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abitterboy · 1 year

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Taste Of Your Universe

Summary: Hyunjin loves Felix's freckles and wants to let Felix know just how much.

Pairing: Hyunjin x Felix

Genre: Fluff, Smut

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Soft fluffy stuff, smut (duh), gay, insecure Felix, sappy lines that made me kick my feet istg, body worshiping, consent kink, softer sex, oral, dom/sub and top/bottom, fingering, anal, a lot of kissing, shy Felix, light desperation, light teasing, sex without protection.

(The other day I was trying to find photos of Felix’s freckles and sadly remembered the fact that he used to not like them and then this brain rot happened. Think of this set a couple years ago instead of current 2023 Hyunjin and Felix.)

An alarm rang through the room causing the boy in bed to reach his hand to find his phone and silence it. He looked at the time and knew he couldn’t sleep any longer even though he was still tired. He put on the shirt he left at the foot of his bed before sleeping and shuffled out of his room. Like every morning for the past few months, Felix was in there bright and early. Felix had already covered the counter in makeup products and was applying his foundation.

“Hyunjin do you see any of my freckles?”

Felix always asked this question when Hyunjin came in to pee now and Hyunjin always hated it. He couldn’t understand why Felix wanted to cover his natural beauty. What Felix saw as imperfections, Hyunjin saw as a distinctive feature of the one he loved.

But he could never bring himself to say that.

“Looks like it but lemme check..”

Hyunjin washed his hands, then put his hand on Felix’s face to move it side to side in order to fully check. He moved in closer to look at a spot on Felix's face. His finger rose to the dot to show Felix where he had missed a spot. Once his finger landed on the freckle, Hyunjin stopped looking at it and instead looked up, simultaneously making eye contact with Felix. It was only now that he realized just how close he was to the younger boy. Hyunjin let go of Felix and looked away to go about his morning routine. Felix stood in place for a second before turning to the mirror and adding concealer over the freckle Hyunjin pointed out. While they were both in the bathroom, they stayed silent and went about their morning routines that way.

~Later that day~

All the boys returned home and showered in order to quickly get clean and get some rest. The last two to shower were Hyunjin and Felix.

“You wanna go first or should I?”

Hyunjin asked Felix knowing that Felix would take longer due to needing to wash all his makeup off but he was willing to wait if that meant the younger got a good amount of rest. Felix insisted that Hyunjin shower first since Felix knew he took longer than his bandmate. Hyunjin went to his room and got his towel and rushed to the bathroom so Felix wouldn’t have to wait much longer than he already had. Hyunjin went into the shower and came out after around five minutes, the towel wrapped around his hips. He went to go knock on Felix's door but saw it was open and decided to walk in to tell him the shower was open.

Hyunjin chuckled lightly when he saw Felix laid out on his bed. It was a funny position and didn't look the slightest bit like how Felix normally slept. His arms and legs were spread out and he looked like a starfish with his feet dangling off the foot of his bed. Hyunjin quickly ran to his room to slide a pair of sweats on and ran back to help Felix. He started by squatting down to take his shoes and socks off and then lightly tapped his shoulder to wake up his friend. Felix opens his eyes and slowly lifts his torso. A laugh escapes Hyunjins lips.

“You can't sleep like this. Let me help you.”

Felix moves forward so his feet can touch the ground and Hyunjin looks up at the younger. Felix takes his sleeves and wipes his eyes as if trying to wipe away his tiredness. When he takes his sleeves off his face he put them down and didnt realize the makeup smudges he just put on his new black jacket. Hyunjin did though and gasps.

“Felix! Let's get this off you and I’ll go wash the sleeves in the sink real quick.”

Hyunjin helps Felix take off his jacket slowly as Felix groggily moves.

“Then I’m gonna come back and get the rest of that off your face for you.“

Hyunjin walked to the bathroom and scrubbed the sleeves with a washcloth and some soap and water. It worked pretty well but only a real wash would tell if the makeup would fully come out of the fabric. Hyunjin then grabbed Felix's skincare box and came back to Felix's room to find the younger had moved to his desk where he was trying to put clips in his hair. Hyunjin walked over to Felix and grabbed his hands.

“Stop this. Let me help you.”

He took the messy clips out and only put two back to hold Felix's bangs. Felix looked nervous and Hyunjin didn't know why. Hyunjin took out the makeup remover from Felix’s bag and tried to put it on Felix's face but the younger moved his face away.

“Hyunjin I’m fine I can do it myself.”

“You’re tired Felix.”

“No I’m awake I promise.”

“Well, that's fine if you’re awake but I still want to do this for you.”

“Please Hyunjin. Just let me do this.”

Hyunjin was confused. Why wouldn't Felix let him do this for him?

“What's wrong Lixie?”

Felix looked at Hyunjin with sleepiness and sadness in his eyes.

“I don't want you to see me without my makeup right now.”

“That’s silly I’ve seen you without your makeup.”

“Not recently you haven’t.”

Hyunjin had to think. Felix was right. He hasn't gone anywhere without makeup for the past couple of months but Hyunjin had no idea why.

“Why not?”

“Because I have more freckles now. I accidentally fell asleep outside and when I saw my face the next day I was covered in freckles.”

Hyunjin pouted at Felix and Felix looked away again. Hyunjin grabbed the younger face and bought the makeup wipe up again to wipe Felix's foundation off.

“I’ll always think you’re beautiful.”

Felix kept his eyes closed as Hyunjin cleaned his face off. With every wipe, more freckles appeared on the youngers face and Hyunjin thought each one was beautiful. They were like a constellation on his face, showing the beauty of the galaxy that is Lee Felix. He saw a big one on Felix’s nose and tapped it with the hand he was using to hold Felix’s face.

“I know, that one is bigger than most of them. Only a couple are that size. I hate them the most.”

He kept his eyes closed as he spoke, not wanting to see Hyunjins reaction or unblemished skin, skin Felix wished he could have. Hyunjin couldn't help but smile. He leaned in and kissed the freckle on his friend's nose. Felix’s eyes shot open at the feeling of his bandmate's lips on his nose.

“I think it's cute.”

He kissed another freckle on Felix's face.

“I think they’re all cute.”

Felix was frozen and his face started heating up at the warm contact.

“They’re like little stars on your face.”

Felix was breathless at the comment.

“Hyunj-?”

Hyunjin kissed another one.

““I wanna count all of your stars with my lips, Lixie.”

He grabbed Felix's face with both his hands and kissed a freckle near Felix’s lips. The feeling of Hyunjins lips on the corner of Felix's mouth was enough to make him melt. Hyunjin felt the boy relax and took the chance to actually kiss Felix’s lips. The kiss was soft and delicate and made Felix feel dizzy. Felix placed his hand on Hyunjins bare chest and it chilled the older boy. He moved back at the feeling.

“Oh, I'm sorry I didn't think about my hand being cold I just wanted to feel you and I just I- Im sorry.”

Hyunjin kissed Felix again but released rather quickly.

“Don’t apologize. I want to feel you too.”

Hyunjin pressed his lips softly against Felix again but kept them there this time. They kissed softly for a couple of minutes before it deepened and Hyunjin claimed his dominance over Felix. The taller boy made Felix stand up as their lips were still connected. He sat him down on the bed and then released his lips.

“Can I undress you?”

Felix nodded but Hyunjin wanted a verbal answer. With his pointer finger on Felix’s chin, he lifted his face and asked again.

“Can I undress you?”

“Yes.”

The shy voice from the younger made Hyunjin melt as he lowered his hands to the hem of Felix’s shirt. Once completely off, he admired Felix's torso and set his eyes for one thing, the freckles that adorn it. He told Felix to get further back on the bed so he was fully laying down then Hyunjin got up on the bed too, finding a seat between Felix’s legs. His hands climbed up on his bandmate's chest and sent shivers through him. Hyunjin's lips made their way to the freckles on Felix's chin before moving down to his neck. With each kiss, he sucked a little and before releasing his lips he licked every spot. From his chin to his neck, from his neck to his chest, and from his chest to his abs. Hyunjin made sure not to miss every spot he saw no matter how close they were.

“You’re so beautifully made, Love. So beautiful in every way.

His mouth worked down to Felix's waistband and stopped on his boxer hem. Felix looked down wondering why Hyunjin stopped.

“Can I take this off too?”

Felix had to muster up his voice to respond because it was most definitely stuck in his throat after being kissed that many times by Hyunjin.

“Yes, you can.”

Hyunjin took off Felix's pants and left him with his boxers. Felix was getting impatient.

“Hyunjin, please just strip me fully.”

“Be patient, Love. Let me ask you.”

Hyunjin liked teasing a little but only enough to get his partner more desperate for his touch. He didn't want to tease too much and genuinely did want to know what Felix wanted along with making sure he was okay with everything going on.

“Now, can I take this off too?”

“Yes. Hyunjin. Please.”

The words were almost a whimper but Hyunjin could understand them easily. He removed Felix's boxers slowly, running his fingers along his bandmate's thighs to feel his soft skin. Felix whimpered at the feeling of his dick being set free after all this time. Hyunjin looked Felix dead in the eye and he slowly ran a finger up his dick.

“What would you like me to do for you?”

