universalcataclysm

[universalcataclysm]

ty lodgston​:

…

Things shifted. 

Eyes shifted around the boat. His Cinderella’s mood seemed to shift as he pulled his phone out, and Ty wondered how he had lost the man’s attention so quickly. Could have been a number of things, really. Jokes not landing correctly. Ty’s age, being an older man was fun for a moment for some, but the appeal didn’t linger for everyone. Though this particular age difference didn’t seem to be as much compared to some other relationships he had had in his life on both sides of that fence. He might have excused himself when the phone appeared if it weren’t for Cinderella’s attention returning to him and he blinked, mouth opening and then immediately closing as he was dragged away from their little bubble and toward the drink table.

He wasn’t sure how he was meant to react to the information handed to him, so he carefully lifted a glass and poured a healthy bit of whiskey into it, nursing it in his hand and lifting the glass to his lips carefully. He was used to being the ‘other man’ in relationships. Hell, his last relationship had been built exclusively on that premise. Once a week, he would see the guy and make a healthy deposit into his bank account for a few hours pretending that he was the most important thing in his world, just to have him run off and cuddle up with someone more ‘age appropriate’ and more interested in his hobbies. Ty hadn’t been anyone’s first choice in a while, and coming to a party like this should have been a clue that he was looking at a similar situation no matter who ended up on his arm.

He laughed softly, pulled from his own thoughts by Cinderella’s seemingly endless barrage of questions, and he carefully decided to tackle them in order. “A scullery is kind of like a kitchen, yes. Without the stove. It’s more of a place to wash dishes and hand scrub laundry.” He shrugged a bit as he gulped down a healthy dose of the whiskey in his hand, letting that burn settle in the back of his throat and letting his eyes glaze over the rest of the party before his attention turned back to the beautiful man beside him. 

He’d probably gotten his hopes up a bit. Better to quiet those before they got too out of control.

The next question wasn’t as easy to answer, and Ty finished off the glass in his hand before he even tried. “I’m not naïve. The ideal, that white picket fence, two car garage, kids and dog life would never really work for me.” And if he wanted those things, he could have it without some grand sweeping romance, anyway. He had enough money to buy the house and the cars and the pets and adopt children. He had enough money to do those things several times over if he chose to. “Funnily enough, I’d rather have the shitty loft with the mismatched furniture.” He laughed again, head shaking a bit as he twisted enough to refill his glass without letting the grip on his arm loosen. “I want to wake up in the morning and for there to be someone laying there next to me, someone that smiles at me. Smiles like they’re happy to see me.” He paused, another healthy gulp of alcohol burning his throat and causing his eyes to close for a moment before he opened them again, focused on Cinderella.

“I want them to be happy to see me. Because I’m me. Not because I have eight zeros in my bank account and a fancy foreign sports car parked outside.” His expression softened a bit, eyes rolling at himself as a soft laugh bubbled up, something bitter and jagged at the edges. “Stupid, right? Idealized. I just want someone to love me.”

x

Iza could feel it like a tangible thing, the death of the light, flirty mood they’d had. The end. That’s what this whole fucking party was about, wasn’t it? The fairytale, the pretending. And he’d lasted all of five minutes with this man before dismantling it all. Tearing down that gauzy veil of magic and replacing it with, he supposed, the ugly truth. 

This was what he’d wanted, he reminded himself. He’d wanted to prevent it from getting out of hand. To stop it before it went irreparably far. Put the breaks on and avoid the crash, bang, smoke.

Frustratingly enough, this hurt, too, in a way. Ripped at a scab Iza hadn’t known he’d had and made it bleed, ugly. 

He was nearly ready to accept that the Prince wouldn’t be answering when he finally spoke, and Iza dragged his gaze from where it had listlessly drifted back to the man’s face. His words only cemented Iza’s earlier thoughts that whatever sweet mood they’d had earlier had crashed and burned, and he had only himself to blame- but he’d always been like that. One extreme one second, and then the very next, it’s polar opposite.

He listened quietly, absorbing it- and was left, of course, with a question. “So what if you do get that...” Iza started. “You have your shitty loft, and mismatched furniture, and someone who really does love you. That person who smiles at you in the morning- you get all that, but it’s not right? You see them smiling and you feel it in your bones that there’s just something missing? What do you do then? Try again? What happens if you figure out you just don’t love them back?” He paused. “Sorry. That was- sorry. You don’t need to answer that, I shouldn’t have asked that.” He tsked. Someday, someday. Someday he’d learn to hold his fucking tongue.

He set his last glass down and unwound his arm from the Prince’s, stepping back far enough to give him a look- over, serious. He offered a soft smile eventually and reached out to adjust his collar, a miniscule movement. It would have been fine as is, but Iza didn’t know if this would be his last opportunity to touch or not. “Flipping to the back is probably better than not finishing the story at all, isn’t it?” He asked. “That’s the sort of person I am. I don’t like endings. I find a nice stopping point and then never come back to it. I just want something that doesn’t end. Most everything has to, but I want... I want to find that one thing that doesn’t.” Silence hung in the air, just for a fraction of a second, and he lifted his gaze from the Prince’s collar to his eyes. “I know it was nicer before. With the dancing and the flirting and that, ah. The easygoing shiny thing. I’m sorry for ruining it. But that glass slipper wouldn’t have fit me tomorrow, so it was time to put on the ones that did. I can dress the part, I can play the part for a few hours but I’m just not some exotic foreign princess. Not really.” Iza swallowed hard, voice dropping a little softer. “I supposed I wanted you to either like me for who I really am, or not at all. Which is crazy. You’re not even supposed to know who I really am tonight. I’m already going off script.” He smirked, and gave a little shrug. “Maybe it’s better if we retcon all that, huh?” He shook his head.

“I like talking to you, though. And Cinderella obviously knows who the Prince is. So you can tell me more if you want, who you really are- I’m going to head somewhere quiet. You can come with if you’d like.” Iza paused for a moment. “This is your out, just to make that clear. I’m giving you your out. You can say you have to use the bathroom, or- or you hear your sister calling or see her falling over somewhere or something. And I will one- hundred percent pretend to believe that and I won’t bug you again. Or... we can dance the night away, so to speak. Forget that midnight’s coming until the bell starts ringing. It’s your call.” 

[universalcataclysm]

ty lodgston​:

…

Ty couldn’t help but chuckle a bit, eyes trailing down the boy’s face, lingering just a moment too long on his lips before roaming down further. To the outfit. Because it was absolutely eye-catching. If he’d wanted to stand out, he’d nailed it completely and Ty couldn’t fault himself for being distracted by the pretty outfit or the pretty man wearing it. Maybe the sparkles had originally caught his eye, but the boy had definitely held his attention. No need to mention that part just yet, though. Ty had to have something for himself, as it seemed that Cinderella was perfectly content to keep an upper hand on him.

He couldn’t help but laugh at his question, head shaking just a little. “Well, anything is possible, I suppose, but she’s my sister, so if you’re worried about it in the jealous lover sense, then no. But if she gets a little too drunk, she might stumble and fall, and she tends to try and cling to my arm like a barnacle when she does that.” He glanced around, trying to spot his sister and finding that their brother had found and was entertaining her. He should be fine for a bit. “And you? Is another Prince Charming going to challenge me to a duel for your hand?”

He couldn’t quite help the way his lips quirked up, head tilting to the side a bit as he considered the boy. “Of course. I want to know that I’m investing my time in a happy ending. I don’t like it when things end sadly.” And maybe that was a cheating philosophy to live by. He would flip to the back of the book to make sure it would leave him smiling, not trusting the story to do that even if the ending didn’t go the way he wanted. He liked to see the end, to know what he was working toward. He’d never been the biggest fan of surprises.

His arm tightened just a bit around the boy’s waist, the gentle sway of their bodies almost in time with the gentle rocking of the boat they were standing on, if not a little off, likely from booze and general distraction. “So what comes next in the story. It’s not quite time for the clock to strike and for you to disappear. Do we dance the night away first? Get to know one another? I’m a foolish Prince who clearly doesn’t even ask for your name, but what about something else? Are you a student, or are you so invested in your story that you’re actually a scullery maid?”

x

Something in Iza’s chest relaxed at the notion that the fairy from earlier was just a sister, even though it was stupid to be even the slightest bit jealous- and any nerves about his outfit being ruined dissipated as well. Only the normal amount of risk, then. Any drunk asshole, including himself, had the ability to fuck a good outfit up. That just came with the territory. “That’s cute,” He offered, not disingenuous. “If I tried to use my brother for any support at all, I think we’d both just crumble,” He snorted, lips twisting up into something fond but lopsided. Crumble and then commiserate. Their best wasn’t necessarily pretty or enormously useful but they did do the best they knew how for each other, and Iza wouldn’t trade Lysander for the world.

He shook his head at the question, rueful. “I don’t know any other Prince Charming's.” He paused, for a moment, a thought flitting through his head, and then he was retrieving one arm in order to fish out his phone. He powered it on and flipped to his texts, staring at the text convo for a second before typing out one short, simple sentence, impossible to misunderstand. The close of one chapter while he was here, at the beginning of another, whatever that new chapter may be. “And as of half a second ago, I don’t have a boyfriend either.” He turned his phone off, all the way off, and wriggled his eyebrows at the Prince, feeling far more sober than he’d ever thought he would over Tomas. 

One thing that would always remain true about feelings: they were messy as hell.

“Breakups call for shots,” Iza announced cheerily, turning on his heel and dragging Prince Charming along behind him in search of alcohol. Iza might as well have been a bloodhound; he had it located momentarily and had a round thrown back without so much as the bat of an eyelash. “Don’t freak out,” He told the Prince afterwards, leveling him with a scrutinizing look. “It’s not because of you. Well, mostly. It would have happened eventually anyways.” And that, by far, was the most honest thing he’d said all night. All week, probably. “It was doomed anyway. So why prolong it? He was sweet. I like sweet. But I’m...” He paused. “I’m not the kind of guy who can deal with being on the back burner, either.” Which was hilariously hypocritical, given that he’d never, ever prioritized any boyfriend other all else in the same way that he wanted to be prioritized, but at least he was self aware. That counted for something. It didn’t fix anything, but it counted for something.

