “What are you talking about?"

Smith and his group immediately started laughing, Draco wasn’t sure what the hell they found so funny or why on earth they were asking him about Valentine’s gifts of all things.

Smith’s smile had only gotten wider, “Well Malfoy, he emphasized, maybe it has escaped your notice, but you’re the only person in the entire department, possibly even the entire ministry who hasn’t received even one measly card.”

Draco could feel his heart rate picking up, but he hadn’t lived with old-moldyfarts for nothing, and was able to keep his face blank and posture relaxed. Smith was just getting warmed up though, pointing out how ‘of course’ they shouldn’t be so surprised that he hadn’t received anything, since he was death eater scum and all. By this point they were attracting the attention of the rest of the office.

Draco could see out of the corner of his eye that Granger was heading their direction, but Draco would rather die than have someone he once allowed to be tortured in his house defend him from a spineless git like Smith.

Draco carefully rolled his eyes and shook his head at Smith, “is that really the best you could come up with today Zachary?” Because he knew how much Smith hated people using the shorter form of his name, "you must be having just such a fulfilling Valentine’s Day yourself if you would rather spend all your time talking to me than your girlfriend, what are you 12?” He then swept out of the office before Smith could reply or Granger could reach them.

He was waiting down the hall for the lift when a fierce grip grabbed his arm and spun him around. It was Smith’s girlfriend, and Draco was fairly shocked to be manhandled by her. She, unlike her slimy boyfriend, had always seemed like a genuinely nice person. However her face right now was twisted in fury.

"No one will ever love you," she spat. "You can look down on us all you want, but in the end you will be a bitter old man and die alone. You don’t even have any friends!” She spun on her heel and left then.

Draco was left reeling in the hallway, his vision swimming a bit and his breathing a bit too fast and shallow. As the room came back into focus he locked eyes with Granger. Of course she had followed him out into the hall, of course she’d probably seen the whole thing. Fuck. The lift chimed and Draco stumbled back into in, jamming the door close button to stop her from pursuing him any further. He knew that look, that look of pity, and it made him sick to his stomach.

Draco ended up skipping lunch, he walked aimlessly around the nearest park until his face and fingers were numb with cold despite his gloves and warming charms. The words, “no one will ever love you,” played on endless repeat in his head as he fought to direct his thoughts toward anything else. He didn’t know why he let their words get to him like that, he didn’t give a shit what Smith or his girlfriend thought.

But the words had cut him to the bone, mainly because it was a very real fear he had held onto since the end of the war. His friends had all fled the country after the trials, some even before, and his dating life had been pretty nonexistent for the last 6 years. Nothing they had said was technically wrong. The men Draco had been with were ok with fucking him as long as no one ever found out. He just wasn’t the type of person anyone could ever take home to meet their parents.

And Draco had been ok with that, or so he thought. Relationships were just messy, unnecessary. Until Harry. Harry was the first man Draco had ever been with who took him to dinner, (at muggle restaurants), who always spent the night, who held him after sex, who made breakfast for him the morning after. Harry made him watch muggle films on his couch while giving him neck rubs or foot rubs and always made sure he had Draco’s favorite tea on hand. By the second month Draco had begun to think that maybe, just maybe they were something more than just sex.

But then one day they had been interrupted mid-foreplay by one of Harry’s friends visiting unannounced, and Harry had quickly shoved Draco into the closet and told him to be quiet. Draco had died a little inside that day. It was an unspoken agreement after that. Draco was a secret, a dirty little secret, just like always.

Draco returned to the office a few minutes late, half frozen and despondent, but as always he didn’t let any of it show on his face. He had considered skiving off the rest of the day, but wouldn’t give Smith the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten under his skin.

He buried himself in his work and carefully ignored any whispers or glances he felt come his way, but he was still attuned enough to the atmosphere of the room to notice as everyone was wrapping up their tasks at the end of the day and loudly discussing their romantic plans for the evening, when a ripple of silence suddenly overtook the room. It was so quiet and still that Draco looked up, wondering if everyone had somehow been stupefied simultaneously.

His jaw dropped as his eyes met green. Harry was standing just in front of his desk looking so very fit in his deputy head uniform. His brass buttons shining, his hair tousled just right, his brilliant eyes unobstructed since he’d finally ditched his horrid specs long ago. He was holding a garment bag in one hand and the biggest bouquet of long stemmed roses in the other. They were wrapped in white silk with a dark red bow, each petal had gold filigree on the edges.

"Are you ready to go darling?” He asked with a warm and inviting face, a fair bit of mischief in his eyes.

Draco, who had no idea what was going on, but was pretty sure he must have passed out from all the fumes and was dreaming just nodded.

Harry smiled brightly and laid the garment bag over Draco’s desk. "Well that’s good," Harry said, handing the roses to Draco, who took them dazedly, "Hermione told me you were too busy to pick up your suit today, so I went ahead and got it for you. We don’t have much time until the Portkey to Paris leaves so we’ll need to hurry home and change. I don’t think Le Cinq will let us in without the formal wear.

Draco who had decided he was definitely dreaming, simply nodded again and stood. Harry wasted no time walking around the desk to meet him. He placed a chaste, but lingering kiss on his lips, grabbed the bag and steered Draco toward the door with a warm hand on the small of his back.

The entire trek to the doors no one moved, Draco wasn’t sure any of them were even breathing. He wasn’t sure he was even breathing. Harry had just publicly outed them. Every face in the room was stricken with shock, except for Hermione who smiled at them both and Ron who gave him a curt nod. Draco realized neither of them were surprised. They know, he thought, oh gods they already know. He looked at Harry again and Harry gave him another dazzling smile and kiss on the cheek.

As soon as they were outside the doors a cacophony of noise sounded behind them and Harry turned to wink at Draco, but instead of heading toward the lifts, he simply wrapped his arm more firmly around Draco’s waist and apparated them on the spot.

-gift for @mothermalfoy

Link to Part 2:  https://drarry-we-meet.tumblr.com/post/190868463275/valentines-day-sucks-warning-this-2nd-half

[k-llama-llama]

Leader Swap

TXT AU: 6th member

Sara x TXT

Sara has to remind Soobin that even though he’s the leader, she’s in charge.

A/N: Please check out my PATREON (patreon.com/kllamallama) for exclusive posts you can’t get anywhere else, as well as lots of other cool benefits!

Requests are OPEN

Masterlist and other Follow Me links in bio!

“Noona, do you like these shoes?” Huka held up his phone.

She turned her head slightly to see, trying not to move as the stylist finished curling her hair. “They’re nice....but do you need them?”

He took the phone back, smiling at the screen. “Obviously. They’re blue.” He said as if that was explanation enough.

“Are you going to be ready to go?” Sara asked, glancing at him as the stylist finished with her hair. “You’re not dressed yet.”

“Neither is anyone else.” He said. “It’s just you.”

She turned around. Yeonjun was having his makeup done, but he was still in the clothes he’d arrived in. Taehyun actually was dressed, but neither his hair or makeup was done. Beomgyu had his hair clipped back, but was still wearing sweatpants. And their leader, Soobin, was reclining on the couch on his phone. He yawned, rubbing his eyes without looking away from the screen.

Sara sighed. They were all exhausted from promotions, and though they were all giving it their all every single performance, they were admittedly not at the top of their game.

But when she glanced at the clock, she saw that they were supposed to be ready to go on stage in twenty minutes.

“Guys,” She said. “Get ready. We have to go soon.”

“Kay.” Yeonjun said. “I just need to get dressed.”