Felix turned a little red and looked away, avoiding any further eye contact but Hyunjin wanted Felix to look at him and tell him what he needed. Hyunjin crawled over Felix’s body to whisper in his ear.

“You can tell me what you want. I promise I’ll give you anything.”

Felix's voice hitched in his throat and he swallowed the saliva accumulating in his mouth. He wasn't the type to say such things or make any demands or even requests in his daily life so this was definitely not easy for him. He was stuck in his own head. Hyunjin saw the internal struggle and slid his hand back down to squeeze Felix's dick lightly.

“Come on, Love, Don’t you wanna release some of this tension?”

A choked “yes” managed to leave Felix's lips and Hyunjin smiled.

“See, I know you can talk so please, Love. Tell me what you want.”

Felix finally spoke.

“I want your mouth. Please Hyunjin.”

“That's all you had to say.”

Hyunjin lowered himself back to Felix's crotch and licked his hand before placing it on the base. He used his hand a couple of times to pump his cock before attaching his lips. A hiss escaped from Felix's lips as he felt his bandmate's lips go down and up for the first time. Hyunjins pace was slow but sped up gradually. Felix already felt so on edge and with the pace Hyunjin had set he lost control of his hips and thrusted into his friend's mouth. Hyunjin took this as a sign to go faster and that's exactly what he started to do. While sucking Felix off, he gathered some of the pre-cum on his hand to lube it up. He popped off of Felix's dick and asked him.

“Want me to prep you for more or are we done after this, Love? Either is fine we don’t hav-“

“Yes please!”

Hyunjins sentence didn’t even finish before Felix whined out his response. Hyunjin lowered his head again with a smile and went back to sucking Felix off but this time he started slowly easing a finger in. Felix always hated the original pain of getting fingered but he knew it would be worth it. Hyunjin kept working his mouth and tongue and only got off to make sure Felix was okay which he responded to with a frustrated moan and a yes. This happened a couple more times until Hyunjin could fit three fingers into Felix comfortably.

“Fuck me.”

Felix whined out while Hyunjin was still blowing him, causing Hyunjin to stop.

“Are you sure?”

Felix nodded before remembering to speak.

“Yes, please. I want you.”

Felix sat up which caused Hyunjin to follow. The older didn’t have any time to react before Felix pulled him into a deep kiss.

“I need you.”

He laid back down but this time on his elbows so he could see Hyunjin enter him. Hyunjin took off his sweats and lubed up his dick with his own saliva before lining himself with Felix's hole.

“It's still going to hurt a little so tell me when it does.”

Hyunjin slowly pushed his cock past Felix's rim and the stretch caused the bottom to instantly grip the bed sheets. Hyunjin bent forward to press his body against Felix and he told him to lay flat so they could comfortably be pressed onto one another.

“I won't move until you’re okay, baby. Tell me to stop and I will.”

He pressed his lips to Felix's ears and put his hand on the youngers face as his face returned to comfort.

“I'm okay, keep going.”

Hyunjin slowly eased into Felix, ensuring he was never in too much pain. Once he fully bottomed out, Felix moaned in joy. Hyunjins dick fully inside of him was almost enough for him to cum but he knew he couldn’t just yet. Hyunjin felt the same feeling as Felix wrapped so tightly around him. His thrusts started slowly and Felix's light whimpers were driving him crazy. He wanted to go rougher but since it was his first time with Felix he wanted to go slow and show him how much love he had for him. He didn’t understand the phrase “make love” and had always thought it was stupid, all up till right now. Now he had this beautiful boy in his arms and wanted to make sure he felt amazing and knew how much love he held for him and his body.

They switched positions so Hyunjin was sitting up and Felix's legs were wrapped around him. Hyunjin thrusted up into Felix at the same pace Felix bounced on his cock. His eyes half closed as he fucked into the younger and Felix's moans were getting a little louder. He was swallowing as much of his moans as he could due to not wanting the other members to be woken up because of them. Felix was nearing his edge as he kept slamming down on Hyunjins dick. Hyunjin could feel Felix clenching around him and decided to go a bit faster. Felix's head buried itself in Hyunjins shoulder and he tried to keep his mouth shut. He bit Hyunjin’s shoulder to shut himself up but it caused Hyunjin to moan and thrust up especially hard. This set Felix off and he ended up moaning around the skin of Hyunjin’s shoulder along with cumming on his friend and his own stomach.

“Good boy, Lix.”

Hyunjin was so close to finishing too but wanted to be respectful of the boy whos body he was in.

“Can I keep going, Love?”

Felix lifted his tired face and smiled softly.

“Of course, you can. Cum in me please Hyunjinnie?”

Hyunjin couldn't control himself much more and picked up his pace faster than before. Felix held onto the older’s chest as he bit on his shoulder again to contain his moans.

“I’m cumming, Love ah- I’m- ah!”

Hyunjin came inside Felix with a couple more thrusts and laid back, taking the youngers body down with him. Hyunjin shifted so his dick would come out of Felix but didn't want to move from where he was. He was in heaven. Felix was laying on his chest breathless, messy-haired, and teary-eyed. Hyunjin held his bandmate closer and closed his eyes tightly as a smile painted itself on his face.

“Hyunjin?”

“Yes, Love?”

Felix lifted his head from Hyunjins shoulder and kissed his lips once more.

“I need to shower and I think you may also need to.”

Hyunjin just smiled at Felix. He almost got teary-eyed himself just looking into his eyes. To Hyunjin, they held the universe in them. To Hyunjin, they were the best remedy. To Hyunjin, they made him feel, no, they made him know that everything was going to be okay.

“I’ll draw us a bath.”

#skz hyunjin #skz fanfic #skz smut #skz felix #stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids smut #hyunjin smut #skz hwang hyunjin #stray kids felix #hyunlix #bxb smut #bxbkpop #bxp skz #straykidssoft

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starlostjimin · 1 year

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Title: spring for the first time Chapter 1/? WC: Chapter Rating: T Fandom: Stray Kids Pairing: Han Jisung/Lee Minho Tags/warnings: feelings of internal shame about virginity, societal pressure, gay awakening, assumed heterosexuality (joke's on them), magic, mind reading, innuendo, mythology (or is it?), best friend!hyunjin, workplace au, light urban fantasy au, i guess, fluff, possible smut later in the fic i haven't decided yet, currently SFW Summary: The day before Jisung's thirtieth birthday, Hyunjin tells him an old wives' tale about people who are virgins when they turn thirty. A shy accountant just trying to make it through life, Jisung brushes him off.

Until he wakes up the next day and hears things he definitely shouldn't be able to.

Or: Cherry Magic: Thirty Years of Virginity Can Make You a Wizard!....but make it minsung

next chapter

The office buzzed around him as Jisung tried to concentrate on the spreadsheet in front of him. On the other side of the room, the sales department was celebrating another big contract brought in by Lee Minho, the star of the office. Minho was everything Jisung wanted to be - incredible at his job, personable, good-looking, well-liked among the male coworkers and…popular among the female coworkers. Jisung thought he remembered hearing about Minho winning some athletics award in his school years, because of course he did. Jisung had only spoken with him once or twice, and while he remembered every detail, he was sure that the more popular man didn’t. They had been brief, work related encounters that had left Jisung with the speeding heartbeat that his anxiety always caused.

“Oh, thank god,” Jisung mumbled as he watched the computer’s clock tick over to 5. Between the office being A Lot during celebrations, he’d also had his brain stuck on a joke Hyunjin had made at lunch. A stupid joke. Something not even remotely based in reality.

And yet Jisung couldn’t shake it.

“You’d better hurry up and get a girlfriend tonight,” Hyunjin said.

Jisung raised an eyebrow. “What? I mean, we both know that’s not going to happen, so why all of a sudden?”

“Don’t you know the old stories? If you’re still a virgin when you turn thirty, you get superpowers.” Hyunjin grinned. “We both know you couldn’t handle that.”

“You’re the worst friend ever,” Jisung pouted.

“You love me,” Hyunjin said, patting his best friend on the hand.

It was stupid. So stupid. Only children believed in superpowers - which may have been the point, Jisung considered. Promise them superpowers so they don’t start sleeping around young. It made sense. And yet here he was, on the precipice of thirty, and he’d never even dated anyone, let alone had sex. He’d never met a girl he was attracted to, and even if he had, he was sure his anxiety would have kept him from doing anything about it. He sometimes thought it would be nice to have someone to come home to who would understand him, but opening up to someone? That was dangerous, plain and simple. Besides, he had little to offer in the dating department. His apartment was tiny, he walked everywhere, and he was pretty sure he was severely underpaid but too afraid to ask for a raise. Not exactly a prize.

Jisung sighed and kicked a rock that was in his path. If he could be more like Minho, that would probably help. Everybody loved Lee Minho, and Jisung was sure he hadn’t gotten superpowers on his thirtieth birthday. Jisung tried to imagine himself smiling at his coworkers, expressing greetings that were more than the bare minimum needed to be polite.

He couldn’t do it. Imagination-Jisung still stumbled over his words, still had hair out of place, still had a crooked tie. “Even in my imagination I’m a loser,” he muttered as he turned onto his street. Stopping briefly into the convenience store at the end of his block to pick up something to eat, he finished his short walk home, ready to change into pyjamas and sit in his bed with a movie playing until he fell asleep.