He was trying really, really hard not to think about how doomed something would be with this Prince as well. How whatever there was would one day fizzle and die out and end not with a bang, but with a whimper. With a one- line text. With an exchange of looks where they both just knew it was time. That was worse than any argument, any blowout. The thing was, he really, really wanted this, wanted something from this guy. That damn self awareness. He didn’t just want a quick fuck in the bathroom. He wanted the slow dances and the arms looped together and the stupid trade of smiles and the soft lingering touches and that would make the slow death of it all the more agonizing, because he wasn’t naïve enough to think that anything actually lasted. Not for the bulk of the population. There were a few oddballs who actually made it, but they were the exception, not the rule.

He swiped another shot for good measure and then wound an arm around one of the Prince’s, turning and surveying the yacht, the party still in full swing. His head hummed pleasantly, and there was some kind of buzzing underneath his skin now, something he wanted to quiet. An itch that needed scratched, but he couldn’t reach. “So I suppose that’s a yes on the getting to know each other front,” He said. “There. I know you’re the kind of guy with enough hubris to think he can bank on getting a happy ending, and you know I’m a callous bitch. Who has never, ever cleaned any scullery, by the way- I’m not even sure I know what a scullery is, thank you, is it a kitchen?- although I do have a hot maid uniform somewhere.” He blinked. “Not a student either. I’m already who and what I want to be right now, I think, or as close to it as I can get. And I think I have all the time to rot away in a classroom later if that becomes something I want. And now that I’ve shared entirely too much, it’s your turn. What sort of happy ending do you actually want? I mean, really? That... that ideal that you hoard to yourself, because it’s too precious to share, too precious to let anyone misunderstand or ruin. And do you truly believe you’ll find it?”

Perhaps it wasn’t a fair question to ask. Perhaps it was too much, too soon, too personal. And perhaps there was a part of Iza that sort of hoped it was, that it would be a bucket of cold water on this spark, drowning it out before it had a chance to grow into something that would leave him singed. 

It would really be for the better.

But his hold on the man’s arm didn’t loosen, not yet.

[universalcataclysm]

Bewitched / Brain Damaged.

With - Darcy Cannon (@nxclearwinterxx​​​) Where - The Medical Ward of Ravenwharf Shelter. When - Day 1.

Looking back, Arty would be able to remember just about everything but the hits themselves. He could remember shifting, nervous as the man arguing with the intake receptionist grew louder and angrier, he could remember shoving in between them when the man started pulling something out of his bag- and next thing he knew, he was disoriented and trying to pick himself up off the ground, double- visioned, ears ringing, the whole nine yards. A frantic woman with a clipboard- the receptionist, he’d remember later- she’d pulled his body into something resembling a kneeling position while he blinked and tried to flop back to the ground, asking him questions with a voice that sounded a million miles away. He’d hummed and tried to wave her off- “S’fine,” He said, or tried to. Judging by the look on her face he wasn’t making much sense, and that was fine. Talking was hard anyway. He knew what he wanted to say but bridging the disconnect and actually saying it was another thing entirely, and right now more than anything he’d rather just curl up and squeeze his eyes shut and sleep the pain off.

Naturally, he didn’t get to.

“Arty!”

For a minute he was fifteen years younger and crumpled on the floor, his back to his parents bed. DJ was beneath it, a hand wrapped around Arty’s ankle while he bled all over everything, and Mama-

No, not Mama. His brother was there and demanding answers outta him, Arty’s name, DJ’s name, what year it was- and hey, when had Arty flipped over onto his back? DJ was shrugging out of his jacket and shoving the fabric up against his head despite all protests, but even that took a back fucking burner to being lifted up, and yep- at least when he vomited, he did it on the ground and not on DJ. Bonus points. Didn’t stop his brother from cussing at him. Or just cussing, in general. Arty didn’t know. Didn’t really give a fuck either.

Based on the way the world was still spinning a little bit Arty didn’t bother trying to insist he could walk on his own, even if his brother was huffing and puffing by the time they reached the place he announced as the med bay- and then, despite the fit DJ pitched, it was a waiting game. The world was, you know, collapsing, so plenty of people were hurt, and plenty of those injuries were bad.

“Don’t tell Dad,” Arty instructed drowsily. They were sitting on the ground, no chairs available, and the side of Arty’s head that wasn’t an actively- bleeding open wound was pressed against his brother’s shoulder. DJ’s arm was curled around him, hand pressing his jacket to the wound, and god. At least he hadn’t worn it enough for it to be all sweaty or whatever yet.

His brother snorted, and even that slight sound and the barely- there movement that accompanied it was enough to have Arty wincing. God, who knew a concussion would feel so much like being hungover? He hadn’t been old enough to make that comparison the first time around, but now that he was- it was almost like a dead ringer. “I’m serious,” He insisted. “He’ll freak out.”

“Art,” DJ said, in a tone that was struggling to be patient as opposed to condescending, “Your face is busted. You can’t just avoid him until it heals. I won’t have to tell him. He’s gonna know. Jackass hit you square in the nose first with the blunt part of the crowbar. Got your scalp with the pointy bit when he went in for swing number two.”

Arty groaned and deflated against him, eyes squeezing shut. “No sleeping,” DJ insisted, pinching at his ribs and getting a wimpy smack to the arm for his trouble. Before it could devolve into anything more petty, they were being informed they were up, and DJ was snapping “Finally” and hauling him up and escorting him to an exam table, a hand pressing into his back for stability. “Mother hen,” Arty accused softly, to which DJ replied, succinctly, “Fuck you.”

The bickering at least was a sign that he wasn’t fucked up beyond all repair, and it continued halfheartedly until Arty’s eyes, trained on the floor, caught sight of the end of a white doctor’s coat swishing over and stopping in front of him. He dragged his gaze upwards, not paying too much attention until he reached the face- and then, well. Then whatever braincells hadn’t been rattled out of his skull earlier went ahead and curled up and died.

The doctor was fucking hot.

The man’s lips were moving and he was saying something, maybe asking questions, but Arty was just staring, starstruck, while every synonym for the world beautiful he knew ran through his head. “You’re bewitching,” He blurted, interrupting the man mid- sentence, and then he simply stared for a horrified handful of seconds. “Fuck. Sorry. You are, though, you have a nice--” And then Arty lifted a hand and gestured at his own face, which was definitely a terrible idea because all it did was highlight his own presumably currently- ugly bloody wounded mug. “Nice face. Uh. Shit.” Behind him, DJ didn’t say a fucking word, the goddamn traitor, and Arty floundered, voice pitching up a fraction. “Uh. Anyways. Right. You were- I think you were saying something, maybe?”

[universalcataclysm]

ty lodgston​:

…

Ty had never been the romantic type. His relationships were calculated, winning business strategies that lasted as long as they were useful and then were over without fuss. His brother and his sister were both far more whimsical, falling in and out of love monthly, sometimes weekly, and Ty was left to listen to all of the trappings of failed misery time and time again. This was a wholly new sensation, the way his heart hit his ribs in time with the thump of music playing around them, they way his face felt warm and his head felt like it was swimming in syrup, sweet and sticky. 

He had never believed in love at first sight, and wondered now if he was losing his mind thinking that was exactly what he’d found. 

This man wasn’t shy, and it was almost startling to Ty how close he came into his personal space with little prompting on his part. Ty had always been a more reserved man, though likely from the fact that none of his relationships had been particularly romantic, and yet as the man pressed so close that Ty swore he could feel his heart beating against his own chest, he wanted nothing more than for the entire party to look at them, to see them together. He wanted everyone to see this beautiful man wrapped up in his arms and clinging to him like he was a lifeboat.

The music that pounded around them lended itself to a club, not a slow sway, but Ty didn’t care, arm wrapping around the man’s waist and slowly swaying them anyway. “In my defense, Cinderella, you’re the most sparkly princess here tonight.” He glanced down only for a moment, taking in up close the costume the man was wearing. Bright, like a beacon, drawing him in. If he wanted to rationalize away his staring before, he would have blamed the costume, but he felt like maybe he didn’t need that rationalization anymore.

“Something better?” Ty’s smirk grew a touch, eyebrow lifting as he pulled back just enough to look down at the man without putting any real distance between them. “I suppose that depends. Are you going to give me the happily ever after that every boy dreams of? True love’s kiss? All of it?”

x

“Oh, so it’s just the sparkles that did it,” Iza grinned, mock affronted even as he slipped an arm around the Prince’s waist, taking the man’s gentle hold on him as permission to do so in return while  still decidedly clinging to his hand. “I’m going to remember that.” He wasn’t sure what they were doing could rightly be called dancing in any traditional sense of the word, just gently swaying and halfway cuddling, but he was far from complaining about it. Truthfully, if you were judging by ballroom standards, they were closer to it than anyone else here- but that shouldn’t come as a surprise. Events like these, dancing was usually just used as an excuse for wandering hands and people who were willing to receive them, in Iza’s experience, anyways.

“Speaking of my sparkles...” He trailed off. Asking was, perhaps, risky, but Iza wasn’t much of one to play it safe. Better to be upfront. “Should I be expecting that girl you came in with to be stopping in to throw something on me before too long? Only asking because this was expensive, you know, and I’d be better off emotionally readying myself for an inevitability like that in advance.” And it truly was mostly concern over his clothes that had him asking- a girlfriend was an obstacle, one he’d had a bit of experience in overcoming in his time. As for jealousy... maybe a touch of the uncharacteristic emotion was there, hypocritical as it was when he had a boyfriend of his own. 

He did have to tsk lightly at the Prince’s next line of questioning, though. “Well, I suppose I could answer that, but that would be spoilers, Charming,” he said. “Are you the kind of guy who likes to flip to the back of the book first?” There had been times when Iza had done the same, frustrated by a will- they- won’t- they sort of situation that had gone on endlessly and his impatience had gotten the better of him, but there were times when the journey of the tale made the ending all the sweeter, when the agony and highs and lows all paid off in the end. Sometimes the adventure, wait, and intrigue was worth it.

It would have been easy to chalk his thoughts up to a little too much coke, a little too much vodka, him being a little too gay and starstruck and fantasizing a little too hard about this complete stranger but Iza couldn’t help how he felt, and he thought that their story, whatever it was... it was one where each and every second mattered, where each line contributed to the weight of the bliss at the end, and he didn’t want to miss any of it.