The boys all stood up, Soobin dragging behind the others, and started getting ready. They were moving slowly, with no real urgency.

Sara stood, shaking her head to test out her curls.

Soobin pulled on his stage pants, and then stopped and leaned back against the table to check his phone.

Sara glanced away, turning to help Beomgyu do up the back of his shirt, which had buttons up the side and back.

“Get your makeup done, please.” Sara tapped him on the shoulder. “You too, Soobin.”

“We still have time.” Soobin said, not looking up from his phone.

Sara walked over to him, leaning down so the other boys couldn’t hear what she was saying.

“Is something wrong?” She asked.

“What? No. Why?” He looked confused.

“Because I’m trying to figure out why you’re dragging your feet.” She told him. She just didn’t get it. They needed to get ready and he was taking his time more than any of them. “We need to go.”

“Can you lay off? We’re not in any rush.” He hissed.

Sara frowned, and grabbed his arm. “What the heck is wrong with you? I get you’re tired but we all are and we need you to-”

“I’m the leader, okay? And I say we have enough time.” He glared at her. “So leave me alone.”

Sara moved back slightly.

Soobin’s eyes widened.

“Get you clothes on.” She said sharply. “And get your shit together.”

“You don’t get to-”

“Yeonjun! Here’s your shirt. Get it on.” She tossed the item at him. “Gyu, put your phone down so she can do your makeup. Tae, get off the floor and start getting ready.”

“Someone’s bossy.” Yeonjun snorted.

“Yeah, well, our leader is being an idiot so someone has to get you all ready.” She crossed her arms. “Soobin! Drop your phone right now and put your shirt on!”

He glared at her, and she stared right back at him.

The other boys instantly shut up and hurried to get ready.

It was a rare occasion when Sara was angry at any of them, and none of them had ever witnessed her being angry at Soobin. In their apartment, Sara was in charge, but she was never bossy or commanding when they were doing any group activities. Soobin was the leader, and none of them ever questioned or challenged that.

But right now, Sara wasn’t backing down.

“We have ten minutes.” Soobin said weakly.

“You’re getting ready now.” Sara informed him. “Or we’re really going to have a problem.”

Soobin grabbed his shirt.

“Come on everyone, we’ve got a show to do.” Sara forced a smile.

“All ready, Noona.” Taehyun said quickly.

---time skip----

Sara didn’t say a word to Soobin for the rest of the day, until they made their way back to the apartment. Coming through the front door, the other boys bailed immediately, not wanting to witness whatever was about to happen.

Sara went straight into the kitchen, turning on the kettle to make herself a cup of tea.

“You’re mad at me?” Soobin asked, standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

“Depends on if you’re still acting like a child.” Sara grabbed a mug from the cupboard, slamming the door shut.

“I was tired, Soo-ji. I didn’t see that harm in waiting a few more minutes.”

“You didn’t see the harm in waiting to get ready, delaying the show and inconveniencing the groups waiting to go on behind us?”

“It wasn’t that bad.” He argued

“We take forever to get ready. And they won’t start getting ready until someone tells them they have to.You’re the leader, so that’s your job.” She poured the water over her tea bag.

Soobin sighed. She was right, he just couldn’t bring himself to admit it.

“I was tired.”

“We’re all tired, Binnie.” Sara turned, crossing her arms. “I feel like I’m two seconds away from fainting most of the time. But that’s no excuse for us to be unprofessional. We need to set a good example, because we represent ourselves and our company.”

“I know.” He looked down. “I’m sorry I was rude to you.”

“And I’m sorry I was rude to you.” Sara gave him a small smile. “Can we hug it out?”

“Of course?” He came forward, accepting her hug. He was a lot taller than her, and she leaned into his chest.

“Just don’t be annoying like that again.” Sara said. “Because I will smack you.”

“Noted.” He pulled back to look down at her. “You’re feeling alright?”

Sara shrugged. “It’s been a long day.”

“You’re really pale.” Soobin felt her forehead. “Have you had your meds?”

“Not since before lunch.” She told him. “I’ll have them now and then get in the shower.”

“Lay down first.” He suggested.

“Why? I’m gross.”

“Yeah, but if you pass out in the shower we’re going to see you naked.”

“Right.” Sara winced. “Maybe...maybe I could lay down for a bit.”

“Go now.” Soobin insisted. “I’ll bring you your tea and pill when it’s done.”

“I can-”

“Go rest, now.” Soobin playfully kissed the top of her head, and then shoved her out of the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator, looking for the milk.

Sara rolled her eyes, starting to walk away.

“Hey Soobin?”

“Yeah?” “When you’re like this, you’re actually a pretty good leader.” She winked.

“You’re just saying that because I’m making you tea.” He shook his head. “Go lie down before you keel over.”

“Wouldn’t that just make your day?” She chuckled walking away.

“Hardly, I still need you to make dinner!”

[solarianvoidthearoace]

Excerpt#3 from my JonGerry AU WiP

CN/TW: smoking mention, disclosure of finances, discussion of sleep-overs, relationship negotiations, explanation of heteronormativity and amatonormativity, gender coming-out (sort of?), fond insults/banter

Still, Gerry cringed a bit,

“I suppose I have to apologise for not telling you…?”, he winced,

“I mean you couldn’t have known and… looking back it does feel like sort of misleading you, I mean all you knew was that I work two jobs.” They buried his face into Jon’s chest. Instead of commenting, he simply patted their hair, holding Gerry close and letting him be dramatic for a minute.

“Well, that does explain your insistence to pay whenever we are out together”, Martin spoke up after a minute,

“I noticed you even occasionally snatched the bill when Jon or I mentioned inviting us others.” Gerry slowly looked up,

“Well, yes. I can’t imagine you floating in money. I grew up working in a bookshop after all and it only really build a financial buffer after I sold it all to collectors. And Jon mentioned his overtime going unpaid more often than not. Plus it’s just nice to know I can do that for you without having to make cuts on anything. Only thing I really want to cut on is smoking, but that’s an intervention for another day, yea?” They gave Jon a gentle squeeze around the waist. He was still reluctant to let them go but did move onto the armrest of the armchair instead.

Despite Gerry’s reluctance, the three of them did talk a bit more about his finances, something he had glossed over when clueing Jon in about his art career. After some more reassurances that they won’t see Gerry in a different light, they let the evening end. Seeing Martin off at Gerry’s doorstep was weird, in Jon’s opinion. But turning around and knowing he was with Gerry to stay had him almost glowing.

“Home is where the heart is”, Gerry smiled, gently cupping Jon’s chin,

“Seems like I finally get both in one place.” Blushing, Jon looked down,

“It’s not like…”, he suddenly thought better of it, biting his lip. A gentle brush of Gerry’s thumb against his bottom lip, light nudging of their fingers under his chin, had him look up again.

“Not like what, doll?” He relented with a sigh, his exhale ghosting over Gerry’s hand,

“It’s not like I never called you my home before.” A warm shiver ran down Gerry’s spine, making them wrap their free arm around Jon and pulling him in. Instead of a kiss, which would have been so easy with the way they still held his chin up, Gerry rested their foreheads together,

“Welcome Home, then.”

Gerry had been right, though. With Jon no longer having an apartment of his own, Martin spend the occasional afternoon at their now shared flat. He didn’t really mind, they weren’t exactly friends with Martin themself but the man was nice to spend time with, even shy as he still was around them.

Besides, due to Gerry’s admittedly haphazard working hours without any structure or obvious sense to them - something Jon had called him out on multiple times before moving in - he always had an excuse to leave Martin and Jon in favour of working on his art.