His alarm blared, startling Jisung out of sleep. He wished briefly that he’d booked his birthday off like most people did - he was lucky with his workplace in that sense. But he hadn’t, knowing that 1. He wouldn’t have plans anyway and 2. He would probably, as always, have a huge stack of paperwork to get through.

He was right on both counts. Jisung rolled over and shut off the alarm, rolling out of bed and rubbing his eyes as he headed to the bathroom to wash up. Staring at himself in the mirror, he wondered for a moment why people made such a big deal about birthdays. He looked exactly the same as he had yesterday. He woke up at the same time, he was going to put on the same suit he always wore to work, and he’d stop at his usual food truck on the way to pick up some breakfast for the walk over. Absolutely nothing had changed about him.

Unless…Jisung cracked a slight smile at the thought. He jumped up and down a few times. It appeared flying and levitating were out. He stared hard at the sink. Turn on! He thought. Water!! He tried again. The sink stubbornly refused to turn itself on. “I guess I can rule out superpowers,” he chuckled as he put toothpaste on his toothbrush.

“Morning, Jisung,” the owner of the food truck said as he approached.

“Morning,” he said.

“I’ve already got it ready for you,” the older man said, holding out a small bag. Jisung grinned. “Thank you. I guess I’m a little predictable, huh?”

“8:00am, on the dot. I can practically set my clock by you,” the owner said with a laugh. As he tapped his phone against the pin pad, Jisung reached out to take the bag from the other man. When he did, his fingers brushed against his hand.

This poor kid. He seems to live such a boring life. He’s young! He should be dating a nice girl.

Jisung’s head shot up and he stared at the man, who was smiling back at him.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“No, uh, I…just thought you said something. I’m going to have to make an extra coffee when I get to work. Didn’t sleep well last night. Thanks, bye!” Jisung left the truck, walking quicker than normal towards his office. He was sure he’d heard the old man saying something about his life being boring, but the man had clearly not been speaking. Jisung shook his head and kept walking quickly, eager to get into the safe space that was his cubicle.

While he waited for the elevator, Jisung pulled out his phone to check his texts. As expected, there were two. One from Hyunjin, one from his mother, both wishing him a happy birthday. He smiled a tight, close-lipped smile at the screen as he tapped out a quick thank you to his mother, and made up his mind to call her later. He shoved his phone back in his pocket just as the elevator door slid open in front of him. It was packed, as always. Jisung held himself as steady as possible. The last thing he needed was to accidentally touch someone inappropriately if he got jostled by another person.

He didn’t account for gravity.

The old elevator shuddered to a stop at the next floor, throwing off Jisung’s balance and sending him stumbling into the person to his left.

Oh my god, it’s him.

The voice was familiar, but Jisung couldn’t place it. He looked up and found himself locking eyes with none other than Lee Minho. The man’s eyes were wide and Jisung worried he’d stepped on the other man’s foot. That was the last thing he needed.

“Ah! Uh, I’m sorry, I lost my balance,” Jisung stammered out.

He’s so cute.

The voice again. Minho’s voice. But Jisung was literally looking at his face, and Minho wasn’t talking. It was then that he realized Minho’s hand was on his arm, steadying him. The elevator started again, jolting Jisung out of his thoughts. He stepped back, thankful for the feeling of Minho’s hand dropping off his arm. At the next floor, he rushed off the elevator, despite still being several floors away from his own. I’m going to have a great ass after taking the stairs to the tenth floor for the rest of my life, he thought to himself.

#stray kids #stray kids fic #minsung #lee minho x han jisung #han jisung x lee minho #han x lee know #possumswrite

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vizthedatum · 1 year

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Pray for my mom even though she is at the root of many of my problems

CW: abuse, medical stuff, justified infidelity in the name of love, a lot of intense language which will leave you wondering if I’m losing it or not (but hey! I’m not lol)

Tldr: My mom is having emergency surgery tomorrow in Minneapolis, and I’m currently waiting for my flight so I can speak to her in person before visiting hours end tonight, because no healthcare professional at the moment knows when she’s going into surgery tomorrow and I don’t want to risk not seeing her.

—

This morning, I woke up and was kinda happy because I’ve been feeling better and better every single day. It’s been an exhausting life. I am so tired, but my brain is coming back - I am coming back online more and more and more. I remember. I listened to a song on repeat non-stop for hours (I’m autistic, hi): “Saw You In A Dream” by The Japanese House 🎶And when I'm awake I can't switch off

It isn't the same but it is enough🎶 How telling.

I work at some art houses on the weekends as a docent. My ex-metamour got me the job, and I absolutely love it. The people there are great, and while it is tiring work (talking, moving around, going up stairs), it is rewarding for me. My shift today was supposed to be 11-5pm and tonight, we were gonna meet a new artist and we were going to figure out how we could volunteer our time to help him with his new installation!! So I was gonna stay there until around 9pm.

Since there was leeway in the schedule, I requested to come in at noon instead… and then later in the morning, my ex-meta was like “we’re covered until 3pm” or something and I was so excited because I really needed the time to prep for interviews, do self-care, write Valentine’s cards to my friends, maybe do my nails, maybe write a million things (I have books in my head).

I told River, and we were going to do a quick hug before work but since I had extra time, they came over to cowork and spend time. Their offerings were a worn dress (their smell comforts me) and 2 pieces of really pretty cardboard paper - it was perfect.

We got distracted and while we were doing things - it’s so hard to not keep talking to River :)

While we were being autistically gay and cute together, talking about all sorts of things (heavy, light, and anything)… my brother messaged me and I noticed my mom had called me.

I have boundaries with my parents. I cut off our relationship last April. The only times I talk to them is if it concerns my brother. My parents were physically and emotionally abusive. They fucked me up.

My mom is likely having emergency heart surgery tomorrow. I spoke to the nurse. Visiting hours end at 8pm CST. I screamed with my father, with my brother moderating. We got a flight booked for me to get there at 5:48pm. Flight departs at 2pm.

I got to the airport at 1:30pm - they wouldn’t let me on the flight and booked me for a flight that departs at 3:04pm and I land in MSP at 7/7:15pm CST.

Fuck.

On my way to the airport, I called my mom’s soulmate. It’s not my father. I rarely call him but he picked up the call right away. He lives in India. I told him and told him that he was to set an alarm for when I land so that he can talk to my mother when I get to the hospital. It’s so ironic because right before I found out about my mom today, I told River about him.

My mom and her soulmate have not talked in years. I think the last time was when I sneaked in a three-way videocall when he and I met up in India in 2016. Every year on her birthday, he texts me: “Happy birthday Madhumita” Why can’t they talk? Because my father is a controlling asshole who monitors every phone call, every internet interaction, every movement. He doesn’t treat her as a person.

Look, I do not care if they are married and you think it’s wrong. She and him did not intend for this to happen so many years ago… and quite honestly, my parents have such a dysfunctional relationship. So fuck all of you. Including family. I do not care. If you can’t handle the truth of the human condition and experience, then fucking leave. If you cannot accept that I’m trans/queer/poly, leave. If you can’t handle that I can have a full range of emotions and still be a functional person and that I choose to be kind/soft (when I want to be)… and then still call me naive? Leave.

And also, if you don’t get how badly she abused me (example: when I was 6, she tied me up super tight with a lot of rope, left me in the bathroom, and told me that she and my father were going to leave me there to die - I was alone for hours) and why I’m going to see her to speak to her before she has emergency heart surgery, then you can fucking leave too.

—

So anyway, here I am, at the airport… with my boots not zipped up, contemplating whether to take my klonopin (but I don’t want to lose my intensity and alertness), not giving a fuck, on my way to see my mom… who I will always love even if she abused me. I can have boundaries with her and not speak to her for my own self-preservation… but I can go see her before she has surgery all the same.

Happy Valentine’s Day - pray for my mom’s heart. Thank you.

#mom #happy valentine's day

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wisherbysharlight · 4 years

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I Wanna Get It, I Didn't Get It, Til Now

Word Count: 4084

Pairing: Analogical

The second in a series of different pairings being capital O Oblivious because that’s a trope I will never ever get tired of.

Virgil sits at the same library table every single day, alone, until one day, Logan needs a seat.

They are both kind of idiots.

Warnings: none that I can think of

AO3 Link

Virgil loved his library table. He would get there after his work study shift in the registrar’s office, around 7pm on weekdays and 1pm on weekends, and the section on the second floor would be mostly clear. Second floor was quiet but not silent, so it didn’t feel oppressive, and he didn’t feel insecure about whether his headphones were too loud or not. His favorite table was just to the left of the water fountain, had an outlet built into it, and the chairs were adjustable enough that he could lean back and press his knees against the side of the table while he typed. He loved his table so much that he’d come even if he didn’t have homework to do, just to scroll through endless Tumblr pages or work on his personal writing. He’d had his table for 3 months with no problem at all, which was why he was baffled when someone came up to him while he was reading and stood expectantly next to the table, overly full backpack hanging off his shoulder.