[universalcataclysm]

ty lodgston​:

This was all Annie’s fault. It had been her idea, after all, to attend the party thrown by the overzealous Myer boy, and she had begged and pleaded and cried and pouted for weeks to convince Ty to tag along with her and Tate. He had told her no so many times that he was starting to feel a bit like a parrot, repeating himself over and over without her hearing a single word of it. And he knew exactly why she was doing that, too. Because Annie knew that all it would take to wear him down would be a few weeks of prodding, casually dropping hints that potential clients and business connections would be hanging around, and the cherry on top, she bought him a costume.

Of course his sister had his measurements, and of course she had the most ridiculous and over the top Prince costume tailor made to fit him so perfectly. He knew the moment that he tried it on (because she had insisted that he try it on) that he was going to go to the stupid party and wear this stupid costume because it was absolutely too perfect to pass up. And it was with a resigned sigh that his sister, dressed in her finest Tinkerbell chic, left him alone on the deck of a yacht while she ran off to get high in the bathroom and make friends.

He did find those business contacts quickly, which he was grateful for, and he was having a perfectly fine time talking shop with them, chatting about the properties he currently had for sale, some of them perfect for that commercial office that one of them wanted to get set up, faking a laugh or two at the terrible jokes offered up. The men he was chatting with were 10 years his senior, which he would have found surprising if he wasn’t aware that half of the kids on this boat moonlighted as sugar babies to have a fall back in case mommy and daddy got mad at them. 

There was a lull in the conversation, and Ty’s eyes wandered. He hadn’t meant to make eye contact with a very attractive boy across the deck, but he absolutely did, and he had to swallow quickly and look away. He blinked as he forced himself to tune back into the conversation, but it was a bit of a lost cause. The boy had definitely been Cinderella, and he was Prince Charming. How fucking fitting. He hadn’t even been able to see the boy’s face completely, but he just knew that he was fucking beautiful. Sometimes, one just knew these things, and occasionally, he found his mind, and his eyes, wandering over to find him again. Once he smiled, but he wasn’t sure if Cinderella was even looking his way anymore.

Ty wasn’t a bad looking guy. It wasn’t hard for him to find a date. Hell, half the time he didn’t even have to try. But he found himself wanting to try. He was being coy, trying to feel out the situation. To see if Cinderella already had a Prince Charming wandering around that would appear by his side and whisk him off to the dance floor. It hadn’t happened yet.

But when he glanced over again, Cinderella was gone. The men he’d been speaking with mentioned something and wandered off, and Ty deflated a little, ready to find his sister and tell her to find a different ride home when…

A voice behind him.

He had a feeling he knew who he’d find where, but he turned slowly anyway, breath catching in his chest when Cinderella was closer and he could really get the full effect. He was absolutely in trouble.

Still, he smirked a bit, head tilting as he reached out for the boy’s hand, head dipping into a ridiculously over the top and low bow. He pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles, then straightened up again. “How can you be so sure that I’m the right Prince Charming? After all, there are so many to choose from.” Even as he said it, he hadn’t dropped the boy’s hand, and he used that hand to pull him just a little closer, grip loose enough that, should he change his mind, he would be more than welcome to simply pull away. “There is a saying about kissing a few frogs and all. But as you are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, as the story goes, I would be absolutely honored if you would dance with me.”

Iza knew he was beautiful. Perhaps to some, acknowledging as much might be considered vain, or conceited- but he thought of it as simple fact. Him keeping company strictly with people he considered to be also beautiful was, he supposed, snobbery, but that was fine. That was just a hallmark of the high society world he’d been born into. The point was, he wasn’t any stranger to beauty, not when it came to things, clothes, or people. But nothing, not even a lifetime of taking and being given the best of everything imaginable could have adequately prepared him to be confronted with this man.

This was the part where birds started singing sweetly in the background, the part where Sinatra started playing softly as their hands met for the first time, the part where the rest of the world faded away, insignificant, and a spotlight the two of them were completely unaware of began illuminating them both. This was the part of the meet cute where everyone recognized the two of them were meant to be together.

Iza had never been in so much trouble in his life.

Besotted blue eyes were glued to Prince Charming’s face, that smirk of his burning into the back of Iza’s eyelids, seared into his memory forevermore. He’d be thinking of that smirk far more than he knew, setting it in scenarios that would have brought a flush to the face of the devil himself. As it was, Iza was just praying to whatever deity may or may not be listening that his face didn’t turn anything beyond a faint, pretty pink. He’d done and had plenty of things done to him with plenty of men but he could safely say this was the very first time anyone had kissed his hand all prim and proper. It was just for the setting, playing up the charming fairytale prince, and Iza knew that but that didn’t mean he was any less affected by it.

God, he was being ridiculous.

He was more than happy to allow his prince to pull him in, and Iza took that little motion and went a mile with it, pressing close enough to feel the Prince’s body heat bleeding through both his own clothes and Iza’s, too close to be considered prim or proper but god, Iza hadn’t completely been replaced by an alien. He was still himself, and still far from being shy when it came to seeking out closeness. He did readjust his gloved hand, but only in order to smoothly lace their fingers together. A perfect fit, if he did say so himself, and later he’d have a crisis or two over how many filthy things he’d done throughout his life and how each and every one paled in comparison to this, a sweet, innocent holding of hands with a thin layer of fabric separating their skin to boot.

He would have laughed himself sick if anyone had told him yesterday that holding someone’s hand would be enough to have him melting into a pathetic puddle on the floor, but here he was.

The grin on his face wasn’t his carefully manufactured pretty one, it was a little too wide, a little too silly to be anything but genuine, just like the sparkle in his eyes. “There’s something about you. I just know. There are plenty of Cinderella’s on this boat, too, sweet Prince. But I’m the one you kept looking at, so I think you feel it too. Whatever it is. A bit of that fairy magic, maybe.” He crept a little closer, pressing flush against the Prince’s body, and lifted his free hand up to curl around the man’s waist, just a touch of possessiveness combined with an insatiable desire to be close. To hold on to him while he shuffled a little closer to the dancefloor, movement made somewhat awkward by his refusal to distance himself, but he couldn’t find it in him to regret anything. “I daresay I’ve done my share of kissing frogs already, even if that’s not traditionally a part of Cinderella’s story, and I’m tired of the slimy bastards. And you? Aren’t you ready for something better?” 

[universalcataclysm]

codyfern: 😑🐶

[universalcataclysm]

Once Upon A Time.

With - Ty Lodgston. (@nxclearwinterxx​​) Where - The Myer’s Yacht; Murphy’s Fairytale Fling Party. When - Seven months before the end. 

The evening air was balmy enough that Iza was almost regretting his choice in costume, especially now that he had a few drinks in him; Well. Drinks amongst other substances. There was the coke. And that delivery guy he’d swallowed down in the bathroom half an hour ago, the douchebag who had ruined his makeup and hadn’t even returned the favor. Honestly, Iza should have shoved him overboard.

But it was fine. The night was young and so was he. He’d fixed his makeup and it looked better the second time around than it had the first, and his outfit, despite being warmer than the short shorts and tank/polo/crop- top combo he usually defaulted to during the hotter months, was to die for. A silky baby blue swavorski studded number that even Iza’d had to question if it verged on being too gaudy, thigh- high silver boots, a lacy white capelet that perfectly matched the lacy underbust corset around his waist and his white bowtie and mask, because of course he had to play up the mystery aspect of his chosen fairytale. And then there was the ribbon, also baby blue silk and tied in a bow around his pristine blonde bun, a tiny glass slipper charm pinned right in the middle of the bow.

Over the top? Maybe. But that was just who he was, and he wouldn’t feel shame over it. Besides, yeah, he looked good.

And he was feeling good as his dearest friend’s party started coming to life. First came the earlybirds, those they knew well enough to feel comfortable to swing in for a little pregaming; a few people who Iza hated, most who he was neutral towards, one or two he sort of liked. His phone buzzed in his pocket. A text from his boyfriend, an apology for how he wouldn’t be making it tonight; Iza sent a series of sad emojis and rolled his eyes. Fucker was always complaining about pre- med homework, blah blah. Boring. Iza wasn’t sure why he hadn’t broken up with him yet, but he secretly kind of liked the stupid couple stuff. Luckily for them both, because that was about all there was between them these days, and even that was scarce. 

Whatever. Just meant there was one less complication in his plan to get railed tonight. 

His phone was turned off after that, and from then on the party steadily grew wilder and wilder. He was a little nervous being in too close of quarters with the drunk assholes, even though he was an asshole who definitely couldn’t be called sober, because this delicate outfit was too nice to ruin yet. So instead of squirming his way to the center of the dancing crowd, as he might have at any other party, he flitted to and fro, downing shots at what would have been an alarming rate if his tolerance hadn’t been so high and chatting up familiar faces and gathering up as much juicy gossip as he could. Wise to do that from time to time, collect useful knowledge, bolster a few fake friendships. He was in a good mood, thriving off of the company, the blissfully exciting vibe that accompanied a booming party, and the spirits.

And then he was catching sight of the most beautiful face he’d ever laid eyes on and choking vodka up his nose in the least graceful manner he’d ever displayed. 

It took him a moment to recover from that, coughing and swiping at his nose and watering eyes and trying to tame his wildly beating heart, but eventually he regained something resembling composure and waved off the hands patting his back and the people questioning whether he was okay, if he needed some water, if he needed Murphy. He didn’t need water, didn’t need to disturb Murphy, and he was- well. Something else. 

The man had only just boarded the yacht, and there was a girl with him. Girlfriend? Iza felt a reflexive swell of loathing, but she disappeared pretty quickly and that was either a good sign or a terrible one. Either they weren’t a couple, or they were an unhappy or distant one that would be easy enough for Iza to sink his claws into the handsome Prince- literally, he was Prince Charming, the prettiest one at this party- or they were a couple so established and trusting in each other that they didn’t feel the need to stay attached at the hip.

It wasn’t impossible to seduce someone in a relationship like that, but it was a little more work than Iza’d intended on putting in tonight.

This guy, though- Iza wanted him.