Which was the thing responsible for his discombobulated working and waking hours, mostly. Gerry could admit to themself, that the secondary job at the bar was mostly to keep a somewhat steady life rhythm while adhering to his own night owl inclinations.

Between Jon’s nine-to-five, the overtime he often threw in on top, and neither of them needing to cling together every hour of their free time, it was nice. Maybe a bit more companionable than what other people would consider a romantic relationship, but they always had been liberal and somewhat alternative when it came to their life choices.

Which all is rather winded to say Gerry didn’t care that Martin picked Jon up on a Saturday morning. It was Martin who seemed bothered by it.

“And it‘s really okay with you if Jon stays with me from time to time?”, he was still wringing his hands over it. Gerry shrugged, leaning back against the kitchen counter and crossing his arms,

“Why shouldn’t it be? I’m the one he moved in with. Besides, it’s not like I ever was the type for heteronormative or amatonormative relationships in the first place.”

Martin’s brow furrowed, looking around in thought before his expression turned somewhat helpless,

“So, I know what heteronormative means, supposing every relationship ever has to imitate a hetero one with one partner needing to be feminine and the other masculine, clean-cut roles and divide into approximating that 40’s cliche of the obedient stay-at-home-wife.” He shuddered at the thought,

“But what’s amatonormative?“

Gerry pulled a face, lifting one hand to rub at his chin, elbow still resting where they had crossed his arms,

“Uh, m’kay, so…” He gestured, pulling a face in contemplation,

“It’s something asexual and aromantic people struggle most with, but basically it impacts anyone and everyone. It’s pretty much the belief that everyone needs exactly one monogamous romantic-sexual partnership as the end goal for their private life to count as fulfilled. So it does hurt anyone who doesn’t want to partner up for whatever reasons, as well.” They shrugged halfheartedly, waving his hands around a bit, before facepalming,

“Ugh, Jon is better explaining this, throwing in words like „sole focal point“ and „emotional hierarchy” and shit. Like, how it interplays with other relationships any one person has, society expecting them to prioritise their romantic partner with whom they obviously have to be sexually active, because society sucks.” They gave an exasperated eye-roll, huffing at the thought, before focusing back on Martin.

The man nodded slowly,

“I think I get it. So it also hurts anyone non-partnering, like you said, but also everyone non-monogamous, regardless whether the person is a-spec or allo. Huh, I have been participating in open or otherwise non-monogamous relationships for years and didn’t know we had that much in common with… I suppose primarily aromantic people.” He hummed a sort of affirmative noise, before blinking.

“It’s weird how many things impact a broad variety of people. Oh, that reminds me, how do you feel about gendered terms? I know I should have asked way sooner, but it honestly slipped my mind, I kind of just stuck with what Jon used for you. Like, which are okay?“ Standing more relaxed than earlier, their hands propped on the edge of the counter on either side of his hips, Gerry tilted his head. Some more of their hair spilling over that shoulder,

“I did already tell you I’m genderqueer, not a man and also not exactly trans-feminine. So as for how to refer to me, anything that’s fun”, they smirked, stroking the curtain of his hair back.

“I mostly go by what’s considered male terms, though. But among friends, as sparse as they are, I’d actually prefer everyone made an effort to remember I go by he/him as well as they/them pronouns. Even if I don’t exactly present that way, it is defining to me that I’m not actually a man. As opposed to you or Jon, who just doesn’t stick to gender connotations”, he couldn’t help his snort,

“Because where’s the fun in that anyway?”

Martin suddenly had a teasing glint in his eyes,

“So you’re Jon’s joyfriend?”, he smirked. Gerry raised a brow, fighting to hold back his own grin,

“Please, I’m always a joy to be around.” As he grinned back at Martin, there was a huff from the doorway,

“A significant bother is what you are”, Jon managed to get out halfway believably before softly smiling himself. Gerry’s expression changed, his eyebrow slowly raising while they gave Jon a sceptical once-over,

“Says the guy purposefully calling me Jared just to annoy me.” He scoffed, albeit smiling fondly,

“Love you too, Jon.“

“In my defense, I didn’t know of your name change then! I was just teasing because you were being a twerp.” The two of them were broken out of their bickering, before they really got going, when Martin let out a giddy squeal,

“You’re adorable!” After a short pause, Gerry faked an exasperated huff,

“There you go again, dipshit, ruining my reputation.” He had barely finished before he doubled over in giggles, which had Jon snicker as well. Calming down, they exchanged a fond look. The silence in the kitchen stretched, before Gerry pushed themself off the counter,

“Alright”, he gestured at shooing the other two out of the kitchen,

“Get going. I was promised a quiet Saturday. Take care, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, don’t don’t anything stupid, either, and remember your bedtime. Now shoo!”

It still wasn’t often that Jon spend the night at Martin’s, but occasionally Gerry had his bed all to themself for one night at a time again. But somehow word about Jon’s changed living situation got out. Which in turn lead to his colleagues asking about the “new guy” he had moved in with while still dating their common former colleague Martin. It took Gerry some days to figure out the leak but that didn’t exactly make it better.

Sasha, Gertrude’s assistant and second-in-command, had caught onto someone having moved in with Gerry, connecting the dots with their recently resurfaced boyfriend. In turn, Sasha happened to know a snitch by the name Timothy Stoker, who decided to spike the gossip at Jon’s work with this new knowledge. Gerry finally resigned himself to having to plan a small house warming party, when Daisy, his barkeeper colleague, asked about it.

It was quite frankly beyond them, how everyone from his and Jon’s social circles seamed to know one another all of a sudden. In hopes of at least inconveniencing some people, he talked to Jon about picking a date for the party at random.

Didn’t work out. Miraculously everyone had time, a ride, and was up to snoop into their respective acquaintance’s or colleague’s private living situation.

[saltskinandasociopath]

a very earthling question (onkey, 2min - teen)

summary: 'their names are jinki and minho. minho's the one in blue. jinki's out back trying to fix the ship. they crashed.'

'you talked to them.'

'no, they're telepathic. just - beamed it. right into my head,' taemin says, his eyes sparkling with mockery. 'yeah of course. i even introduced you too.'

(earth girls are easy, onkey (and 2min) style.)

pairing: onew/key, taemin/minho

notes/warnings: some fluffy alien romcom for this valentine’s day.

can be found on ao3 here.

———————————————————————

there is a spaceship outside of kim kibum's salon. it was not there last night, and it has no right to be there now.

this is, coincidentally, the least of kim kibum's problems. he is a colored-in shade of human misery, from breaking up with his on and off (permanently off) boyfriend, and ritualistically categorizing all the places in his life he has yet to cleanse of his presence; to the impending foreclosure of his business; to the sniffing bloodhounds of the other competitors in the area, ready to acquire his, frankly, absurdly sizeable space.

(it is absurdly sizeable, to taemin's key observation, because there's hardly ever customers. it's a hard market to break into, temperamental and not temperamental enough, in equal measure.)

the apartment he occupies above the space is tiny, made tinier with taemin's form crowding the couch, and kibum is mulling the utter dead end that his life has become, when a great collision rocks the dumpster.

and. it is a spaceship. it is definitely a spaceship, almost cartoonishly so. it's about the size of a parade float.

it's probably a parade float, is the second thought. some idiot drunkenly taking it for a joyride down an alley. look, there's an opening, light beaming out before it's blocked out by one body, then another. two figures that are probably human, beneath their bobbled helmets, their thick, stuffy jumpsuits.

this neighborhood gets all sorts of characters. it's why kibum chose it a little over a year ago, taking a chance on the already crowded area, the unfriendly lease agreement, the questionable landlord. these are just two more characters, talking in a garbled tongue that kibum just isn't hearing right.

it's 4am, anyway, and kibum doesn't have time for this. so he throws on his headphones, viciously tugs off taemin's socks in a pique of spiteful vengeance, and heads to his bed to mull over ways to make his bank account stretch even thinner.