He recognized the other man immediately, he was another library regular who usually sat two tables away, always messing with his hair and adjusting his tie pushing his glasses up his nose and drawing Virgil’s eye with movement. He took his headphones down and put them around his neck, though he could still faintly hear his music, “Hi? Can I help you?”

“The outlet is broken on my table, and I was wondering if I could join you and utilize the other half of yours?” mystery-man asked, gesturing to where Virgil was only using two of the four outlets.

“Oh sure, of course, go ahead. Sorry about your table,” Virgil offered, brandishing his hand vaguely at the chair across from him.

“You have nothing to apologize for, of course. I appreciate your amenity. I submitted a work order request, hopefully it will be repaired soon,” the other man took the seat and set his things down before extending a hand across the table, “Logan Perry. I believe I’ve seen you here frequently so this is at least a good opportunity to get acquainted.”

Virgil blinked a bit, trying to process, then hurriedly pulled his hand out of the makeshift paw he’d made out of his sweatshirt sleeve and shook Logan’s hand so he wouldn’t think that Virgil didn’t want to, “Um. Yeah. I’ve seen you around too, I think. Virgil Storme. Nice to meet you.”

Logan tipped his head to the side curiously when Virgil leaned over, as though he was listening hard, then adjusted his glasses, “Hmm. Interesting melody. I appreciate the solid bass rhythm. Who is the artist, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“The... Artist? Oh, you mean the band I’m listening to?” he picked his headphones up but only put one ear on, “It’s Arctic Monkeys. They’re like, known, for solid bass lines, which is probably what you could hear.”

Logan hummed like he was intrigued, then began pulling books out of his bag and… wow. That was a lot of books, each one thicker than the last. Chemistry I, Physics II, Theory of Numbers, Discrete Mathematics… Virgil had a headache just looking at the titles, “Uh… Wow. That’s some collection you’ve got there. What year are you?”

“I am a first semester sophomore. I struggled choosing a major, so I opted to dual major in Math and Physics and minor in Philosophy and Conservation Studies. Also a minor in Astronomy, but that came with no extra courseload, just strategic choices in electives. I enjoy learning quite a bit, so I opt to stay during break semesters, and I am on track to graduate on schedule with no more than 18 credits a semester,” Logan rattled off, like he’d gone through the spiel before and was expecting certain questions and wanted to head them off, “And yes, before you ask, I do take breaks, I am not a hermit with no friends, and as far as I know I am not a robot.”

Virgil blinked dazedly again, trying to absorb the bucketful of information being thrown at him, “Cool. Sounds like you’ve got it under control then. I’m dual-major too, but creative writing and interactive media design have a bunch of overlap.”

Logan nodded, pulling out what must have been the notebook he was looking for with a triumphant noise, “You want to be a game designer then? Very lucrative career to choose, especially with the current market for such employs.”

“I wanna write books, actually, but like you said, markets good for game writers and I wanna have a fall back in case everything sucks, ya know?” Virgil admitted. He’d been told his stories were good, sure, but there was always a chance it would all go to shit, and the only way to account for that was to put 110% in and have a backup plan for his backup plan’s backup plan.

Logan gave him an indecipherable look that passed in a moment before he went back to his neutral expression, “Understandable, I suppose. If you would ever like a second opinion on a piece, please allow me to offer my aid. I may not be as fluent in creative ventures, but I am a fan of such works, and my roommate often uses me as a sounding board for his own ideas.”

Virgil tried not to let his surprise show, he didn’t want to offend his new… desk-mate? Acquaintance? Study partner? Whatever Logan was to him now. “Sure, uh, that’d be great. I don’t know if I can offer the same, since, ya know, science is really not my strong suit, but I can try?”

Logan pushed his hand through his hair and pulled a hairtie off his wrist to pull it up into a slightly messy bun that kept his hair out of his eyes. Virgil noticed it actually looked more red than brown as the light hit it, and was so distracted he almost didn’t notice Logan offer a genuine smile, green eyes sparkling and catching Virgil off guard yet again with just how attractive he actually was, and flipped his laptop open, “That would be much appreciated Virgil. Thank you.”

They worked together in silence for the next hour and a half, then both headed back to their dorms. Virgil felt even more productive with just Logan’s presence and aura of concentration, and he found himself hoping the work order took a while to be completed.

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The next day, Virgil arrived at his table to find Logan already there, two coffee cups in front of him, studying a tome of a textbook raptly. Still, he looked up when Virgil took his seat across from him and pushed one of the coffee cups his way, “I made myself a tea downstairs and figured I’d make a second in case you wanted one. It’s a vanilla flavored English black tea, not the garbage they serve in the dining halls.”

Virgil grabbed the cup greedily, “Oh shit this is perfect, I had an 8am and desperately needed caffeine.” He took an experimental sip and groaned a bit as it hit his tongue, closing his eyes as the warmth passed through him like a calming fire, “Thank you, Logan, it’s delicious.” He thought he heard a choking sound, but when he looked up, Logan was looking back down at his notebook. He thought he saw a slight flush to his face, “Hey, you alright?”

“Oh yes, I’m fine. I just needed to clear my throat,” Logan insisted, though he did not look up from his book and his cheeks got even brighter. Virgil supposed he was probably a little embarrassed since he was normally so poised and put together.

“Ok, if you’re sure!” He opened his laptop and checked his to-do list, and was thrilled to realize he didn’t have anything urgent in terms of schoolwork. He opened his novel document instead, and immediately remembered why he’d left off where he did as the frustration resurfaced. Well, he thought, now was as good a time as ever to see if Logan meant it when he said he was willing to help. “Hey, Lo, could you help me find a word for what I’m trying to say here?”

Logan finally looked up from his book, sticking a bookmark in and closing it before adjusting his glasses and giving Virgil his full attention, “Absolutely, I could do with a break from formulae. Go ahead.”

Virgil felt a little off balance with the full weight of Logan’s stare, and his brain suddenly chose this moment to remind him that he was very, very gay. He cleared his throat and looked back down at his laptop so he wouldn’t be distracted, “Oh. Um. Thanks. So this guy is looking at his friend who he hadn’t really noticed in a romantic sense before, but i need a word for ‘‘momentary gay panic at how pretty he is’ without saying it like that. Like more poetic? Or just less casual.”

Logan cleared his throat, face flushing again, and Virgil had a moment of alarm when he realized he didn’t even know if Logan was ok with LGBT stuff, and oh god, what if he was a homophobe and yelled at him or he just made him super uncomfortable or - “While romantic language is typically much more my roommate’s forte, I can certainly, er, relate, to the situation you are describing, and attempt to describe it as Roman would.”

Virgil let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding, relaxing once he realized the source of Logan’s hesitation was not derived from intolerance but instead from hitting a little too close to home. Then, in a moment of emotional whiplash, his breath caught again as he realized it hit a little too close to home and that meant Logan was likely attracted to men and that was nerve-wracking in an entirely different way. He forced himself to relax, knowing that Logan was likely waiting for an answer, and stammered out, “Y-Yeah, that would be good. Anything would help.”

“I believe a good way to phrase it would be ‘Suddenly caught unaware by the realization that he may be attracted to this man’. You could also describe side effects of the feeling itself, such as flushed skin or quickened heartbeat or what I believe my friend Patton calls butterflies?, rather than spelling it out explicitly.”

Virgil couldn’t hold back a grin as the inspiration hit him, “Oh! Duh! Show don’t tell would work perfect here, thank you Logan you rock!”

He didn’t miss the way Logan looked momentarily shell-shocked and made a mental note to be sure to give him more compliments in the future, if he was that maladjusted to them.

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Virgil hissed as his pencil broke again, clicking the end to get more lead a bit more aggressively than he probably needed to. Calculus was the devil, he’d decided. He was in hell and series and sequences were his instrument of torture.

Logan cleared his throat and Virgil’s head shot up in surprise. When had Logan gotten there? Oh good, tea, that was always welcome. He grabbed the cup Logan extended towards him and started chugging before Logan could even give him the usual background on what kind it was like he had every day for the past month. The other table was definitely fixed by now, but the two of them had gotten so used to the company that they’d just kept sitting together. “Virgil, are you… alright?” Logan asked tentatively, and Virgil looked up again, guilty and a bit crazy eyed.

“Fuck that was so rude. Yes. Yes, I’m fine, sorry, thanks for the tea Lo, I’m just stressed about this godforsaken calc II exam I have Monday. I don’t understand any of this stuff,” he gestured to the packets and notebook and textbook spread out on the table.

“That’s quite alright, I’m familiar with the stress of midterms. Though I may be able to help alleviate some of yours? I am a junior TA for Calc II, I could potentially provide assistance,” Logan offered.

Virgil let out a breath of relief, twisting one of his rings in an attempt to quell some of his nervous energy, “Oh that would be incredible. My Grad TA’s office hours are during when I have work, and he’s kinda a dick anyway.”

Logan exhaled heavily like he was trying not to laugh. “Chad, I assume?” he asked and Virgil nodded, “Well I can definitely be more helpful than that glorified orangutan.” It was Virgil’s turn to be startled into laughing, “Here, let me see what you’re working on....”