It was weird, though. Oftentimes when he set his sights on a man it was with the intent of getting him into the nearest semi- private area- if that- and trading orgasms as quick as possible before moving on to the next, and shit, sure he wanted that with this guy too, but... just... weird. He was struggling to get past how much he wanted to go over and introduce himself. Get a closer look at the man. Or just stay here and admire him and internally gush from afar. 

Then, Iza could have sworn that the man looked right at him, eye contact from across the deck of this overloaded yacht, and something in his chest rose up and overflowed- seconds passed, and then he blinked, and it was over, leaving him to wonder if it had ever even happened at all. Between his fuzzy thoughts, jelly knees, dizzy head and racing heart, Iza had to wonder if someone had snuck something into his drink again- but he decided this didn’t feel like last time. It was a different kind of scary.

He chugged down half his drink because his mouth had gone terribly dry and decided, nope, legs weren’t working anytime soon, but hey, at least he had a good view. Maybe it was creepy to just fucking stare at someone, but it was a big party, lots of people. He could have been looking at anyone and anything. He was just hanging out. Relaxing. Nursing his drink. It was fine. It was the finest night of his entire life. Definitely.

And then that eye contact thing that he maybe but surely couldn’t be imagining happened again, and luckily he wasn’t trying to take a drink that time, but god, that swoopy feeling in his stomach sure returned with a vengeance. What the fuck, honestly? Where the fuck was Murphy? He’d have an explanation for this. His explanation would probably be something along the lines of you need to get dicked down, and as always, he would be right.

Iza drew in a deep breath and counted down from a hundred, calming his stupid ass down and attempting to return his heartrate to normal. Maybe he’d just had too much cocaine. Maybe that was to blame for this. There had to be some sort of logical explanation- the dicking down, he reminded himself. Dick. Solved all problems, didn’t it? 

It dawned on him then that this was the longest he’d refrained approaching a target in- well, ever, probably. This was fucking unprecedented, and now that he’d come to that realization, well, he certainly couldn’t stand for it.

Of course that eye- contact- that- nearly- killed- him thing would happen again right then, and Iza all but whined, deflating against the railing and resolving himself to marching over there as soon as he was sure he could trust his legs. This was ridiculous. He was going to dance with that man and prove to them both that the Prince had absolutely no magic powers over him, and- and horrorstruck, Iza realized that the very thought of a simple dance with the man had him blushing. And not a cute, faint little blush either, it was a full- faced, red heated mess, he could feel it. 

Briefly, he considered throwing himself overboard before he bit the bullet and slipped through the crowd. He wasn’t sure what the fuck was wrong here, he only knew he had to fix it immediately, whatever it took.

It was easy enough to sneak through the maze of bodies until he was behind the Prince, but it took him a few moments to boost up his courage enough to speak, and that was another thing on an ever- growing list of shit he wasn’t used to. He took a sip of his bubbly drink for courage and then fixed a coy grin on his face, leaving the flute lifted near his lips as if pretending to hide and wrapping his free arm around his waist, a totally casual picture. Not at all the fluttery gay disaster he’d been turned in to inside. “I’m fairly certain this is the part where you’re meant to ask me to dance,” Iza told him, trying valiantly to steel himself for when this man turned around and Iza was met head- on with the full force of what Iza knew would be devastating beauty. “It is how the story goes, you know?” 

[universalcataclysm]

I know what you’re doing. And it’s not cute. No, it’s not. I’m not just your boytoy, Monse.

[universalcataclysm]

murphy myers​:

…

“I have never once come in my pants unless it was intentional.” Murphy shot back, almost but not quite defensive. It was a fair point, though, his poor wound up baby twin was little more than a spring waiting to snap, and Murphy couldn’t wait to see that snap while the poor guy was trapped in a hole with plenty of eligible bachelors.  When he finally did snap, Murphy’s greatest disappointment was the fact that he wouldn’t be able to film it happening. 

Murphy’s expression became strangely serious, one that didn’t fit his features too well. He wasn’t a serious man, he’d never wanted to tried to be, but Iza’s questioning had him sighing a little and reaching up his hand to brush through already messy locks, a difficult movement to be sure. “He– uhm.” Murphy chuckled a little, a nervous sound that definitely didn’t fit him. But breaking some bad news to Iza, well. Not a fun thing to do. “He’s down in economy. Didn’t want to get separated from his boyfriend, you know? Apparently there were only eco spots left, and so he… yeah.” Murphy had no idea how easy it would be to get down there to visit, but if it was a rough process, he figured it would be better for Iza to throw his fit about it now.

Bad news out of the way, Murphy’s expression reverted back to that of playful amusement, smirk pulling up at the corners of his lips as he watched Iza piece together exactly who he was talking about. It was a fun little game, watching each piece click into place until he finally figured it out and the laugh that Murphy let out was probably a little too loud. He had spent plenty of time listening to Iza build fantasy worlds with this very man, some horny and some disgustingly romantic, some even a nice mix of the two, but now that he had the chance to actually try and make some of those horny fantasies come true, Murphy knew that he’d be roped into whatever schemes his friend came up with.

“Saying things like ‘he won’t even have a chance to escape’ doesn’t really bode well for your blossoming romance, cher. Makes it sound like you’re planning a murder, not a blowjob.” He grinned a bit, reaching up to lightly brush Iza’s hair back before laughing again. “But I’ll help you, of course, because I am the best best friend in the world.” And perhaps he could kill two birds with one stone in the process. “If we could get our business up and running again… Perhaps we could lure your prince charming in. Just need to find the perfect place to set up shop.”

x

“Sure,” Iza said, snorting in a most undignified manner. “That didn’t answer my question, by the way. And I would believe that, except for how you were twelve years old, once, too, you know.” An eyebrow lifted, and he gave Murphy a knowing look. “I’m thinking specifically of the day the academy and the middle school combined track and field days and you laid your pubescent little eyeballs on the sweaty, muscly seniors playing flag football in those tight little pants...” 

The change in tone had Iza’s brow furrowing, but nothing, nothing could have prepared him for Murphy’s words. Was it a double standard? Maybe. Would he have switched classes to be in the same place Eyebrow Scar had been in the case that they’d been headed for separate quarters if he’d known ahead of time they he would be here? Also maybe. Solid maybe. Iza liked first class, the idea of lowering himself was wholly unpleasant.

But the thing was... the thing was, they were never going to see their dads again. Their dads were probably going to die. And with the cell towers going out, they wouldn’t even get to say goodbye. They were all the other had left of their family, now- and Lysander had chosen someone else. He’d chosen someone instead of Iza. His own flesh and blood. 

Iza released his hold on Murphy and stumbled backwards as if he’d been physically struck, and the twang that streaked across his chest- that hurt. It just... hurt. He was quiet, stunned for a moment and struggling to sort through that unexpected pain he was left with. A few moments later, he was able to bury that with rage. Rage at not being picked. Rage at the perception that he’d been abandoned by the last family member he could have ever had any potential contact with. “Well fuck him, then,” Iza spit, a blanket of finality covering his tone. He swallowed hard and blinked, still just... shocked and hurt and too blindsided to know what to do, but this was apparently just going to be another thing Iza had to brush off and not let touch him.

“Fuck him,” He repeated. “I wish I didn’t even know he was here. I guess he’s picked where he wants to be and who he wants to be with.” And far be it from Iza to lift a finger to try and see someone that hadn’t chosen to be with him. Lysander had made his choice, and now he had to live with it.

Their whole family was just fucked, wasn’t it? He didn’t even have a family anymore.

His shoulders hunched up, tension bleeding into his frame, and okay. It was time to stop thinking about this. Time to focus on a much more pleasant topic, even if his almost- manic excitement had been quite considerably dulled. Fists still clenched, he crossed his arms and shifted his weight, trying to reroute his thoughts to Eyebrow Scar, even if he was still slightly distracted. “Well you know what the French call orgasms,” Iza pointed out. “I’d enjoy nothing more than to bless the man with many a sweet, sweet death.” He headbutted Murphy’s hand slightly as his friend fussed with his hair, affectionate as a cat, claws and all. “You are,” He agreed easily, shuffling a step closer. “And that-” His lips curved up into a smile once more- “Is the best idea you’ve had yet. Nothing better to do now than to start scouting for locations, right?” He curled an arm around one of Murphy’s, possessive and clingy. “May as well explore this place together. I’m sure we’ll find the perfect spot in no time at all.”

[universalcataclysm]

ivy lee​:

Annoyed at First Sight

with - Jasper Windsor ( @universalcataclysm​) where - Just outside the bunker when - Day 1

Ivy had been here for an hour and she already hated this job. She’d taken it to assure herself and her brother a place in the bunker should things get messy, but she hadn’t actually expected to see the end of the world, so hadn’t thought much of it until sirens, screaming, panic. She’d dragged Virgil straight to the bunker and checked it, gotten him settled into their room with their scrappy little one eared puppy smuggled in her bag and gotten back outside to try and help with ‘keeping the peace’, which so far had consisted of a lot of crying kids and idiots in designer shoes giving her shit.

Half the guards working looked just as shell shocked as the people they were keeping in line, and it was amazing that anyone managed to get shit done. Ivy, master of compartmentalization, managed to keep her head on straight as she wandered up the line again, breaking up a fight a little more roughly than strictly necessary simply because she remembered one of the guys from high school and he used to call her ‘weird witch girl’. She was petty. She couldn’t be held accountable for that.

Things seemed to be quieting down a bit, less ‘panicked screaming’ and more ‘resigned shell shock’ on the part of pretty much everyone waiting to be checked in. It was a quiet moment of reflection that Ivy afforded herself to simply consider her situation. Her parents were long gone. It had been her and Virge for so long now that she didn’t have a worry about missing family like some of the earliest admitants into the bunker had been. 

The option of first class accommodations had come up in her hiring process and she had quickly turned it down, remembering enough from her grandparents and the few years of high society that she’d had to endure that she would not have fared well there. Let the rich kids eat themselves alive. Virge had been mildly disappointed at the economy home until she had promised him the chance to get Rat in without trouble. Part of her wondered if it was all for nothing. Who cared if they were alive in they were alive in some underground ant farm?