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

'hey kibum, there's someone banging on the door. hey. hey, kibum.'

kibum is sleeping, he would be horrified to recognize, halfway on his laptop, lodging a canyon of a line across his cheek. when he scrambles up, his joints aching from the unnatural position he had dozed off in, he finds the time on his phone - 7:17 am.

'do you mind? i'm trying to sleep.' taemin says, nonchalant.

'god you are just the worst,' kibum says. he is looking down at his phone, checking his email when the reminder comes up - bank visit 730.

FUCK. SHIT. goddamn it. the bank, his loans for the space, seeing if he's using the space as intended and isn't secretly - something? insolvent? incompetent? kibum is certainly something, something sharp and biting and near-poisonous in proximity, as he throws on his clothes and tries to arrange his hair into something presentable. taemin holds up his bar of deodorant as he passes and kibum grabs it and pauses to apply it, unwilling even in his panic to let the stink of body odor be his signature scent.

he hurtles downstairs, his shoes sliding off at the heel as he careens down the stairs. in the salon he can see the banker (? is that even the term - auditor? realtor? pain in the ass, really) standing outside the door. whoever it is, is an actual asshole, because it's only 7:27 and he's been at the door for 10 minutes, chomping at the bit to rob kibum of his pride and joy. what a miserable bastard.

he is flipping on the lights, and taking one last duck into the bathroom when he spies them. the aliens. the parade floaters. whoever. they're just standing there, one of them a good 4 inches than the other, helmets still on like they're robbing him. one of them has a device in his hand that looks halfway between a smartphone and a gun.

holy fuck he's being robbed. he has literally negative to give, and he's being robbed.

or

or

he's desperate, is his excuse. he puts his hands together, and extends them out.

'look. i will give you anything you need, if you can just let me pretend you are customers for 15 minutes. just to get his asshole off my back? alright? just - ' he nods, looking between the two of them. the shorter one on the left, clad all in yellow, makes a jerky motion that might be a nod? he'll take it, especially when he moves to put away his gun phone. kibum makes a reckless motion to grab his hand and lead him out. the other one in blue is following when kibum glances over the top of the yellow-tinged helmet. the one whose being tugged along, his grip is loose, almost skittish, but kim kibum is not a quitter. he maneuvers both of them into chairs and holds out his hands again.

'just - stay there. and play along. please.'

before they can respond, or decide kibum's meager wealth is worth the charade, he turns away and schools his features as he strides to the door, popping it open with a cool, professional 'good morning'.

'mr. kim,' the bank asshole says, like he's the one being inconvenienced in every aspect of his life. 'am i interrupting?'

'actually, you are,' kibum replies, opening the door wider. 'i had some urgent client requests to handle this morning, so we'll have some company. i hope that helps you make an informed determination on our operations.'

he's impressing even himself with his handling. the asshole is looking at the two, weird as they are, like they aren't random intruders. which, no, of course not. of course. kibum moves forward to make the case more persuasive.

'i think we're ready to take that off now, sir,' he says to the one in yellow, whose gripping the ends of the chair like he's terrified. still, he doesn't make any motions when kibum moves towards the - neck latch? of the helmet - where it clicks into his get-up. when kibum fumbles with it, he gently moves his hands aside to do it himself, releasing the catches and lifting it up off his head in a smooth, practiced motion.

and, well. shit. kibum doesn't really have time to dwell on how gorgeous one of his assailants is, with sweet, expressive brown eyes. there's a discoloration to his cheeks, a yellow blush brought out by the vibrant tones of his clothes. his nose is thick, straight, and sharp cheekbones and jawline that together are really affecting his ability to make this whole thing believable. he clears his throat and meets those eyes with his own eyes wide, encouraging and asking for forgiveness as he moves to run his fingers through his hair.

his purple hair. it's one of the nicest dye jobs he's seen in a while, perfectly and naturally applied like it had grown out of his scalp like that. if his robber is from one of his competitors, coming in here and scaring the hell out of him, he's going to be monumentally pissed, but at that point he'll have to concede he's outskilled. it's not even fried out, it's almost inhumanely soft. perfect styling, too, framing his face - jesus, that face - like art.

he plays with it for a moment - a half-second - too long, but hides it with a murmur of consideration.

'excellent, i think this is about what you were expecting?' he turns the chair around to face the mirror and the man growls, like he's surprised, or scared, by the motion - like he's never been in a spinning chair? goddamn everyone loves these chairs, it's weird. but it tapers off when kibum steadies it at the stop, his black-painted fingernails resting at his shoulders.

(he can feel them shift slightly beneath his touch, and he's keyed up on panic, chalking his noting of that up to panic)

the man is just staring, silent now, at his reflection, and the asshole is still watching them. his (gorgeous, awkward) robber must have stage fright, so kibum smiles wide in the mirror, meeting his eyes. after a moment he follows the silent instruction, crinkling his eyes, breaking his face into an all new level to kibum's panic, with a wide, warm smile that feels like sunshine. he looks like sunshine, all in yellow, like a lavender flower blooming.

'great!' he says, chirpy in a way that sounds unbelievable to his own ears, but he's moving onto the other one, who is already moving to take his helmet off.

well, fuck, they're both good-looking. this one is a hell of lot less tolerant of kibum's performance, spinning himself around, moving away from his hands as he goes to check out his hair (black, surprisingly close to standard, especially in comparison). it's short in the nape of the neck and when he makes a motion to get up, kibum pinches, hard, giving himself a moment of surprise to push down, his hands full-weighted against his trapezius muscles.

at that point, he goes with the program; his smiling motion is a little quicker, but kibum has already picked his favorite and it's too little, too late, robber asshole.

'we can settle up after we're done, okay, guys? thanks again!' he hates his customer service voice - he doesn't even use this voice for real clients - but bank asshole seems like the type of guy who says 'the customer is always right' so he rubs it in extra sweet. he takes his time settling in, setting his shoulders down and back, lifting his chin high as he plays the part.

'these were just two of the clients we have booked today. actually - they were multi-day appointments, follow-up to ensure all their services were to their exact requests. performers, you know?' he knows he doesn't know. and he knows that bank asshole knows he doesn't know, that he has no idea what's trendy, or stylish, or experimental. helmets for protecting hair? why the fuck not. he'll sell that line all day long if he has to.

he doesn't have to. bank asshole is taking photos - without even asking! - and making notes on his phone. he made the case that he could make, and it was better to have someone here than not. even if they were a little difficult and a little criminal.

'well, thank you for your time,' bank asshole says suddenly. he moves to stand and shakes kibum's hand. when he turns, the two - instead of waiting in their chairs - are standing shoulder to shoulder, their helmets at their hips, expressionless, like a low-rent daft punk. he squares his shoulders like everything's normal here, and sees the asshole out with a cool nod.

as soon as he leaves -

he exhales, letting his shoulders and his head drop, releasing a moan to start, and then turning it into a yawn as the adrenaline starts to settle. the lack of sleep, the push to herd his brain into performative professionalism, on top of negotiating his own robbery.

oh. right. he's being robbed.

giving less than a fuck (but not zero fucks), he turns and resigns himself.