An hour and a half later, Logan was watching him work carefully and when he tentatively circled his final answer he gave him an encouraging nod and a smile, “You’ve got it now. See, it’s all about the rules and the patterns.”

“Oh Logan I could kiss you,” Virgil enthused, still looking in amazement at his own work, “You just saved my entire life, thank you.”

Logan cleared his throat and turned away, though when Virgil looked up he could see that the tips of his ears were red. Ugh, you’d think after a month he’d be used to being complimented by now. “Well, if that was all, I, er, I need to work on some of my own assignments.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course, I can do more practice myself,” Virgil told him, waving him away with a smile, “You’ve absolutely helped enough, I’ll get you that jam you like so much or something. I owe you so much.”

Logan mumbled something in return but when Virgil asked him to repeat it he stammered, “I’ll be right back!” and ran off to the bathroom. Virgil shrugged and went back to puzzling through the rest of his study guide.

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“-so, theoretically, there could in fact be another planet in this solar system, but it would need to be far enough away or small enough to not affect the gravitational pull of Pluto’s moons in a significant way or just in a way which is balanced by another gravitational pull which forced our equations to not identify any irregularity.”

“Well shit,” Virgil breathed, “So, theoretically, how possible are aliens?”

“Damn close to guaranteed,” Logan told him with a grin, “Intelligent life, that’s another story, but I still believe they are highly likely-”

Virgil set his head in his hands, pushing his work to the side so he could simply listen.

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“I’m going to head down to the cafeteria to make another cup of tea, would you like to join me?”

“Sure thing, Lo, I desperately need to not look at this anymore.” Virgil felt a teeny bit of pride when Logan choked on nothing in what Virgil assumed was shock as he stood up to stretch and revealed his outfit, his heels giving him the extra three inches he needed to be what Remy called scary tall, which was actually enough to effectively tower over Logan, and the confidence to leave his sweatshirt unzipped over a mesh crop top and ripped jeans that he knew looked good, as he had been assured so around 100 times before he agreed to go to the library in it in the first place, “Sorry, forgot you got here after me, my friend’s playing a show tonight after this and I told him I’d hang with his boyfriend and make sure no one gets obnoxious. So I got a little dressed up, cuz I didn’t wanna have to go back to my apartment in between. Besides, when I’m this tall no one fucks with me in general, not just in the mosh pit.”

“That is… certainly an outfit,” Logan wheezed, then took a sip of his water in an attempt to wash it down.

“You ok L? You’re all red, I don’t need you dying on me,” Virgil asked, concerned his friend was actually drowning on his own water bottle.

Logan waved him off, gulping water down like he’d been stuck in the desert for days. “Yes, yes, just a little, erm, parched. Got a bit too focused and forgot to drink and you startled me.”

“Whatever you say, Professor,” Virgil teased, stretching his arms up to try to roll his shoulders, “Just don’t get too enthusiastic there. Last thing we need is you to choke to death cuz you were thirsty.”

Logan seemed to make a concentrated effort not to choke again, adjusting his tie and turning on his heel quickly to head down to the cafe, and Virgil considered it a win.

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There was someone else at their table. The new man was broad shouldered, with dirty blonde hair that had just a bit of a beachy wave to it, skin tanned perfectly like he’d never spent a day out of the sun. How was that even possible? They went to school in Massachusetts and it was January. He was gesturing wildly while he spoke and Logan was doing that half-laugh he did when he thought something was funny but didn’t want to admit it and Virgil felt… something… pang deep in his stomach. Of course, Logan was ridiculously hot, Virgil had no chance at all, even if he’d been starting to feel like there was something between them. He definitely didn’t have a chance if Logan wanted someone that looked like that. He couldn’t help but be a little vindictive though as he plastered a smile onto his face and headed over, setting his bag down with a resounding thump, “Wow, this quiet corner just keeps getting more crowded, huh?”

Logan startled a bit, and Virgil could have been imagining it but he thought he saw a flash of hurt at Virgil’s tone, “I-I suppose. This is Roman, he needed some assistance with his screenplay and I suggested he come here, but we can go back to our apartment if it will be too much of a nuisance for you.”

Virgil would have eaten his own shoe to take back his original words, but he couldn’t, so he covered up as best he could, “R-Roman. Your roommate. Of course. Hi, I’m Virgil, you can definitely stay. Sorry, just had a long day at work, I’m a little - er- cranky, or whatever.”

Roman gave him a smirk that was just a tad too knowing for Virgil’s taste, “Don’t worry, Mr. Prince of Darkness. I’ll be out of your hair soon and you two can get back to doing whatever the hell it is you do every day. Just need the human thesaurus here to help me out a bit, and it’s not like he’s ever home anymore with how often he hangs around here for your little study-”

“Roman,” Logan hissed quickly, and Virgil saw Roman shoot him an unimpressed look.

“Study sessions.” Roman finished, “Now come on Pocket Protector, what’s another word for pining. I’ve already used it twice, and longing and yearning are both not quite a right fit.” Virgil had a momentary thought that Roman should be very glad looks couldn’t kill, with how Logan was glaring him down. “Nothing? How about some flowery language for black hair or blue eyes, hmm? Think you can help me there?”

“Roman Michaels.” Logan bit out, and Roman gave him a bright, shit-eating grin.

“No? How about helping me with a sweatshirt sharing scene, how about that? I mean, it’s a cliche, sure, but I’m sure we can put a spin on it, like make it clearly well used and important...”

“I will dye your hair fluorescent orange in your sleep Roman, I swear,” Logan seethed, and Virgil was stock still, eyes wide as they darted between the two roommates.

”Maybe some music recommendations then? Those are slightly less cliche…”

“Destroy your conditioner and hide your blow dryer, add cheap hair gel to all your shampoo,” Logan continued, attempting to speak over him.

“I know you’ll suggest a height difference, I believe I can fit that in,” Roman’s voice was rising too, and the new occupants of Logan’s old table were firing dirty looks at them.

“Guys?” Virgil asked quietly and both of the roommates stopped immediately, turning to him with fire in their eyes, “Um. I guess this is like... a touchy subject? But people are staring cuz you guys are sorta… loud.”

Roman and Logan both flushed brightly, turning to give awkward waves to the other table while Virgil tried to comprehend what had just happened, “So like… Logan you’re pretty passionate about Roman’s screenplay, huh?”

Roman groaned dramatically and shoved his laptop in his bag, standing abruptly. “I can’t believe there’s two people as oblivious as you,” he muttered like a curse, then almost literally flounced off with a clearly meaningful look shot at Logan that Virgil couldn’t quite figure out but made Logan flush brighter.

It was silent for a couple minutes, just the taptaptap of Virgil’s pen against his notebook sounding out through the space between them, before Virgil couldn’t take it and spoke up, “You wanna talk about why that was a thing for you or nah?”

“Y-You don’t know? Seriously?” Logan looked incredulous, then laughed a little to himself, “Virgil. He was teasing me.”

“Teasing you? About what?” Virgil asked, trying to think through what it could possibly be, “You that against, like, cheesy romcom cliches?”

Logan shook his head, still looking like Virgil had amazed him in some way, “Virgil. Please. Think about it. Black hair, blue eyes, height difference, well-worn sweatshirts and music recommendations. You don’t have any idea what he could possibly be mocking me for?”

Virgil’s brow creased in thought, and suddenly it hit him and he audibly gasped, making Logan swallow nervously, and the word pining soared to the front of his mind, “Y-You. You mean?”

“I am… Interested in you Virgil. Romantically. I have been since far before I ever sat at your table, the broken outlet just provided a good excuse for me to finally attempt to talk to you. Roman was… blunt but he had informed me that he was, and I quote, ‘Coming to see what the fuss was about’ after I got, I admit, a bit too in depth in lamenting my inability to ask you out on a date. I had no idea he would be so infuriatingly obtuse about it, I hope he did not make you uncomfortable. Obviously, you do not share the sentiment-”

“Whoa whoa. Hold on there. Who said I didn’t?” Virgil cut in quickly before Logan could keep babbling, recognizing social anxiety when he saw it, “Cuz I sure didn’t.”

“...I’m sorry?”

“You should be. Can’t go assuming stuff about people, L. Now why don’t you ask me, straightforward, if I am interested. Because I can guarantee you will like the answer.”

Logan cleared his throat, then swallowed thickly, his cheeks lightly pink, “Well then, Virgil, I like you very much and would like to know if you would like to accompany me to dinner this Friday night? As a date?”

“I’ll do you one better, since I also very much like you back, and I don’t think my anxiety could take waiting that long. Let’s go get some food right now. I’m starving and I would very much like to kiss you and I want to get at least one date in before I totally ruin your opinion of me and do that right here in this library, and Friday can be our second date, deal?” Virgil offered, extending his hand across the table to Logan.

Logan grasped his hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles with a heady glance up through his glasses, “V, I think you will find that there is not much that you could do which I would not fully endorse at this moment. But I absolutely accept this proposal. Let’s go.”

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5 years later, almost exactly to the day, Roman is insufferable during his best man speech about the fact that he is the reason they even got together in the first place, and insists that if left to their own devices they would still be meeting at 7pm on weeknights and 1pm on weekends at a table in the corner of the library with the good chairs and never, ever confessing their love. Logan and Virgil are too busy clinging to each others’ hands and staring into each others’ eyes to dispute it at all.