Perhaps she was too in her head, something Ivy rarely let herself do, and that’s why she hadn’t seen it coming, but a rather overzealous man waiting in line was clearly getting impatient, and she was bum rushed before she could really process what was happening, back hitting the ground painfully and head rattling as she forced her eyes closed against the impact. The wind was absolutely gone from her chest as she lay there for a moment, and she thought she might as well lay there for a moment while she caught her breath, perfectly content for a moment before a shadow fell over her.

“If you’re going to stand there and gawk…” She started, coughing a bit as her eyes finally popped open, squinting a little against the harsh sun overhead. “��� keep walking. Otherwise, I’m pretty sure it’s considered polite to offer to help me up.”

x

If there was a crown for repressing emotions, you’d take that thing without any contest, an ex had once told Jasper, exasperated while she walked out of his life. In hindsight, that seemed to be a common sentiment amongst his failed relationships- and although it had been a trait that had been mildly inconvenient at times, right now? Right now he bet all those bitches wished they could detach themselves from their hearts half as easy as he could. 

Oh, he’d have a crisis about it at some point. He wouldn’t cry or anything, he’d probably just snap and beat the shit out of something- hopefully a wall, in this case, so he didn’t lose the job that had landed him (and his brother, to an extent) a spot in here, but it was coming.

For now, there was plenty to focus on, plenty to keep himself preoccupied with. Very likely the busiest day they’d ever fucking have in this place, there would only be so much room for chaos when they were all trapped inside, so he soaked being busy in while he still could. It wasn’t exactly pleasant busy work, but it kept him from dwelling. It made pushing everything back and just focusing on completing his tasks from one moment to the next instead of dwelling on the way the whole goddamn world was imploding around them.

Some shit, though, threatened to have him losing his cool ahead of schedule, and some uptight fucking motherfucker in a tweed suit who was apparently too good to wait his turn like everyone else getting violent with a girl- even if she was another guard- was one of those things. Luckily someone else was dealing with him before Jasper could, because Jasper dealing with that guy would have meant Jasper getting fuckin’ fired and shoved out of the building, probably, so he was left only to turn his attention to his new coworker. Who may be downed but certainly hadn’t had her fire dulled, it would seem.

 “Shit,” Jasper drawled, lips quirking upwards into an amused grin as he crouched down next to his fallen comrade. “You accusing me of being polite? Dunno what I did to give you that impression.” Nonetheless, he offered her a hand, a touch more concerned than he was willing to admit. “You good? That was a nasty fall. Wish we could fuckin’ revoke access on account a people being shitheads. You know they’re just gonna be more trouble in the future, but I guess at least they’ll keep the job from getting stale.” 

[universalcataclysm]

peter lopez:

…

“Not a man in uniform anymore, unless they decide to shove the guards in uniform.” He offered the words with a bit of half-hearted teasing behind them, ready to say more before a child was placed so unceremoniously into his lap and he blinked as he looked down at the now squirming child moving to get comfortable. Somehow, the boy’s arm ended up squished nearly into his armpit and his little legs were slung over his other arm, one foot resting so casually on his shoulder that it clearly belonged there. Pete was sure to hold as still as possible while the wiggling child settled, eyes still not even bothering to open as he did so. He wondered if the boy realized that he wasn’t his dad and simply didn’t care, or was so genuinely worn out and tired that he hadn’t realized he’d moved to a new lap.

When his wits returned to him, he realized that his fingers were carefully combing through the boy’s hair, and that – well, that sure was something. Pete always had wanted to be a dad. That had been one of those little pipe dreams on his list of life goals. Adopt a kid one day. On his own or with a partner, didn’t much matter either way. That chance was basically nil at this point, but that didn’t mean that the now settled boy in his lap didn’t get those strings tugging again. What he wouldn’t give for a little one of his own to sleep like a weirdo on his lap.

His attention was drawn away from the child when Kolya returned, head nodding once at the question before his glasses were gone. His vision blurred around the edges, and like some cheesy movie, Kol was the only thing he could see. He hadn’t paid much attention to the man before, but he was now and what he saw was… beautiful. Peter’s full gay was showing as his ears tinted a little red at the realization, but it would have been foolish to pretend that the man wasn’t absolutely stunning, even at the end of the world. He would just have to toss that thought somewhere in the back of his head and worry about it… so much later. He winced a little at the sudden contact with his forehead, the cleaner stinging a little and finally letting him know that, yes, he did have a pretty painful cut on his forehead.

“I trust you.” He offered up belatedly as Kolya went about his search, presumably for something to stitch him up, and he blinked at his own stupidity for a moment before glancing back down at the child in his lap. That was probably a safer place to go than wherever his brain was trying. “And again, ran into burning building for a living. I can handle a little sting.” He tried for a smile as he looked up again, almost wishing he hadn’t because his brain track was derailed for a moment again.

“Where– uhm– sorry if this is invasive. But where’s his mom? Are the two of you still together?” Because, Peter rationalized, it was one thing to be attracted to a straight man, but completely another to be attracted to a straight man with a child and presumably a wife. One of those things he could much more easily shove away. 

x

“I’m a man of very few secrets, and even fewer boundaries,” Kolya hummed out, unperturbed. “He doesn’t really have a mother. He has an Auntie Clio,” Kolya told him. “She is-” He paused, abruptly, and swallowed hard. “Was, I suppose, now. My best friend. The best I’ve ever had. I owe her a lot. And not just because she was my surrogate. He knows she carried him,” He said, tilting his chin towards his son. “But he also knows she’s not his mom. She didn’t want a kid, not the same way I did. But she does- did- ...love him.” 

He was quiet for a moment, focusing on his stitches and reflecting on the past, on what had driven him to decide to strike out as a single parent. “I think I got tired of waiting,” Kolya said eventually. “Does that make sense? I’ve never been very patient. If I wanted something, I made it happen. Career wise, I knew what I wanted, who I wanted to be, and I made it happen. I wanted my shit showcased in fashion week. I wanted a brand recognized just the same as Chanel or Gucci or Saint Laurent. I wanted the fame and the fortune and for my ideas to be recognized because I knew they were good enough to be. And enough work put in, I got that. But I also wanted, you know...” 

Kolya hesitated, picking his words carefully. No sense in inciting any hate crimes here. “I wanted the picket fence and the grand sweeping romance and to be a parent. I wanted to have a family. The kind I’d never had before. I was an only child and an orphan and I just... I wanted that thing I saw growing up but never had. But I also couldn’t force anyone to love me. And I decided I was tired of kissing frogs and looking for the one. Because it doesn’t matter how much you want someone to be your one, grand, true, storybook love...” He shrugged. “If it’s not meant to be, it’s not meant to be. It’s not a matter of trying. It’s just a matter of dumb luck. And I wasn’t getting any younger. Part of that picture I craved growing up is better than none of it, and he is... he’s perfect.” Kolya swallowed hard, getting a little choked up as he paused, reached one hand out to run through his son’s dark, curly hair, gentle. “He’s everything I ever wanted and more. And I’m so, so grateful I didn’t wait to find ‘the one’. Because then I’d be in here empty handed. You know? Just me and a bunch of fucking clothes. And don’t get me wrong, I love my clothes,” Kolya teased. “But they don’t hold my hand or cuddle me in odd ways... or love me back.” 

With that, he carefully finished up the stitches and tore open another antibacterial wipe to swab away blood before gently slathering a little ointment on it and placing a bandage on top of all of that. “There. Not quite good as new, but... it’s something. What’s the saying, ‘chicks dig scars’?” Kolya offered, smiling crookedly. He reached to take his son back, but apparently- that was enough to have the boy blinking sleepily up at the stranger who held him, staring. It was quiet for a beat, but then Evgeni yawned, wide, probably giving Peter a good view of his tonsils. “You got an owie,” He informed Peter, as if the man may have somehow missed that fact. “My daddy gives magic kisses. They make owies get better.” Evgeni clambered over to Kolya, almost- he got as far as pressing his cheek into Kolya’s leg, while his midsection dipped down to lay against the couch, and his legs swung back up, one in Peter’s lap, the other wriggling around until it was wedged into his armpit. “Warm,” Evgeni mumbled, and then he was out once more. Oh, to be so blissfully innocent. 

“It’s true,” Kolya agreed sagely, playing along despite the fact that his son had already slipped off to dreamland, and then he laughed softly. “Sorry, though. I can... he’s always been weird like this. Makes sense. He is my spawn, but he gets that bit from Clio’s side, I swear. I can do my best to wrangle him in, though, if you want.” Kolya knew firsthand how comforting a little innocent contact could be, though, and that was why he offered to haul his child in as opposed to simply doing so unprovoked. 

[universalcataclysm]

donny warrington​:

…

Graham spit out vitriol, and Donny let him. The man was a powerkeg of rage and it was an itch that Donny wanted so desperately to scratch. That was the problem in the first place with them, wasn’t it? A man a decade his junior had crawled under his skin and picked apart the iron cage that surrounded his heart, but Donny ignored him because Donny didn’t fall in love. He hadn’t fallen in love with his wife, it had all been a handshake in a backroom somewhere and a political arrangement that had ended badly. The first stirrings in his chest had been because of his children, and after that, after feeling what love so unbridled and true could make him feel and say and do, he had told himself never again.

And then Graham had waltzed into his life like a prized horse at a show, all rough edges and shitty fashion and broken something in his mind, that little barrier between what he was thinking and what he was feeling. Then came the steel cage, a lock that he had thought forever sealed just popped open. For a time, he could ignore it, pretend that everything they had was a physical fun and nothing else, and then little things had started to eat away at him. Things he couldn’t bring himself to ask out loud like if Graham was seeing other people or the big one, if he would move in.

And now it was all nothing but dust and ash, flying away in the wind, and that cage was still wide open for Graham to waltz back into any time he wanted.

And even now, as the man spit venom at him, insulted his child again and causing his fingers to curl into fists ready to lash out for a second time, he let him, because he had missed this. God had he missed this. The fighting, the venom, the anger. The back and forth that had once been playful was now anything but, and yet he was still itching, and his heart was hitting wildly against his chest.

He wanted to kiss Graham so desperately when the man was in his face. So desperately that he almost did, his head moved just a fraction of an inch as his hands reached up to curl into the other’s shirt, but he stopped himself just as quickly.

That wasn’t his place. Not anymore.

And as much as he wanted something, he wasn’t going to simply take it. Not now.