'thank you,' he says firstly, pointing it towards the one in yellow. 'ironically you probably saved my ass.'

the one in blue rumbles, like a whiny drunk, before it turns into a questioning 'ass?' the one in yellow turns to him, sharp, an obvious look of dismay on his face. he gestures, hurky, at his gun-phone - kibum tries to take a look at it, but suddenly takes several steps back as the one in yellow - not blue, it would have been easier if it were blue - raises it and aims it at him.

'whoa whoa, just - wait, i can get you - i can get you whatever money, i just have to go upstairs - ' and he squeezes his eyes shut as the one in yellow squeezes his hand, and it fires -

nothing happens. well, not nothing - there's some odd, light noise, like chimes, like the rounding noise of a balloon being blown up, and kibum dares to open its eyes and there are bubbles, iridescent in a way that doesn't quite look right, black and purple and green and red, stringing from one color to the next in a rhythm that's shifting, like it's looking for the perfect hue to settle on, shrinking and expanding out with little explorative tones that feel, inexplicably, like sticking your tongue out to taste the air, except with sound.

it doesn't look real, so jury's out if he's now suffering visual hallucinations, but he glances at the other two and finds the one in yellow is looking at him, with increasing levels of horror.

he opens his mouth and shrieks, incomprehensible syllables that make kibum want to cringe in on himself, but he's also still looking at him long enough to see his eyes shift, from the human brown to an alien orange.

alien.

spaceship.

he's not proud of it, but he passes out. at least in unconsciousness, he doesn't have to worry about dignity.

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

when he comes to, he's propped up in one of the salon chairs. across from him, taemin is sitting on the counter, playing with a pair of scissors. honestly, it's one of the most disconcerting things he can think of, and that's before the blue alien walks into view. taemin beams at him, and gets a smile in return, more tentative than earlier, more genuine.

'taemin,' he says, urgent and undecided about whether or not he needs to risk his life for his worst friend. 'what are you doing?'

'waiting for you to wake up. eating cereal.'

he doesn't have cereal. he ignores this discrepancy and slowly starts to get up. the one in blue doesn't stop him from steering taemin away so they can have this conversation slightly more privately. he still doesn't know where the one in yellow is.

'this is going to sound crazy. but these guys - they're not human - i don't think so, anyway.'

taemin puts his finger on his lips to shush him - to actually shush him, like he's a child and not the most rational, most human individual in the building.

'i know. they showed me their ship outside. it's pretty cool, actually.'

he turns to retrieve a box of cereal from behind the nearest mirror. this would explain kibum's ant problem. his arm goes elbow-deep as he takes a handful and starts eating it dry, talking around it.

'their names are jinki and minho. minho's the one in blue. jinki's out back trying to fix the ship. they crashed.'

'you talked to them.'

'no, they're telepathic. just - beamed it. right into my head,' taemin says, his eyes sparkling with mockery. 'yeah of course. i even introduced you too.'

'kibum,' says a new voice behind him. taemin keeps munching his cereal. kibum turns.

jinki looks infinitely more composed from earlier, which is impressive considering he looks like he's been actively rooting around in an engine, dark smears across his forehead, his gloves covered in something undeniably gooey. unfortunately nothing has really changed the actual look of him, and kibum - who will need therapy - chokes around his first 'hi' like an idiot.

the second one comes out a little smoother. it's hard to hear himself over taemin's chewing.

'kibum,' jinki says again.

'what?' he asks.

'that's all we've managed so far,' taemin says from behind him. when kibum turns to look, he shrugs and puts the box down, licking his fingers clean. 'but it's impressive, right? i'm probably going to be in history books.'

'lucky us,' he hisses. 'you don't even know they're peaceful.'

'um, you've been passed out for at least 30 minutes. and they left you alone and put you in that chair. i was up for leaving you on the floor. they're better than me.'

'low. fucking. bar.'

minho has moved to their side, looking between them like he's unsure whether to intervene or not. kibum turns away in a huff. so now he gets to handle aliens. he can't just leave them to taemin.

with a start, he realizes how much brighter it is outside, and, checking his phone, realizes he's near to the opening hours. he can't afford to leave the little he has, to take up recreational alien-babysitting. he also has, like, an obligation as a member of the human race to not have their ambassador be taemin.

he takes what he thinks is a discreet glance at the other three, and finds jinki looking back at him, patiently waiting. he flashes a nervous smile and looks back down to his phone.

ok.

plan.

small kernel of a plan. jinki is working on their ship. he can keep an eye on him from the salon, with the back door popped open. and he'd rather keep both aliens handy, but if he has them both down here, then taemin will undoubtedly lurk around too. so.

'go back upstairs,' he orders the pair of them. minho doesn't understand him, but he jabs his finger up to communicate the general spirit of it. taemin shrugs, but grabs minho's hand all the same.

his human-looking hand. he must have taken off his gloves at some point, which means that jinki's hands are probably similar.

it's traitorous or selfish or maybe just horny if he wonders what the chances are of the rest of their bodies being human like.

anyway.

jinki turns to follow them, but kibum reaches out to grab him by the sleeve. jinki looks at him, confused, and then takes his own gloves off - and, yes, they are human-like too. he clips them to his belt and grabs for kibum's hand, his grip still as light as earlier. outside of the glove, his hand feels terribly small and delicate, easy to dwarf in kibum's.

'your ship,' he starts, then falters. taemin has already disappeared up the stairs. he starts moving back towards the alley, prattling about taemin's ability to preoccupy people, for lack of anything else; jinki keeps pace beside him, his eyes kept trained on kibum's face, dipping down to watch his lips move. kibum tries valiantly to ignore what that does to him.

he pushes out into the alley, where the ship is opened up, a couple pigeons perched on its antennae.

'you can work on it,' he says, semi-helplessly gesturing towards the ship with their still-joined hands. 'and i'll be inside - ' he puts his free hand to his chest and then nods his head towards the path they just took. ' - if you need anything.' he lets go of jinki's hand and tries to reiterate with slightly more smooth motions.

jinki seems to get the gist of it, at first, but he grabs kibum's hand again and brings it up between them. bizarrely, kibum thinks he's about to kiss the back of it, he just has a gentle, warm look in his eyes that doesn't belong at all - but he doesn't. instead he meticulously opens his fingers, one by one, and then puts his gun-phone against his palm, and wraps his hand around to close it again. he maneuvers kibum's fingers into a series of motions, clicking a switch here, and there, until one of the screens lights up, with a series of lines running seamlessly from left to right.

jinki meets his eyes seriously and brings the device to his mouth. he speaks, clear and decisive: 'jinki'.

then, he moves it back to kibum and nods encouragingly.

'um, okay,' he says. he leans in, and clears his throat. 'kibum.'

jinki nods again and releases his hold. he clutches his hands together in mimicry of kibum's own posture, and mouths silently.

'you want me to talk into this,' he holds it closer to his mouth again, and, in doing so, notices the lines from earlier spiking with each syllable. oh. okay. translation device. or recording device. or... communicator? either way, it's not like it can do any harm. probably, anyway. his life is suddenly full of probabilities, when he had felt dead set on the certainty of failure.

'okay,' he says, deliberately slow, into the device, and is granted with a wide, happy smile from jinki.

he starts backing away from jinki, out of his own preservation instincts and the need to get the salon opened on time. he keeps his eye on the alien, on the off chance he has misunderstood, but jinki is also turning away, casting one last glance back at kibum, and nodding encouragingly when kibum clicks the button and says 'goodbye' into it. if it sounds a little sappy, well, there's no one here to call him out on it.

when he steps back into the building, he takes a few deep breaths and buoys himself up to start the day. everything else before this moment won't count for a good 10 hours.