#analogical #logan sanders #virgil sanders #my writing #sanders sides fic

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himbohargreeves · 4 years

Text

The link between diet and autism: a critical analysis of the recent Earth Locker episode and a chance for River to relive her lab report title writing days

Link to the original video

So as I already mentioned I’ve seen a few people talking about the recent episode of the Earth Locker (a podcast by Robert Sheehan, Tom Hopper, and Bryon Knight) where they talk with Tom and his wife Laura about their experiences raising their autistic son. I watched the whole episode and while there were a lot of good points made, there was also some misinformation, statements that were poorly explained and could be misinterpreted, and a couple of pretty harmful ideas put across which I’m gonna go into below.

Disclaimer one: I’m gonna be saying a lot of stuff that I’m not going to be posting sources for. This is because everything I’m saying comes from my experiences as an autistic person, my experiences working as a support worker for adults with autism where I am currently a key worker for two autistic individuals, my work related training on autism, mental health, and diet & nutrition, and my knowledge from my psychology degree in which I also spent a lot of time studying biology and physiology. This is all just stuff that I know, and at some point I might try to add some sources but I’m writing this fresh off watching and making notes on this video so my energy is already running a little low and I’d rather focus on getting my points across instead of having to take time to source every piece of information.

Disclaimer two: The purpose of this post isn’t to attack or defend any of the people involved in the podcast. This is also in no way a criticism of Tom and Laura’s parenting. This is purely a criticism of the discussion that took place on the podcast, not on any of the choices they’ve made for their son.

Disclaimer three: I’m going to be using the phrase “challenging behaviour” a lot while I’m explaining things as this is the term used in most modern research and is what we use at work. This basically describes any behaviour that causes harm to the individual or to other people around them, or behaviour that is detrimental to the individual’s wellbeing.

So the main thing I want to go into with this is the misinformation and misinterpretation of information that was central to the discussion in this podcast, and that was around the connection between diet and autism. Most of the things Tom and Laura said about the effects of diet weren’t incorrect, but it wasn’t explained accurately and missed out on some key points so let’s go:

In terms of whether diet can “cause” autism: no it can’t. There’s absolutely no evidence to suggest it does. It also can’t “worsen” autism because autism isn’t something that can get “worse” or “better”. A person with autism can develop and learn new skills and they can also regress (and diet can influence this, which I’ll go into further on), but an autistic person at a lower stage of development does not have “worse” autism than a person at a higher stage of development.

Poor diet can have an impact on autistic people in the same way as with neurotypical people. If we eat junk, we tend to feel like junk as a result, and when we feel like junk it can be harder to concentrate and carry out our usual day to day tasks. However, autistic people are also significantly more likely to suffer from digestive problems and food intolerances, and so for a lot of autistic people (or parents of autistic children) diet may be something that requires close attention. So saying that an autistic individual’s challenging behaviour could be a result of their diet isn’t necessarily untrue, but it does massively oversimplify the issue. The challenging behaviour is more likely a response to pain or discomfort, (as well as frustration if they are unable to communicate this), which is caused by a diet unsuitable for this specific individual, which is caused by an intolerance or digestive problem, which they were at greater risk of developing due to their autism. It’s worth mentioning that medical professionals still don’t know why this comorbidity exists.

So, referring back to Tom and Laura’s experience with their son, they were explaining that their son’s challenging behaviour spiked while he was on a high-sugar diet. Laura also added that he had been suffering from increasingly frequent infections in his ears and throat while eating these foods, which makes sense because high blood sugar levels can weaken the immune system and make us more susceptible to infections. They then explained that these infections stopped following a tonsillectomy and a change to a sugar-free diet, which then also lead to a complete reduction in their son’s challenging behaviours. Again, implying that the reduction in behaviours is a result of cutting out the sugar is oversimplifying. It’s most likely that their son’s challenging behaviours were a response to the pain the infections were causing, which may or may not have been linked to his sugar intake. Either way, autistic people are all individuals and so while a reduction in sugar intake has benefited their son, by no means does that mean that all autistic people should be following a low-sugar diet or that this would be beneficial for them.

This isn’t entirely on topic but there are two other things I want to address in terms of what Tom and Laura said while talking about their son, the first being when talking about their initial approach to their children's’ diet before they were aware that their son was autistic. Laura essentially said that she wanted their children to be able to try different foods and that the focus would be on education about health and diet rather than cutting “unhealthy” foods out of their diets completely, which I thought was a great way to approach things. However she then added that, had they known about their son’s autism at the time, they may have approached things differently, which I was confused about. I think (and hope) she was just trying to say that if they had known upfront that sugar particularly seemed to be detrimental to their son, they would have reduced that straight away rather than having to use a process of trial and error which makes sense, but just the way it was phrased set off alarm bells because it sounded like she was implying that they would have controlled his diet more strictly if they had known he was autistic. Hopefully this isn’t the case because autistic people don’t need to have their choices limited if there is no detriment to their health or wellbeing.

Another thing I was confused about, and I’m not sure if this was supposed to be more of a weird analogy rather than factual information, was when Tom started talking about “sensory glands” when talking about their son’s hypersensitivity to sounds. I think his exact words were something along the line of saying that the high sugar levels were causing his “sensory glands” to “swell” which was heightening his sensitivity. And like... unless I missed something there is no such thing as a sensory gland and they certainly don’t swell up when we’re over stimulated or when we have a lot of sugar. Sugar triggers high dopamine responses in our brains which then leads to cravings and can cause spikes and crashes in mood, and it can also cause inflammation, all of which can cause discomfort and in turn could lead to an increase in sensitivity, but as far as I know sugar doesn’t have a direct effect on our senses.

Now on to the elephant in the room and the two big, glaring no-no's in this podcast, both of which were said by Tom (these are not direct quotes because I didn’t get a chance to jot them down in time so I’m paraphrasing slightly):

“we cannot ignore the correlation between rising autism rates and the increase in fast food consumption” (spoiler alert: yes we can)

“I really want to get to the cause of autism and see if there’s something that can be done to prevent it”

So, first of all, autism isn’t something that needs to be prevented. Autistic people are not a detriment to society. We don’t have an illness, we just experience the world differently and, in some cases, require additional support to live our lives as fully as possible. Obviously it can’t be ruled out that fast food, or anything else, has a part to play in rising rates, but there is absolutely no evidence to suggest that it does and correlation absolutely does not equal causation. Gay representation in the media has also been steadily rising with rates of autism diagnosis. Does this mean that seeing gay people on TV makes people autistic? No. As Laura briefly mentioned, it is far more likely that the rising rates are actually due to an increase in understanding about autism and the accessibility of diagnosis, especially when you consider how many people are still slipping under the radar even with all the knowledge we have today.

I appreciate that most of this podcast is just a conversation between friends about various topics, but when the goal of this podcast is to “raise awareness”, and with the shared platform the people involved have, casual statements like these are incredibly dangerous. With the general implication that if everyone lived a healthy, clean, and organic lifestyle, we could reduce the number of autistic people in our society, this not only puts the “blame” on parents of autistic people, and on the individuals themselves, but is also dipping into eugenics territory. And while I don’t think the intentions behind either statement were malicious, they were incredibly ignorant, and the fact that they went completely unchallenged was concerning and made me pretty uncomfortable.

There were still a lot of positives in the podcast. I’m really glad Laura was also involved because she definitely came across as being the most educated on the subject of the four of them and did make a point of bringing up issues with diagnosis (particularly among girls with autism), her and Tom’s privilege in terms of being able to work with doctor’s to find out as much as possible about their son’s dietary needs and to then provide him with a tailored diet, and also addressing the issues with “high functioning vs low functioning” when Rob asked about the “severity” of their son’s autism. However there was still an undeniable amount of inaccurate or poorly presented information, as well as some things that were just plain incorrect and offensive. I appreciate that a lot of this was coming from personal experience rather than being generalised information, but I think this could have been communicated a lot more clearly and effectively considering the intention was to spread awareness, and the episode would have massively benefitted from the input of an autistic adult. Rob specifically had a lot of questions about autism in general and I think they would have been much better answered by somebody with autism, rather than a parent giving an outside perspective of their child’s experiences. It’s always a little uncomfortable to watch four neurotypical people discuss autism, regardless of how positive their intentions are, and I don’t think it would have been a great challenge for them to find an autistic person who would have been willing to talk about the topic with them.

#YES it took me two hours to write this NO I won't elaborate #tom hopper #robert sheehan #the earth locker

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kpopchangedme · 4 years

Text

Sun-drenched [M] - Youngjae

Every time you opened your mouth something outrageous came out but unfortunately, your new dorky step-brother seemed to be immune. You couldn’t tell if Youngjae was actually that clueless or if your reputation preceded you.

Protagonists: Choi Youngjae & You

Word Count: 4.6k

Genre: NSFW - Cringe Fest - Smut - slight exhibitionism - f*ckgirl - Stepbrother!au || [One Shot]

[The Pleasure Chest: A Cringe Fest]

GOT7 | M.list

Your mother was doing that thing with her hair again, slightly shaking her head every time her new beau spoke. Every single bob invariably made her blonde curls spring. How disgusting. You had asked to be bleached once, a few years ago, and she had the audacity to claim it would look cheap on you. So unfair.