His fingers slowly uncurled from Graham’s shirt and dropped to his sides, doing little more than taking a careful step back to prevent himself from doing something foolish, and he blew out a slow breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Are you done?” It was the only thing he could say, the only safe thing that would come out of his mouth, because despite everything, the words ‘I love you’ still hung at the tip of his tongue begging to break out. “Or are you saving some for later, when we’re trapped in there together? Wouldn’t want you to run out of material when we pass one another in the halls.”

x

There was a part of Graham that knew how stupid of an idea it was to antagonize Donovan here and now, right outside the shelter in full view of the guards and staff processing entries especially when Donny presumably had the ability to bar him and his brother from entry with a simple snap of his fingers. Graham did give a fuck- but blind rage wasn’t the only reason he was giving in and doing this. Neither were his, yeah, still- wounded feelings and pride. No, he was doing it because he wanted a reaction. That hopelessly stupid part of him that still just desperately wanted to mean something, anything to Donny wanted a reaction. Wanted some signal that Graham was under Donny’s skin the way Donny was his.

And he didn’t get that. Because he wasn’t. Because he never had been. 

That stung.

It was a confirmation he needed to be slapped in the face with, but it stung. He took a step back after Donny let go of his shirt- Graham’s mind had whited out the moment he’d taken hold of it, something stupidly similar to, what, hope? Had filled his veins. Fucking anticipation. He didn’t know if he was waiting to get his nose broke or waiting to be kissed, but fucking something. Anything. And again, the same as he had been a month ago, he was left with nothing but anger and hurt with no one to really lay it on but himself. 

He shoved at Donny’s chest, another belated reaction. “I wish I did know how to just be done with you,” He said, accidentally, his voice sounding leagues more tired than it had moments ago. He hadn’t seen Donovan in a month, he’d gone cold turkey without so much as a goodbye- things between them had snapped with a necessary but brutal finality, so Graham supposed it made sense that somewhere deep down he’d been looking for some sort of deeper closure, that he’d chase it at their next interaction. And he’d gotten it.

There was nothing more to want. Nothing more to ask for.

He lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug and shook his head, stepping backwards as he did so. “Don’t worry,” Graham said. “I don’t intend on passing you anywhere if I can help it. And I think it’s better if we don’t talk even if I do.” A hint of uncharacteristic maturity there, maybe, but mostly just a whole lot of giving up. “Nothing good can come of you and I.” And there it was. The closest thing to an actual goodbye Graham knew how to give.

[universalcataclysm]

murphy myers​:

Despite the end of the world debacle, Murphy was doing pretty well. He’d made it to the bunker, his family was all safe and accounted for, he’d been able to bring all of the things that he desperately couldn’t live without along with him. Except for his haircare products, he couldn’t seem to find those when he was shoving things unceremoniously into his suitcases. He had a feeling that one of his brothers had something to do with that.

Still, the end of the world wasn’t going too horribly for him.

Despite that, he felt a bit adrift. Perhaps it was the hoards of people wandering around like the living dead, trying to connect their old lives with their new ones, or trying to disconnect from their old lives so that the new ones weren’t so jarring. Murphy had always been adrift, so this new life was more of an adventure than anything else. He would miss his old life, his club, friends that hadn’t made it, but anything was possible with a change of pace, and he was willing to give this life as an anchovy a shot, if only because the other option was death.

He wasn’t quite sure where he was headed, to be honest. On his way to scout out locations for where he’d set up shop for his new little after hours club (because even the end of the world needed entertainment, of course), wandering about to see if he might spot an old friend or two, simply wandering to wander. It was never easy to tell with Murphy.

He was startled at the shriek of his name, but a wave of relief washed over him when the voice clicked and the lithe man jumped into his arms. He wasn’t even angry that he stumbled backwards until his back hit the wall, and while he made to open his mouth and speak when he’d steadied himself again, he was in a wash of kisses to his mouth and face and it took a moment for him to really come to grips with what was happening and take in the durge of words that his dear friend was throwing his way.

Finally, when Iza seemed to be a bit talked out, and when Murphy’s hands were reaching up to lightly brush through his hair to soothe him as much as he could, Murphy spoke. Somewhere between amused and relieved. “You are aware that I could be Marvin, right? We have the same face.” But it would have been woefully difficult to confuse the two on a normal day. This wasn’t a normal day by any means, but he thought it prudent to point it out anyway. Still, the arm wound around Iza’s waist squeezed a little harder for a moment before relaxing again.

“The family’s here. Dad and the brood. And to ease your tired mind a touch, I saw Lysander outside, so he must be here somewhere looking for you.” He rubbed small circles in the other man’s back, a touch teasing as he spoke again. “And you’ll never believe who else I saw. That fancy real estate man and his siblings. The Lodgstons. You remember them? From the yacht party this summer?”

x

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Murphy darling, I could tell the two of you apart even if I was deaf, blindfolded and handcuffed. Besides, if you were Marvin,” Iza grinned wickedly, sniffling just a bit and swiping a stray tear from his face, “You would have dropped me and come in your pants already. You haven’t, have you?” He joked, that same hand traveling downwards a short way as if to check. It was almost hilarious how sexually repressed Marvin was in comparison to his dear twin, and Iza hadn’t missed the way he’d looked at him over the years. Thankfully he’d never had to ward off any advances, the man didn’t have the balls to pursue anyone at all, let alone someone like Iza.

Iza was relieved to hear that the rest of Murphy’s family was here, he was fond of them even if he didn’t love them the way he did his best friend. But that relief paled in comparison to the relief that washed over him at the knowledge that his own brother was here, and that had the damnable waterworks threatening to start up again. “You did? Truly?” He asked, voice cracking. “Oh, I can’t wait to see him... I wonder why he wasn’t assigned as my roommate. Maybe they’ll let me switch?” He frowned. At least with Ly, he knew where he’d stand. A stranger... god knew how that would pan out.

He didn’t make any move to clamber out of Murphy’s arms, not yet, likely not ever if he had a say in it. He was clingy with Murphy on the best of days and this was very likely the worst one of his life. His best boy got a somewhat blank look- the name didn’t ring a bell, though the descriptor of fancy real estate man nearly did. The yacht party, though... oh, Iza most certainly remembered that. Absolutely amongst his top five nights of all time, right up there with the time he’d stolen a jaguar from the zoo in Paris on their senior trip, when he’d made out with that hot mexican drug lord to provide a distraction so he and his comrades could escape being kidnapped during the summer of freshman year when dad had insisted on a Cancun vacay, and so on. 

And oh, yes, he definitely remembered that hot, tall, older piece of ass with the veiny hands and the biceps to die for. Iza was pretty sure he’d fantasized about him choking him out for a month straight after that- arguably, he’d never stopped- and poor Murphy had been subject to every detail from Iza’s favorite dreams. “Eyebrow scar?” He gasped, eyes lighting up, smacking Murphy’s shoulder lightly. “Reeeally? He’s here? Ohmygod. Ohmygod.” He clung to Murphy tighter for a moment. This changed everything. “God, I have to figure out a game plan now. This is totally, like, fate, Murph, and no more Cinderella moments since we’re stuck in this ugly concrete thing! He won’t even have a chance to escape!”

[universalcataclysm]

peter lopez​:

…

Peter wasn’t sure what they were even talking about. The shock of the end of the world, of suddenly being trapped in a metal barge underground while the world above them shattered and exploded, hadn’t fully sunk in and he hadn’t even gone to check on his brother since they’d gotten inside. His brother was here. That was a stark reminder that life continued ticking on even when the world decided it wasn’t in the mood. He would find Adair soon, make sure his brother was settled in and comfortable. As comfortable as anyone could be in a tin can hell, anyway. Adair was stronger and far more resilient than Peter was, at any rate.

He looked to the man again, a bit caught off guard by the sudden loud and off kilter laugh that didn’t feel out of place for the villain in a horror movie, but didn’t quite fit the man it was coming out of. Pete wasn’t necessarily surprised by the sudden loss of mental capacity, and thought he might be in the same boat were it not for the rather numb acceptance of the entire thing that had decided to take him over at the moment. He didn’t laugh, didn’t move, because he didn’t feel like he really could at the moment. 

The little boy shifting seemed to bring everything into some kind of crystal sharp clarity for a moment. Watching the little wiggler adjust and try to reassure or simply silence his father with a little pat to his face was a precious moment, and it reminded Pete that there was still a life to live. But that hazy cloud of nothing didn’t take long to come rolling back in, and settled not a moment later in his chest like a weight.

“Happy is pretty relative.” He offered the words to the air, not really to the man. “He might not have been happy up there, either, even if the world decided to flow differently.” Said the gay catholic boy with all of the stigmas and stipulations that went with it. He let out a soft chuckle, head shaking a bit as he reached out to carefully take the man’s hand in a loose shake. “Peter. I suppose it’s nice to meet you at all. I wasn’t supposed to be… up here.” He vaguely gestured around them when he let go of Kolya’s hand, barely registering the place even now. “But I couldn’t leave my cat behind. A boy outside gave me his… his ticket and took mine.” 

He blinked, head shaking for a moment before he reached up and touched his forehead again. The blood was drying and it was rather sticky. “It’s fine. I’ve had worse in my life. I ran into burning buildings for a living so a little bump on the head is– was– a good day.” And somehow, despite the haze, Pete managed a smile.

x

“I suppose you’re right,” Kolya admitted quietly, though he didn’t find Peter’s words particularly pleasant. They were true, though, and somehow comforting. Happiness was relative. A mediocre life out there, well, even that was probably gold standard now to those who knew what could be. Or... what could have been.

What they would never, ever have, now.

And it could be so much worse. Unimaginably worse. He could have lost Evgeni.

He wouldn’t have made it here to this bunker that he had, but even living with that loss for a matter of mere moments- the thought of it was more than Kolya could bear to even think.

His arms tightened reflexively around the boy, but he managed to get a handle on himself short of waking him up, and found the topic of a cat both somehow bizarre and a welcome distraction.  Of sorts. It wasn’t as if the horror of their present was something they could distance themselves from. “I can’t imagine why they’d give you any trouble,” Kolya muttered. “I’m glad you have her. You’d think that they’d want as many animals as they could get their hands on- preserve the species...” Perhaps they’d gone full sci- fi, storing away embryos or DNA with the intent to eventually raise or clone them or whatever. Save them from extinction. God, so much was lost. So much. Birds. Bees. Creatures large and small. Plants, trees, flowers- everything. Soon it would just... all be gone.