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

he can't hold it the entire time, it's just not possible. but he does keep it on whenever he has one hand free, from greeting customers and employees as they arrive to clock in. he puts it aside when he's intent on a cut, or a wash, conscious at all times of when he's left it alone, peeking more often down the back way. occasionally he catches a glimpse of yellow, and once he saw jinki staring upwards towards the sky, lost in thought.

it twangs something in his chest, that he has to push aside.

he manages to get through the majority of his day like this, when his stomach suddenly and angrily growls. one of his stylists is nearby, and quirks an eyebrow at him.

'don't even start,' he says, and she sticks her tongue out, making him laugh. why not, he has to take a break at some time. he'll run upstairs and make sure minho and taemin are fine, and drag jinki along with him, and make sure he has something to eat to.

the question of what aliens eat is a good one, and kibum doesn't know, but he can at least ask. they're aliens, they can probably figure out if something will kill them.

'jinki,' he calls as he heads outside. there's a great clatter from the spaceship and jinki pops up, his lips parted and he lets out a pleased bark. kibum, fighting his own smile, motions for him to come down and simultaneously says 'let's eat some lunch, okay?' into the device.

'okay,' jinki repeats amiably, and kibum is positive he doesn't know what he's saying, but he isn't about to object to his sweet agreeability. especially considering they're going upstairs.

he waits semi-patiently for jinki to come down and then sneaks them both inside after looking, shooing jinki up the stairs.

'taemin, minho, have you guys eaten anything yet?' kibum calls out as he turns the key - there's no click, taemin didn't even bother locking - and enters. he waves jinki inside and takes a quick scan to make sure everything is in order. it looks like there's plates in the sink, the TV is loud from around the wall, but neither taemin or minho are anywhere to be seen. but, if they ate, then that speaks positively towards jinki being able to eat something. he clicks the button and starts talking.

'i'm going to give you some water. food...normally i'd just run out to GS25 and grab something, but i should have some packets here...taemin! what did you eat, i'm trying to feed for four here....'  he trails off as he realizes he hasn't heard much of anything since coming in except the TV. he abruptly turns and jinki senses the sudden change in his mood, setting his shoulders back and walking with more caution into the underlit apartment.

it's a small place, with a hole of a bedroom and a bathroom split off from the hybrid kitchen/sitting area. there's only so many places for people to lurk. kibum throws open the door to the bedroom, half-expected taemin to have taken over his bed, and minho resigned to the small desk in the corner, his helmet a pillow. but no such find waits for him there. which means they've either left, and they're altogether fucked, or -

jinki, following kibum's example, apparently is already turning the handle on the bathroom, and when he opens it he jumps back with a noise kibum can't even properly describe - it's like a gasp, gurgled through a mixer of soju and rock salt. when kibum takes the three steps necessary to arrive at his vantage point, minho is turned away, shoulders hunched in, his right arm in an all-too-human motion, and taemin is wiping his mouth and looking exceedingly - exceedingly - unapologetic.

'tell me you did not just suck an extraterrestrial dick, taemin, jesus!'

jinki makes some more noises that kibum trusts has the same energy.

kibum has always known about taemin's hobgoblin-esque exploratory promiscuity. he only asks that his friend be safe, perfectly unbothered that his metaphorical line in the sand is the human race.

he, understandably, never expected to have that sanguine understanding stress-tested.

while he's been busy engaging in a one-sided staring contest, jinki has pulled minho out into the hallway, and is having a furious conversation that sounds halfway between static and muzak. kibum has to consciously tune them out, has to do something to communicate that this cannot happen again, and also - how the fuck did this happen?

'how the fuck did this happen?' he yells. 'i left you alone for a morning, and you put him in your mouth? you don't know where he's been!'

'space,' taemin says. 'and this apartment.'

'you don't even speak the same language, you - you asshole - how can you even call that consensual?'

'hey,' taemin looks genuinely offended. 'i gave him some porn first and showed him how to turn it off and turn it back on. he found a blowjob one and had a boner. i asked and made sure he was good with it. c'mon, hyung, i'm not that guy.'

'fine. you are still the guy who just sucked a dick without having any idea of what it could look like, or what - what it was like when he came - or if the - if it was okay for you to swallow.'

'i didn't swallow,' taemin looks incredibly pleased with himself for his foresight, and holds his hands up in the universal sign for obviously. 'it's fine.'

'it is no way fine,' kibum hisses. 'you are such a dumbass.'

as he lets out the invective he turns and faces the other pair, who have stopped their own discussion and are now looking at him with expressions of apology and confusion - jinki - and...resolve? consternation? whatever. minho doesn't look nearly apologetic enough for kibum's mood.

'you're a dumbass too,' he hisses, stabbing a finger at minho.

'dumbass?' he parrots tentatively, pointing at himself, and then taemin. kibum rubs his temples.

'yes, exactly. both of you. glad we're all on the same page.'

'dumbass?' jinki asks, quieter, and pointing at himself.

'....no,' kibum responds, shaking his head. he can't even be bothered to try to explain, he just heads back to the kitchen. 'c'mon let's eat something. taemin, you are gargling and brushing your teeth first.'

'ok, but that means i have to use your toothbrush.'

the only respite kibum can take is that jinki helps him as best he can in the kitchen, monitoring the water he sets to boil and handing out the chopsticks when the convenience store ramyeon is done cooking.

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

he doesn't have much of a choice except to leave minho and taemin again. jinki seems much more opposed to it, pausing in at the bottom of the stairwell. he gestures towards kibum's pocket, where the edge of his device is poking out. at the motion, kibum pulls it out.

'sorry, i forgot to use it upstairs. don't think you'd want to remember much of it, to be honest.'

jinki shakes his head, and silently holds his hand out. kibum passes it over, watching as he holds it up to the side of his head, and presses a smaller button. the device says 'jinki', then 'kibum', and the rest of all the little pieces of conversation kibum has had throughout the day, speeding up until it's completely unintelligible, spitting noise into jinki's waiting ear. when it finishes, jinki nods, a small smile.

'thank you,' he says, clearly, carefully watching kibum's face.

'oh,' he replies faintly. 'you're learning? that helps you speak?'

jinki narrows his eyes in effort, and kibum realizes it's limited just to what has been recorded. has he talked about learning today, with the elderly mrs. park, or the chatty server from down the street? probably not. 'thank you' is thrown around so much in customer service, no wonder it's the first thing he picked up.

'you're welcome,' he says back, and jinki's smile is a quickly blooming thing that smacks kibum right across the face. he takes a step closer and presses it back into kibum's hand.

'use it more,' he asks softly. 'please.'