She hadn't met her fourth husband for more than 6 months before she did just that. She thought it made her look younger, but Miami-midlife-crisis was more like it. It wasn't pretty wheat blonde, it was white yellow-ish banana buttercream. On-sale daffodil... Much like the sad ones Youngnam had gotten her from the convenience store yesterday. They were now awaiting certain death in a crystal vase husband-number-two had gotten her for God knows what occasion.

You rolled your eyes when your latest stepfather started going over safety rules again. At your dad's there was never a need for them and if you correctly remembered the last time you had lived with your mom... You smiled, imagining how Dr. Top Surgeon would react if he found out his perfect church-going wife used to pop pills like candy and store a very impressive bong in the third drawer of her kitchen.

That would make for a fun scene.

The goodbyes seemed to stretch half an eternity in the living room, after which you got dragged to the hall where the speech began all over again. Your mom gave you a short hug, more of a shoulder squeeze, then she pulled back and frowned with intent as much as her botox allowed. You shrugged off her silent don't-screw-this-up warning, already waving goodbye to her husband. Shoo shoo, you thought, sending the adults off to a far far away location.

As soon as the door shut behind, you squealed in excitement.

Summer had officially begun!

Moving half across the country to fake “house sit” their new place while they honeymooned in Boca wasn't exactly what you had scheduled for your vacations. But when Youngnam accidentally let the words infinity pool and cars – as in with an S – slip out during the weekly video call, not even the dread on your mother’s face could’ve deterred you from flying over.

As it turns out, Dr. Choi was loaded.

Something you probably would’ve figured out earlier if you’d bothered showing up for the ceremony at all. Unfortunately, the wedding hadn't matched your Spring Break’ schedule and you decided having been present to the many previous ceremonies should be considered enough daughterly care for a lifetime.

As you bent to the freezer for a celebratory parent-free popsicle, you felt the eyes of that gift-that-came-with-the-house glued to your ass. He briefly glanced down at the flash of your stomach’s skin when you jumped to sit on the counter.

Surprisingly enough, your mother’s many rings had never once come with a step-brother before...

Usually, she went for the bachelor or womanizer types and those had the decency to never have baggage. Dr. Choi was a break of pattern and the news came with complete horror on your part.

For as long as you could, you had made a duty of never meeting his son, pretended he didn't even exist. So when the bubbly blended trio came to pick you up at the airport yesterday, you had been shocked.

They had said soloist of the local Choir and you’d heard; loser. Piano lessons? Dork. All-boys school graduate? Stuck-up. Computer Science Major? Nerd alert.

No one had talked about… That.

As a matter of fact, Choi Youngjae himself had not spoken much either, but he was certainly looking...

And there were few things you enjoyed more than having a man's undivided attention.

Standing in the middle of the kitchen in all his glory, your new step-brother was staring, as usual, watching intently as you sucked your popsicle. You made sure to make a show of it.

“So… What about lunch?” He finally asked even though it was barely 9. Just to rattle him you hummed on the sugary treat as a reply. Mission accomplished. “S-Should I order pizza?”

“Don't worry, I’m easy...” Youngjae’s gaze fluttered down to your belly ring again. Boy, if he liked that one he had a few things coming. “I’ll eat anything if it's on you.”

Gaze widening, he pretended to look at something over in the living room and walked away.

Wait no, the poor guy literally bolted out of the kitchen to escape to safety. So fast one could wonder if this whole first exchange was the fruit of your devious imagination.

Oh no, you had just traumatized your babyish step-bro.

It made sense, you were one scary bitch.

All-boys school graduate? Virgin, you mentally took note.

Or perhaps your mom had said something about you devouring the souls of poor innocent men. They said the apple never fell far from the tree. Grinning like a shark, you discarded the melting popsicle in the trash.

This promised to be one Hell of a summer break.

______________________

“It’s been more than 10 minutes...” Chimlin flipped the phone over to yell unintelligibly at her demonic baby twin sisters. Despite the protection, you winced. “No DMs.”

“Then he hasn’t seen it yet.” Artlessly reporting for BFF’ duty was a lot more fun face to face, but for a few months, video calls would have to do. “Trust me.”

“I don't know,” she whined, going on all over again about how her boyfriend hadn’t picked up the phone since their nightly routine fight of yesterday.

Sometimes you wondered if you’d even follow her back on Insta if you met this current sad version of herself. Kinda hard to tell, but she used to be the coolest baddest chick on campus. Then she was partnered with that Italian exchange student for a Statistic class, disgustingly dripping pheromones, cash and European pizzazz. Yes, Statistics. The most boring course ever, let's be real. But Chimlin was a genius, the deadly hot kind. No matter how shit-faced she was, that girl could track the B-52s and Gin Tonics’ calorie count of each respective member of your girl squad, not that she'd ever had to care herself.

Then Massimo came. At first, he was just a casual hook-up, but he managed to worm his way into her brain and grew there like a tumour. By the end of last semester, they were full-on steady-going together like in cringy 90s rom-coms. He was always stuck to her like a parasite.

Gone was your favourite 4 feet 11 party animal.

“Do you have any idea how many bitches Mas could meet this summer?”

You snorted, “Not even close to the number of dicks you could have in Pattaya if you wanted to.”

“Phatthaya,” she corrected automatically with a dramatic eye-roll. “That’s the thing, I don't want to. I only want one dick and he's miles away.” She waved her hand to brush it off right as your mouth opened in protest.

Her Italian barnacle did want to remain with her on campus for summer, but Chimlin thought she had better plans that involved a lot more beaches and fruity drinks. She simply couldn't live with her own poor life choices now and you were just about to tell her so when a flash of skin on the screen distracted you.

“What else have you been hiding?” You sing-sang, impressed by the view.

She glanced over her shoulder, “That's my uncle. Like... He’s literally my mom’s lil’ brother. Gross.”

“I know what an uncle is and that's a very hot one if I’ve ever seen one. You can look.”

“We’re not all depraved sluts like you.” She only half-teased with a sharp laugh. “How's the cute new brother doing, by the way?”

“No idea.” You flipped the camera and zoomed on Youngjae's bedroom window like to prove a point. The curtains were drawn, concealing anything worth mentioning from view. You were lounging by the pool on one of those fancy long chairs, much as you had been for the past week. Margarita, sunscreen, repeat. If this boring routine went on, you’d be so tanned by the end of summer no one on campus would recognize you. Sometimes you did think Youngjae's curtains were wobbling, maybe he was spying on you but it could all be your imagination. “Typical. He's been in hiding from me since day one.”

“I don't blame him.”

“Don't blame me for wanting him either. He's a good boy in a bad boy’s body.”

“I don't even know what that means...”

“No one does. But he's not cute, he's hot. I need him all over me and I've been telling him so, but he's strangely elusive. I think he hits the gym above the grocery store on the corner, I should join.”

“Stalker.”

“I don’t stalk, I live in his house.”

“No wonder the poor guy doesn't go out of that room, I bet he picked up on all your slutty energy.” In the rectangle screen, Chimlin switched to tan the other side and you did the same, laying on your back.

“Ha ha. He'd have to be moronic not to,” you were holding the phone above, casting a partial shadow on your face.

“Your legend precedes you. He's scared you're gonna trap and fuck him.”

“What else am I supposed to do when you've abandoned me and flew to the other side of the world? You know I need a summer project.”

“And of course, it had to be a guy.”

You were so glad she stopped whining about Mas for a minute that you let that one slide. “Well, I am not a needlepoint kind-of-girl.”

“Right, hey maybe it isn’t the incest that’s creeping your brother out. Maybe he's gay.”

Someone snorted out loud at that – not you – and you sat up in alarm.

Two guys were standing by the edge of the pool.

“No, he's not,” said the one on the left, a smile in his voice. They were directly in your sun, so you had trouble making out their features. One silhouette was slightly slumped, the other tall and all limbs. You suddenly felt very exposed, dropping Chimlin to fasten your bikini top in a hurry. This show wasn't for strangers to enjoy.

“Who are you?” The second man asked, clearly lost.

“She's it,” the other echoed.

“Who are you? I live here.”

“We're your brother's social life,” the frisky one smiled largely, kind of in a dangerous way that you immediately recognized for your own. Friends, they were Youngjae's friends and they very clearly overheard your embarrassing banter with Chimlin.

Flushing – a rare occurrence – you brought a hand to shield your eyes from the sun while you corrected; “Step-br–”

A sharp voice cut in, “She's not my sister.”

Behind, Youngjae was standing awkwardly by the patio door, a stern look on his face. He didn't seem surprised his people were there. He didn't even glance in your direction before disappearing back as you blankly stared after him.

“Well, thank fuck,” the you-guy turned to wink, following him inside. “Good luck with your summer project! I’ll root for you!”

In a daze, you picked your phone back up. Chimlin was still there, waiting dilligently to be briefed on what just transpired. You puffed your cheeks, mentally preparing for what was to come.