Kolya took a deep breath. He couldn’t focus on it. He couldn’t.

“Well,” He said. “Being a man in uniform, you should know even the small things can be important and ought to be seen to. Even if you have had worse. Here,” He said, carefully depositing his son in the man’s lap without asking or waiting for permission to do so. “It’s fine. He won’t wake, so long as there’s a warm body to cuddle. I’m easily replaceable,” He joked. 

He cracked his back after he stood, glancing around and deciding to start his hunt for a first aid kit at the abandoned librarian’s desk. It proved to be fruitful, and he returned moments later triumphant with his prize in hand. He set the kit down on the couch beside Peter and took a seat beside it, opening it and sifting through until he got to the disinfectant wipes. “May I?” He asked, hand hovering over Peter, and he actually did wait for permission this time before removing the man’s glasses. Perhaps he should feel guilty, using up what was likely very limited supply on something that may be minor in the grand scheme of things- but he didn’t. And he needed something to do with himself before he exploded. As a father, he had cleaned his fair share of boo- boos, though this was worse than anything Evgeni had suffered in his short life. Thankfully.

Once it was cleaned, he sought out something to do sutures with. “Don’t worry,” He offered. “I’m good with my hands. I do- did? do....” He cleared his throat, hung up on whether to refer to, well, his entire life in the past or present tense. “I’m a tailor,” he said, voice firm. Just as much as he was a man, as he was a father, as he was a human being- it was a part of him that nothing could erase. “So I’ve done more stitches in my life than most. It will sting, though, I’m sorry.” 

[universalcataclysm]

Fidus Achates.

With - Murphy Myers (@nxclearwinterxx​​) Where - Anywhere amongst the First- Class Sector of the Ravenwharf Shelter. When - Day 1.

The world crumbling in and of itself wasn’t all that upsetting, not when you stopped and thought about it. It wasn’t as if it was unexpected or undeserved. And it wasn’t as if Iza had much care for the majority of the world. Oh, he’d miss modern conveniences, and he hoped and prayed this abominable bunker didn’t attempt to stick them all in jumpsuits- he’d be the first to incite a riot if they did- but so much of the insignificant scum of the earth being purged? Was he supposed to care?

Probably.

And he was smart enough not to voice it aloud, not with everyone he passed in his apparent new abode seemingly falling apart at the seams, but he certainly thought it. And it wasn’t as if he was entirely unaffected. He did have people he cared for. He hadn’t seen a single one, and his cell had quit working hours ago. He knew his family was meant to have tickets to this very same bunker, but...

Well.

He didn’t want to dwell on whether or not they’d made it.

There were very few people in this world that he considered necessary, and the idea of losing them all in one fell swoop was more than he could bear.

So he wasn’t thinking about it. They were just running late, or lost somewhere in this stupid fucking swarm of people.

He’d been one of the first admitted, given that his loft nearby and he’d been in the area when the sirens had started going off- and after a few phone calls, that had just... been it. Silence and a disconnect from all that mattered to him.

So he was waiting.

He’d fussed with his room, had a tantrum when he hadn’t been allowed to shove the second bed into the hallway, and made his assigned space as homey as possible, fretting with what little decor he could and unpacking his wardrobe while his fluffy little Pomeranians Gwen and Verdon paced the room nervously and yipped at him, which... really didn’t help. And there wasn’t near enough space. His roommate hadn’t showed up yet, and Iza could only hope he never did. Despite how terrible that was, but he didn’t recognize the name, so what did it matter to him?

He was wandering the unrestricted areas of the first- class division at the moment, dressed in his favorite waistcoat and pants, his best, shiny gold- dusted thigh- high leather boots, and a velvet cloak that was plushy- soft and more to act as comfort at this point than because the concrete cylinder that was his new home was cold or because of the fashion statement, though that was an added bonus. He glared at anyone that dared to make eye contact, irritated that they had the nerve to be here in his space and not be anyone he cared to see, and kept up the ruse that he was just... inspecting his new home and not looking for anyone he recognized. Not looking for his parents or brother or friends. 

That ruse and his steely- cold bitch persona crumbled into nothingness the moment he finally did see a familiar face.

“Murphy!”

His voice was a shriek if it was anything, a cacophony of relief and a myriad of other feelings as the walls he’d been studiously tending to came down. His heeled boots made a satisfying tap- tap- tap on the floor as he took off running, top speed without a second thought for decorum or the concept that Murphy’s hands might be busy or the man might be unprepared for a human being to come flying at and on to him. Well, they’d known each other long enough by now that it shouldn’t be surprising in any case. 

He was airborne as soon as he was within reach, knees coming up to pin Murphy’s hips while one of Iza’s arms wrapped around his waist and the other curled tight around his shoulders, clinging to him for dear life. In lieu of any other greeting, Iza kissed him right on the lips, twice, three times, then his cheeks, forehead, nose, anywhere within reach- simply overjoyed to see him- and then he buried his face in Murphy’s shoulder and burst into tears. “You’re here!” He cried, voice thick. “You’re here! I never thought- I didn’t- there’s no one else here and I was-” He drew in a deep, shuddery breath, incapable of staunching the flow of tears. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d cried, and now he couldn’t stop. His grip on Murphy grew tighter, and he was pretty sure he’d take the head off anyone that tried to drag him away. “I’m so glad you’re here, I’m so glad you’re here. I thought-” He swallowed hard, cutting that sentence off as abruptly as it had begun. “Oh, I missed you, Murph.” 

It was just one person. He was still missing his parents and his brother, still didn’t know whether he’d ever see any of them ever again- but there was this. He had someone. He had Murphy, and that was infinitely more than he’d had moments ago. “Are you- are you alone? Are you here with anyone? I haven’t- you’re the first person I know that I’ve found.”

[universalcataclysm]

peter lopez​:

Pete was in a bit of a daze. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be alive. This hadn’t been his spot. Abuela had shoved the form on him and demanded that he go and while he had tried to argue with her, arguing with that woman was like arguing with a brick wall, and the next thing he knew, he and his cat were here. There was some vague memory about arguing with a guard about Belle not being allowed into the lower class accommodations, some kid shoving something at him, and then getting inside. He had no idea where inside even was.

There had been a lot of shuffling, shoving and moving around and eventually he’d been put in a room and Belle had immediately taken up on the bed and curled up there, perfectly content to just sleep while her master had a major crisis. He didn’t have many things, just a dufflebag full of clothes and things for Belle, and he wasn’t sure he had the energy to even start going through them, to try and make this… can more homey.

With a little scratch behind his cat’s ear, he exited the room again. The halls were a bit more clear now, and he was all but wandering, lost. He couldn’t be assed to pay attention to where he was or where he was going, and could only hope that he remembered later how to get back to his new little room. 

In the meantime, he wandered in a daze.

It took him a while to realize that his head hurt. He reached up and realized with a bit of numb amusement that he was bleeding. He tried to recall why he might be bleeding and ended up blank. Much like the rest of him.

Everything was just blank.

In his wandering, he ended up in what he thought must be a library. The only logical conclusion to draw with all the books around. He sat down next to someone, not sure if that was polite or even wanted, but he wouldn’t have cared much either way, and it took him too long to realize that the other man was speaking, and even longer than that to realize the talking was questions. They might not have been directed at him, but he finally tuned in and caught them, and all he could do was shrug. 

“What is this?” The question of his own came out before he could really think it through. He glanced over finally, reached up to adjust his glasses and made a passing glance at the awkwardly curled up child on the man’s lap. “I meant… I think I’m in shock, sorry.” He managed to mumble out, feeling his ears heating up as he sighed. “How old is he?” 

He considered the man for a moment, head still reminding him that it hurt as he did, and noted that this man definitely belonged in the gilded part of this cage. Pete didn’t, by contrast, in his messy flannel and old jeans he’d had since high school. He felt woefully out of place all of the sudden. “You’re giving him the chance to live a life. Even if it isn’t the one you thought you’d be giving him.” Just like Abuela had done for him. “Even if there are times when he misses what he had up there, some part of him will always appreciate that you gave him the chance to keep on living something.”

x

Kolya didn’t pick up on the fact that the man hadn’t been listening to him, but it wouldn’t have mattered much even if he had. He hadn’t been saying it in search of an answer, not that he thought anyone had a legitimate one to give- it had just been an accumulation of thoughts he’d been incapable of keeping inside any longer. There was too much already going on inside his head right now, inside everyone’s head, there was bound to be overflow. It was just a relief that whatever he’d blabbered on about hadn’t incited any malice because he certainly hadn’t been policing what spilled from his mouth. Not that he usually did. Kolya was brazen, prone to saying what he thought, though he did usually make some attempt at maintaining decorum as he did so.

It said something for the scattered state of his own head that the stranger’s question- ‘What is this’- initially registered in regards to his son instead of the state of affairs he’d been rambling about and questioning only moments ago. Luckily, the man continued before Kolya could shape his own scattered thoughts into an answer, and he only shook his head and offered a wry smile. “I think you’d be hard pressed to find anyone who isn’t, to be quite frank with you,” He breathed out. “You’ve not done anything wrong, you don’t need to apologize.”

The next question made that plastered on grin falter, though, as he went to say five and realized that wasn’t correct, not anymore. “Six,” Kolya said. “As of today. Some birthday, right? If he was just a couple years younger...” He trailed off. This young, memories were still iffy, but if it had been just three or four years ago, perhaps the trauma of this day in particular could have been completely washed away by time. “I wanted to throw him some big party, six is a big milestone, you know. Six whole years. He’s just now getting old enough to be able to really appreciate a big fuss being made over him. But he didn’t want...” His eyes were blurring over, and he inhaled deeply. “He told me ‘Daddy, I want you to go to the park. And get ice cream.’” Kolya laughed. “Like it was just any other day. Nothing special. But I’ve been working a lot lately, and I know how that sounds, but- it wasn’t like that, I just- anyways. That was what he wanted. So I promised him, ‘whatever you want.’ And I don’t know how to explain to him why I broke that promise. Or why everything is different. Or why we’re never going to a park ever again, and we’re never going to visit Auntie Clio, or he’s never going to kindergarten or going to see any of his friends-” Kolya stopped, mostly because he’d run out of air, and bit down on his lower lip and shook his head once sense returned to him. “I’m sorry. You didn’t ask for any of that, I just- Shock, I suppose.” 