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

it's stupid, but he does. he memorizes the feel of pressing it just enough so it activates, and what it's like when his finger slips. he finds a little clip and fashions an attachment to his apron, so it's sitting on his collarbone. when there's an odd question about it, he says he's taking better notes of his day for record-keeping, and that seems to work well enough, though one or two stylists keep giving him odd looks. he doesn't acknowledge them.

at the back of his mind, he knows he's doing this for more than just improved communication, that he likes the way jinki smiles at him, the cadence of his voice when he says his name - the proud look in his eyes when they managed to exchange just a few words. he likes his steady, reserved presence. he has a sweet temperament that smooths down kibum's rough edges, just by being.

it's a crush. kibum brooks no self-deception. it hasn't been a week since he's broken up with his last boyfriend, and jinki is an alien, an actual alien, preparing to leave the planet, that he's known for all of nine hours. and he has a crush on him.

maybe when they lift off, he'll get burned up in the rocket fumes. frankly it's the only satisfiable outcome kibum can see from this.

he has one last appointment for the day, an older lady of the neighborhood who likes to talk, even when kibum doesn't. for once, this anticipated division doesn't bother him much, because it can be put to good use. he makes sure the button is pressed down and secure and leads mrs. choi to the chair, nodding along as she starts laying out her day, her impending anniversary, her entrenched drama with the other salon down the street (the cause for her patronage of kibum's location). it's all much formless noise to him, to be certain. luckily for him she doesn't need a partner to have a conversation, and he's lost in the focus of trimming when there's an unmistakable 'kibum?' from his right.

both he and mrs. choi turn to find jinki standing there, lavender hair a stringy mess, coated through with goop. kibum almost swears in dismay, stopping himself only in the nick of time. he looks down at mrs. choi and, before he can say anything, she swats up at him like they're friends. important to note that they are not friends, but kibum needs the money, and also needs jinki to stay undiscovered.

'jinki,' he says cautiously. 'what's wrong?'

visibly uncertain on how to proceed, jinki raises his shoulders, and lets them drop.

'it's a mess,' he says, and, yes, kibum did call a few things a mess today. 'i need to clean up. upstairs. okay?'

'oh honey,' mrs. choi says, feigning an unwarranted level of camaraderie. 'you really do. are you kibum's boyfriend?'

'friend,' kibum hastily corrects. he doesn't need to get himself into a fake-boyfriend scenario for further emotional torture. he looks square at jinki and nods. 'okay. take my key and go upstairs. wash.'

jinki nods, and kibum is grateful, glad that he managed to phrase it in a way he could understand. he excuses himself to go to the desk and pulls out the key ring, wiggling out his apartment key. jinki saw him use his key earlier, right? he should be able to figure it out. he takes a moment to send a text to taemin too to warn him.

'thank you,' jinki says again, and kibum dips his head back, oddly formal, and familiarly warm with pleasure when jinki turns with a small smile.

mrs. choi should go back to her old stylist, he'll lose her business gladly, because she greets him with a loud 'how handsome your friend is! you must be close, to let him use your shower.'

she says the last part with a relish to her voice, and god, kibum could kill her so easily. he laughs, hollowly, and she continues on.

'he's very polite too. have you known him long?'

'no.'

'mmmm, well. if you don't mind me saying, you shouldn't let him get away. and he seems to like you too!'

'well it doesn't matter who we like. can't really help that he's leaving town soon,' he says tightly.

she lets out a hiss of disappointment. he could give her a terrible asymmetrical cut in return.

'well, that's too bad. he seems to like you well enough, and well enough could be, well, enough to get him to stay!' she laughs gaily.

'ha ha,' he says.

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

'hey, it's me,' he calls through the door. knocking on his own door is just the way to end this day, tired and more emotional than he ever cares to disclose. 'let me in already.'

he hopes taemin hasn't gotten so far as to fuck minho. or let minho fuck him. or let minho suck his dick. if there's any chance they're incompatible, then spitting could hardly have been the apex of protection. taemin could be rotting from the mouth in, or minho from the dick out.

a small, tiny part of him thinks they'd deserve it. a larger part says if that happened, his crush on jinki would have the shit topper of misfortune it deserves. just to round it out perfectly.

he knows jinki must still be up there - because he checked out back before locking up, and the ship was half-dissembled, with jinki nowhere to be seen even when kibum called out - but he did not expect it to be jinki opening the door. he also did not expect jinki to be wearing some of his clothes, an oversized sweatshirt that makes him look like a college student.

'hi kibum,' he says, and he beams when he says, 'welcome back.'

it's so cute, is the thing, so exceedingly domestic and homely that kibum may not survive its cruelty, knowing it won't last.

'i washed,' he continues as kibum sets down his things blindly. 'taemin gave me clothes.'

'good,' he croaks. he fishes out the device before he can forget, hands it over to jinki's obvious pleasure. he holds it up to his ear, and kibum just watches his face, his eyes closed, as he learns. it's not fair, is it? life's not fair, is what they always say, but they're talking about things like losing your job, being left behind by the people you thought were you friends. not being teased with happiness, with love, and having it literally leave for the stars.

well, maybe there's an astronaut or something who can relate. whatever. kibum isn't about to argue technicalities with his own feelings.

'where's taemin and minho?' he asks, instead, when jinki has finished and is setting the device back down in the table. kibum presses the button before he asks, leaning back against the couch. he might as well keep giving his words, it's all he can do.

'they went out,' jinki says. 'for food.'

'okay,' kibum says. he's tired, but jinki looks like he's on the precipice of a question, and kibum knows he's going to have to say goodbye, so he doesn't wave it off.

'earlier,' he starts. 'taemin and minho. what are they doing?'

trust him to ask the hard question.

'sex,' he says. he hasn't said it at all today, it's not something you talk about with your customers. he's open, but he's not that open. he casts his mind back to some of the idle chatter from the afternoon. 'they kissed. taemin was making him happy.'

'oh,' jinki says. he sounds unfinished. he brings his fingers to his lips, and asks in confirmation. 'kissed?'

kibum nods.

'okay,' jinki says, then repeats it to himself. 'kibum?'

'yes?'

'does kissing make you happy?'

he snorts.

'sometimes.'

jinki tilts his head, his brows gone quizzical. there isn't enough vocabulary between them to explain it, but something in his eyes feels compassionate, and - kibum is just sunk. there's no way he's getting out of this without some damage.

'you're good,' he says, plain and honest. kibum flushes and turns away, but jinki continues speaking. 'you're good to us and to others. you should be happy.'

'i want to be,' kibum confesses to his hands. 'i want to be happy.'

jinki moves to his side, the couch arm between them.

'"sometimes"', he says back to him. he touches his lips, and then reaches out, stopping short of touching kibum, but pointing towards him all the same. 'tonight?'

kibum looks at him, and considers a thousand things that don't matter, because he's already saying 'yes', already watching jinki go down on one knee, then the other, folds his arms across the couch until his hands are resting on kibum's upper arms. he smells like his soap, but in this light his brown eyes spark orange once more, and there's a buzzing beneath his touch that hasn't been there before, and then he can see every star in his eyes, can see countless worlds in every freckle, and he surrenders at the first brush of jinki's lips against his.

it's only a momentary touch, but it lives past its occurrence. isn't that a thing? like the light shining down well after the sun had exploded, kibum can still feel his lips after he moves away.

jinki asks.

'are you happy?'

the light is blinking out.

kibum shakes his head, manages to smile a little.

'not tonight.'

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

he closes the salon the next morning, contacting the few appointments by phone call to make sure they get the notice. minho and taemin both slept on the couch overnight, wrapped up in each other, while jinki slept on the floor. the blanket kibum had lent him wrapped tightly around his form. it turned out his bathroom was hosting their suits, the helmets on the floor of the shower, so kibum just washed up the best he could with the sink, brushing his teeth with his finger on the recollection of taemin's earlier use.

apparently minho had also lent his device to taemin for a similar purpose, so the morning was filled with a lot more korean than he was used to, most of it full of minho's innocently profane conversations.

'you had to corrupt him,' he had wearily warned taemin after minho had given an enthusiastic definition of a rimjob to jinki.