He laughed, a little unhinged and a little too loud, and it disturbed Evgeni enough to shift, eyes never cracking open but limbs flying and body rearranging until his head was on Kolya’s shoulder, a sleepy kiss pressed to his cheek while a tiny grubby hand patted his face. “Shhhhh,” Evgeni complained, and then, with ease only a child could possess, he was out like a light. “Sorry,” Kolya whispered, pressing a kiss to his hair and giving him a moment to fully sink under before he turned his gaze to Pete again, looking almost sheepish despite their current circumstances. “Maybe you’re right. I hope that you are. I just want him to be happy here, not just alive and miserable.” He closed his eyes and curled one arm tighter around his son, focusing on the fact that they were here, and they were alive, and those were both good things, they really were.

He did remember his manners, eventually, and extended his free hand to the man. “I’m Kolya. It’s... well. Wish we were meeting under better circumstances, but...” He exhaled, giving the stranger a closer look. “You’re hurt,” He noted, frowning slightly at the bloody gash on the man’s face. “There’s an infirmary- I don’t know where, but... you could probably ask around, or surely there’s a first aid kit somewhere...” 

[universalcataclysm]

donny warrington​:

Everything was a whir of movement and craziness. Things falling apart all around them, the world shattering to bits before his very eyes, and while normally, Donovan Warrington would have looked at the destruction and simply enjoyed it, this destruction involved the very real possibility of harm coming to his children, and that was something he simply couldn’t stand. He was currently in the process of wrangling them, getting them to safety, making sure that nothing happened to them, but three young adult boys were hard to wrangle, and he longed for the days when they were children and shoving them into carseats and calling it a day was the norm.

At least they were finally in line.

He had most of his attention on Ollie at the moment, the poor boy looked like he was going to throw up or go into a full panic attack. He was desperately trying to send off a text or a video or something, and Donny had to very carefully take the phone from his hand and force his focus up, quietly muttering at him to breathe, to count backwards from ten. He made sure that his son kept his attention focused solely on him as he spoke, doing his absolute best and seemingly things were working quite well until he was jostled.

He twisted to face the person responsible, the witty little jab dying on his lips before he even opened them to speak when he saw who was standing there. He blinked, his mouth going ridiculously dry, and quickly waved Arty and DJ over to take care of their brother.

“Graham.”

The name felt like ashes in his mouth, the long standing, still burning torch he held for the younger man not at all helping him think clearly. 

He sputtered after a moment. “Fancy meeting me here. I’m the one who bought you a spot here.” He pointed it out matter of factly, no malice behind it. Because even if things were… complicated, he would still rather Graham be alive.

He sighed, wincing a little at the reminder of what he’d done and quickly shook his head. He tended to get a little… black out… when his children and their well being was involved. He would say ‘ask my ex wife’ but that wasn’t exactly… possible. “I’m–” He froze for a moment, the ‘sorry’ dying in his mouth, and shook his head again. Graham wasn’t prone to listening. “You insulted my son and I snapped. I’m a little protective of my kids, in case that hadn’t been transmitted through the story about my ex wife.” And Graham had been one of the very few people in the world that knew the truth of that story.

x

God, why the fuck had he said anything? He should’ve shut his mouth the minute he’d realized who it was that he’d bumped in to. He never should have invited this conversation. Hadn’t been able to help himself, but he’d never been the sharpest tool in the shed, now had he? Fuck. Throwing that catty reminder at Donovan hadn’t been worth it. His hand did still hurt, yeah, it was inconvenient at best but the worst part about it was the constant reminder that he was left with, of where he’d gotten it and who he’d gotten it from. He hadn’t had the chance to move on, not really, not while he was still tangibly, physically feeling the aftereffects of their flame.

There was a part of him- that stupid, blindly impulsive part- that wanted to bail, but Donovan wasn’t worth Graham’s life (even if he technically owed it to him here, and wasn’t that a flaming pile of garbage to unpack) and he wasn’t worth his brother’s life because Greyson would follow him and he wouldn’t have done that to his brother even if Grey had been smart enough to stay. He wouldn’t leave him now, after everything.

Still, the impulse to extract himself from this situation immediately was burning strong. The only way out was through, though, so he took the quietest, deepest breath he could and did his best to mentally detach himself from this conversation and wherever it went. Maybe it’d be over quick. How long could it be drawn out? Just a few more people processed, it’d be his... and Greyson’s turn... if the fucker hurried the hell up- and he’d be in the shelter, and if nothing else he’d get to hole up in his room and avoid Donovan until this interaction blew over. Then they could pretend like the other didn’t exist and it wouldn’t be fine. Shit, no, shit-- it would be fine, it would.

Donny, of course, couldn’t have given Graham the grace of ignoring his quip. Not that Graham had wanted him to. Sort of. Mostly? In any case, the man was pointing out how he’d bought the fucking tickets, as if Graham even needed a reminder. No, those memories hadn’t faded yet. And he was grateful- truly- for himself, and for Greyson most of all- but he’d shown that gratitude when he’d been given the tickets in the first place and he didn’t feel the need to kiss Donny’s ass over it now. He wouldn’t. 

“Fortunately for me, tickets are nonrefundable, huh?” Graham said, shooting a smirk over his shoulder. He was still unwilling to turn and face the man entirely. Partly because, despite the fact that he continued to run his fucking mouth, he didn’t really want to invite an actual conversation here. They didn’t have anything that needed to be said. Partly because, yeah, it hurt like a bitch, like it had been since they’d broken up or whatever the fuck, and partly because Donny looked good. Of course he did. Graham hated it.

Why wouldn’t he, though? What reason did he have to look anything but? Graham didn’t think they’d ever even been dating, not in the traditional sense of the word. They’d fucked, and fucked, and fucked some more, and they’d both been getting what they’d been after in the first place and it had worked until Graham had started getting a little too involved, a little too invested. Until he’d started complicating things, albeit just within the confines of his own head.

The thing was, Donovan already had it all. Graham had known that from the start, and that was partly what had drawn him to the man. He hadn’t been looking for a relationship, he’d been looking for someone hot to fuck who would not only bite back when Graham did but bite unprovoked from time to time. Easy, simple. Donny had a family- a complete one, because Graham wasn’t one to subscribe to that fifties’ ideological concept of the perfect cookie cutter picture of two parents and the kids equaling complete, a father and his kids could be a complete family just as much as two brothers could- he had a secure job on lockdown, and he had enough money to buy anything and everything he wanted and needed and then have a bank account that was just as cushy afterwards as it had been in the first place. 

He hadn’t needed Graham any more than Graham had needed him. Graham’s place in Donny’s life hadn’t even been as the frosting on the metaphorical cake, that was putting a little too much importance on it all- no, he was more like a singular sprinkle on top. Sweet despite a bitterly biting aftertaste but utterly insignificant in the grand scheme of things and easily replaceable by a million other exactly like him. 

And in a way, Graham was grateful for that broken finger. It had been a reminder. A wake up call. Time to step back. Better yet, take a thousand steps back and don’t return. He was getting too involved. Forgetting his place, forgetting what this was, why they were doing it- as a couple, they never could have worked anyways, and it just wasn’t what they fucking were. He had lost sight of that. 

So when he’d been given that reminder, Graham had listened.

Shit hadn’t been pretty after that, exactly, but it was fine. He’d been working through it. And now, as luck or the lack thereof would have it, their paths were crossing once more. Didn’t that sound appealing, a lifetime stuck in a fuckin’ inescapable box with the one man who’d gotten under your skin in a way no other had?

No fucking thanks. But he’d continue to work through it. Because Greyson, Graham reminded himself. And even if- even if he was still torn up about this, he wouldn’t be forever. Rationally he just fucking wouldn’t be. He refused. 

Up ahead, the line moved forward, another body rushing inside to their salvation. Four people ahead of him now. Still no sign of his stupid brother. If he didn’t hurry the fuck up, Graham would be forced to go look for him, and what a pain in the goddamn ass that would be, having to step out of line and go to the back... Jesus. 

When Graham turned around to scan the crowd for a familiar shock of bleach- blonde hair, there was no pretense involved. But if they were going to be face to face, and if Donny was going to have the nerve to spit out threats... well. Graham was the wrong target to pick if you wanted someone not to cower down. 

“Right,” he drawled, tone as acidic as ever. “Guess I should be dropping to my knees and professing my gratitude for you not sticking a gun in my mouth and pulling the trigger, huh?” His voice was loud, too loud, but fuck it. What was Donny going to do? Here, in front of all these people? Maybe Graham ought to worry what he’d do when they were locked up on the inside together and there were very few places to hide, but a familiar fury was bubbling beneath the surface, sense giving way to rage in a way that was unfortunately familiar with this man. Graham just couldn’t find a middle ground with him. It was all or nothing, and from the start it had all been an array of extremes. Passion didn’t dull just because it had gone sour, the tone only changed.

“I’d almost forgotten you were one of those ‘my kid would never’ PTA Moms-” he most certainly hadn’t- “But now I’m left to question whether poor Artasia even actually deserved what she got, because I still don’t see any problem with telling a DOUCHEBAG-” And here, Graham’s voice pitched louder, pointedly loud enough for said douchebag in question to be able to hear- “That he needs to quit being a fucking douchebag and fuck off, especially when he clearly doesn’t have anyone else in his life to learn any fuckin’ manners from. And that’s coming from me.” 

File all of that at the top of the list of things Graham never should have fucking said, but fuck if he cared. He’d made his bed, now, and he was more than willing to lie in it- his entire body was comprised of barely constrained tension, the look in his eyes just fucking daring for Donny to react. Give him a reason to lay into him. He’d dropped both his duffle bag and his backpack somewhere in the middle of that tirade, and both hands were clenched, even the broken one, but Graham didn’t even feel the pain radiating up his wrist and arm. Yet. He’d taken a step closer, pure aggression in his form, with his nose only inches from Donny’s.

Now he was just waiting.