'it was educational,' taemin retorted, and in a way, it was. it was certainly more straightforward than anything kibum had given jinki. but still, jinki had cast him his own looks, alternating between amusement and confusion. kibum shrugged helplessly and tapped their shared device reassuringly.

for now, it was much of the same as yesterday, minho and taemin keeping each other company while jinki worked on the ship. kibum was stewing over his business, trying to think past today, or tomorrow, to the return to his regular life.

it was much easier when jinki wasn't calling him out, excitement laced through his voice.

'kibum! come here!'

he gets up and heads out to the back. the ship looks great, with jinki perched atop the cockpit, half his body hidden inside.

'good news?' he asks, careful to have the button clicked.

'yes! very good!' he yells joyfully back. 'come here!'

'how?' he asks, because he doesn't feel like possibly cracking his back from falling onto the pavement. jinki laughs, the slightly alien rhythm of it, and extracts himself, climbing down with no problem at all. when he meets kibum, he turns to present his back and leans forward slightly.

'get on,' he says.

'it's called a piggyback ride,' kibum says uncertainly. he reaches out to touch the broad expanse of his back, before retracting. 'are you sure?'

'yes!' jinki says.

well, when it's said like that, kibum does his best, hopping awkwardly up and wrapping his legs around his hips. jinki grabs at his ankles and starts up, so that kibum is sitting further up on his back. he still smells like kibum's soap, even back as he is in his suit, and it's making the whole experience that much more surreal as jinki clambers easily back up to where he was.

'um, jinki, it's a little small,' because the entry is. looking into it, he's not sure how jinki expects both of them to fit, when he must have just had enough room to squeeze his lower half into the porthole-sized space. jinki shakes his head.

'it's not small,' he explains, without explaining. 'watch.'

he starts squeezing himself in, getting to his earlier position of being cut off at the waist. when he moves to slide down further, his upper half disappears in a blink, leaving the gap empty.

'what the fuck - jinki!' he yells, looking down and also watching his own step, now paranoid about being transported god knows where.

'it's okay!' comes his voice from - inside? kibum peers closer and can't see him at all. anxiously, he dips one toe into the space, but nothing happens. as though entering a cold pool, he starts to clamber in, toe, foot, knee, then the other. all of the sudden he can feel a grip around his ankle and shrieks in fear, starting to kick out before jinki's voice calls out again.

'it's me, i'm here.'

'okay,' he says, chanting it to himself, once, twice - on the third time he bends his knees to go lower, and just as the metal siding brushes his belly button he can feel something wrap around him, like a squeezing flash of warmth, and then he really is being squeezed, by jinki's solid arms, the alien smiling at him reassuredly.

'not small,' he says, and releases him so kibum can see he's now inside a spaceship a good three times bigger than it was on the outside.

'yep. you're right,' he concedes. 'not small.'

'i want to show you something,' jinki says, and he takes him to the front. out of the window he can see the entry into his salon, and beneath it is an expanse of controls. on the far left, there's a screen with another alien, his helmet off, pink hair almost cartoonishly bright.

'jonghyun,' jinki says, with clear affection in his voice. 'kibum.'

'hi,' kibum says, waving. jonghyun waves back, but doesn't speak, clearly turning to look at jinki to translate.

he's gotten so used to jinki talking in korean that it's disorienting to hear him let out those indiscernible noises again, and to hear jonghyun respond back in kind, but he doesn't want to interrupt the clearly happy reunion. jinki is smiling wide, and jonghyun's a bit softer, but obviously genuine.

they're talking about his coming home. kibum wraps his arms around his torso and waits, because what else can he do? this was an accident, after all, and accidents get fixed.

they are talking for a while, it seems, their tones shifting into something more serious - as best kibum can tell - so he takes a step back and begins looking around. the ship is bigger than outside, but clearly was only ever meant for two - two seats, two beds towards the back. there has to be some food for their journeys, kept somewhere, or maybe they were fed nutrients, like in the matrix, until it was time to wake up. it's a big universe, and jinki is meant to be somewhere else in it. not here. not with kibum.

'done,' jinki says, cutting through kibum's thoughts. when he turns back, jinki is looking at him, so he comes forward. from the screen, jonghyun looks pleased to have jinki (and minho, but - you know - fuck him, he goes in the same bucket as taemin) coming back soon.

'done?' he asks and jinki nods, pleasure evident on his face. he performs a complex little signal with his hands that jonghyun reciprocates, and then reaches out to turn it off.

'can we go outside?' kibum asks, because he doesn't think he can stand to be in this ship anymore, with its two seats, two beds, and engine ready to leave. he moves aimlessly back towards where jinki caught him, and jinki lets out that alien laugh, richer for having talked to jonghyun, high off of his happiness.

'there,' he guides kibum to one of the circles decorating the floor, hand gently clutching at his elbow. 'wait.'

that bright, warm flash and kibum is on top of the ship, with taemin and minho looking up at him from the blacktop. before he can make an excuse for his expression - because he can feel it - he can feel the pressure of tears at the corner of his eyes, jinki appears as well. he turns and leans forward again, inviting kibum to ride his back once more, and kibum - he's not proud of this at all - he clutches jinki in a hug from behind, before jumping up into the piggyback.

they climb down together, kibum burying his face in jinki's neck. he's sure he can feel a snotty tear or two, and wipes it across his yellow suit before sliding off.

'ready?' minho asks, anticipation evident in his voice.

'ready,' jinki says. in unison they make that hand signal jinki just shared with jonghyun, and kibum clears his throat.

'thanks for - thanks for crashing into our planet,' he offers, with a respectable command of his voice.

'it was our pleasure,' jinki says.

'literally,' taemin interrupts, elbowing at minho, and the taller alien blushes with a greenish tint. he steps forward to be side by side with jinki, and they each bow forward to taemin and kibum, from their waist, in perfect form.

then, jinki turns to minho:

'i've spoken to jonghyun about the return, and he is prepared,' and he turns to taemin, who - kibum is now noticing - has a bag over his shoulder. 'i have marked all foods that can be eaten. do not stare at the stars too long; you will burn your eyes out.'

'what,' says kibum.

'i brought sunglasses,' taemin argues.

'that's not enough,' minho says, and jinki is handing him his helmet, and minho is moving to place it over taemin's head, and jinki is taking off his suit, revealing one of kibum's old t-shirts, and some sweatpants, and -

'what,' says kibum.

'i want to stay,' jinki says. as he steps out of his suit, he stumbles, and minho catches him with long practice. he moves forward and kibum instinctively turns away from minho and taemin's gazes, trying to find some privacy, to find some equilibrium, because jinki is talking like -

'i like you,' he says.

'you don't know what that means,' kibum says, but jinki smiles.

'yes, i do,' he says, gentle, always gentle. 'i'm not leaving town.'

mrs. choi, and kibum's fingers on the button, keeping it on. jinki pressing the device against his ear, listening carefully and telling kibum he should be happy.

'it's not fair to you,' kibum says again, because he is selfish, he has always wanted more for himself, and in his experience what he wants, doesn't agree to be had. 'your planet - '

'my planet doesn't have you.'

jinki closes his hands over his.

'kibum,' he says. 'will kissing make you happy today?'

'yes,' he whispers, and jinki smiles. there are stars in his eyes.

the space between them closes, their lips pressed together, the world is shaking, rumbling like it never has before and jinki is holding him close as the ship lifts off, taemin pressed against the window like a bug. behind him, minho waves, the light bouncing off his helmet.

jinki is pressing another kiss to kibum's hair as he watches the ship become smaller and smaller, until it's little more than another dot of white among the clouds.

and kibum -

he's happy.