______________________

Swear to God, Youngjae had not come out of that room for two days.

Two.

Fricking.

Days.

Maybe he had a fridge in there.

Maybe he only came to life after midnight like a vampire to avoid the whore squatting his dad’s house.

Whatever his annoying friends told him had certainly made a lasting impression. You just hoped he wasn't the type to go cry to parents whenever something happened. You had no intention of going back to your tiny dorm all alone and sad for the summer just because you hurt his feelings by finding him bangable. Or worse, at your father's.

What was he even thinking?

You had not done anything wrong. Pushed a bad joke a little bit too far perhaps, nothing to get all worked up about. No reason to get shunned out of your mother's life again.

Youngjae's reaction, or lack thereof, was way out of line.

It's not like you had actually done anything to him. He was such a prude. A prude that eye-fucked you all the time!

Church baby boys were the worst.

What an ass.

Three days?!

Three days of an overly empty house. The atmosphere had gotten so heavy, the air so tense you couldn't even think about anything else. There was nothing left to do. Just sit on the couch inside or by that dumb infinity pool, starring at the drawn curtains of your step-brother's bedroom. They weren't wobbling anymore.

Which was what you were actively doing this afternoon, ruminating your dark thoughts for hours. You didn't even notice you were getting dangerously warmer. When your timer went off, announcing it was sunscreen time again you nearly fell from your chair.

Doing the legs was the easiest part, your favourite to be honest. They were one hell of an asset of yours. You were massaging the thick lotion on your right calf when something at the corner of your eye caught your attention.

For a heartbeat or two, you thought you were hallucinating.

Youngjae had finally reappeared.

He was standing at the end of the pool, a knapsack thrown over his shoulders. His thumbs were hooked in the straps, hands dangling to his sides like dead weights. If he looked like a young boy at first glance, the heated look on his face was one of a man.

Frozen still, you gulped. True to form, he kept staring for a long moment before turning to the house and you thought he was about to go into hiding again – but oh no, fuck – he was actually pacing towards you.

“I’m back.” Youngjae blurted out awkwardly, mouth twisted.

Yours was opened in a mix of disbelief and shock. He was actually addressing you. “Back?” From where the corner store?

“Yes,” his eyes ghosted over your poor excuse of a bikini before anchoring themself back to safety in yours. Again, horny eyes. If you were warm earlier, now you were burning up. “I thought it'd be better if I stayed away at Bam's for a few days…”

Right? No one could actually stay between four walls so dilligently. It made sense. You were so dumb.

Apparently, your confusion was evident. “Didn’t you notice I was gone?” No, you had not. So your step-brother was so freaked out being around you that he actually moved out for a few days. Had you gotten that bad? Jesus. “Anyway, I’m back home with you now.”

Youngjae took a step closer, kindly getting in your light so you'd stop squinting at him. He looked even hotter in the bright light of day, sweat pearled between your breasts. He frowned and bit his lower lip waiting for a reaction. The things you'd do to that perfectly proper mouth.

Of course, what came out of yours at the moment was less than appropriate. He was right to be scared, you weren't safe at all.

“Wanna do me?”

Yes, you were that bad. Terrible indeed.

“Do I-I,” he gasped for air – oops, “w-what?”

“My back,” you clarified smiling like a prisoner that hadn't been fed a good meal in days, “sunscreen.” The poor man should've stayed far far away from you.

You weren’t crazy or desperate, but you couldn't resist. You had been patient and unusually upright so far. You deserved a treat. You were hungry and you knew your step-brother wanted you too, he wouldn't have felt the need to hide away otherwise. Youngjae had an interesting duality, shamelessly thirsting over you one minute and getting flustered and embarrassed the next. He must have been deeply unsettled by your open invitation because before you could flip over, he had claimed possession of the bottle.

Or maybe he just didn't need to be asked twice this time. He knew. He wanted to give in to temptation. Why would he even come back here otherwise?

Laying down, you reached to undo the bikini strings, pressing your loosely covered chest against the rough towel on the chair. You waited.

“You must really hate tan lines,” Youngjae said in your back, sounding tormented, “it seems you're never properly wearing clothes.” He sat down in slow motion like an obedient little boy as you grinned.

“Are you ever gonna put your hands on me?” You teased once more, it was like a string was tugging up your insides through that dirty mouth of yours. You wanted to keep pushing him, wanted to find out what it'd take to make him break. And just fuck you really. It was fighting the inevitable by now.

Every guy you met wanted to have you.

Usually, you didn't have to beg.

“I'm trying not to,” he admitted the obvious. “I promised I would never touch you,” Youngjae grumbled and you jerked in surprise when lotion spurted on your lower back. “Promised my father I’d treat you well.”

It made sense, a good boy would never disobey and do his dirty step-sister. If your legend preceded you, his golden son’s reputation certainly did too. Honestly, this promise made the taunting easier and even more tempting. It made for a funnier challenge and the spark in Youngjae's eyes when he looked at you hinted you could break him if you really tried.

You were about to defy his ethics again when words went back down your throat, letting way to a sharp sigh. He had suddenly fully committed to applying your sunscreen, fingers exploring your skin. You asked to be touched and he had risen to the occasion, firmly rubbing the lotion on your naked back.

Earlier you had every intention of teasing him further by enjoying this a little too much, but you weren’t sure it was entirely voluntary when the first moan escaped. If he wanted to keep it PG, he probably should’ve stopped right there, but it didn't seem to deter your step-brother. He kept going, massaging you along the way. His thumbs traced circles up your spine until one of his palms cupped your nape.

Perhaps this is what an erotic massage was supposed to feel like, heaven. Every stroke was totally appropriate, very perfect boy-ish, but still, your toes were curling. After a few minutes, Youngjae's breathing was heavy, he was enjoying this impromptu contact just as much.

You both had made yourselves obvious these past weeks; him with the eye-fucking, you with the open-truths. Clearly, the forbidden nature of your desires would make for an even more intense experience. You couldn't even imagine how it'd feel to take it further now.

“I've never had a step-brother before,” you mewled, mentally following the downwards path of his hands.

“I bet you love messing with me,” he replied, barely audible.

His pianist’s fingers were now haltingly sliding up your ribcage. He wasn't rubbing in anything anymore, just caressing all he could reach.

He was right, but you wanted more. That was the sexiest thing that happened to you in forever. Having a guy want you bad enough he had to hide away to resit, and now having his hands on you. You wanted him everywhere, all over. You didn’t care; step-brother promises or not.

Giving in to temptation, you turned around, resting on your elbow. Your untied bikini had not followed so you watched as his face fell in realization. Youngjae's mouth opened in awe, eyes glued to your bare perky breasts. At the moment, there was absolutely nothing going on in that male brain of his. He didn’t move; you helped.

As soon as you put one of his hands on your chest, he came back to life.

“Jesusfuck,” he breathed out, completely winded.

Wow.

Church baby boys were the best.

Entertained, you reached for the sunscreen, pouring lotion on yourself again. “You aren't done.”

“I…” Youngjae swallowed back his protests, cupping your boobs with both hands. He couldn't even look up anymore, enthralled by your nakedness.

No matter what their intentions were, it seemed good guys were still guys after all. If you had known he was this easy to overwhelm, you would’ve walked around topless sooner.

“The neighbours will see us...”

He didn't seem to mind that much, seeing as his thumbs were stroking your pierced nipples relentlessly. If those middle-aged housewives you only caught glimpses off looked over the edge now, they’d have a pretty impressive show.

“Let them,” sitting, you snaked a hand to his dramatic bulge. Your mouths got so close you felt his breath ghost over. Beaten by your expertise, his shorts’ button came undone first, his fly was even more compliant.

The moment of truth.

Youngjae's whole body shook when you took his cock in your palm. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing. Fuck, he was so hard and flushed for you. He pinched your erected nipples in response and you felt a familiar vivid jolt of pleasure and pain down to your toes. Not a virgin, after all, no doubt he would handle you just fine.

You pressed your mouth to his neck and sucked, right where his Adam's apple bobbed.

That's it, all for you. You were so going to eat up that good boy.

“Mmmm, I’ll tell daddy you’re treating me so fucking well...”

Of all the filthy things you had said so far, this was the one that got the strongest reaction. The wrong one. Youngjae jerked up to his feet, tugging at his shorts in panic. He swore a dozen of times, out of his mind as you stood there, frozen still.

“Sorry,” he offered at last, pitiful before running for his life to the house.

Fuck.

No.

Surely you were feverish.

Having a heatstroke.

You had imagined the whole thing.

You had not just being left out cold by a man.

This type of shit never happened to girls like you.

It took a few minutes to gather back your thoughts and when you did, you decided this wasn't even close to completion.

Without wasting a second more you stormed inside the house, almost flying upstairs to that mythical off-limits bedroom of his. You didn't bother banging, he was in such a hurry he forgot to lock behind, so the door flew open.

Like a scene straight up from a bad porno, Youngjae spun on his computer chair, a hand still wrapped around his fully erected dick. You couldn't believe your eyes.

“Are you jerking off?” He was already pulling up his shorts again to cover himself, caught red-handed, blushing as though you hadn't been doing it yourself a moment ago.

“I’m sorry, I don't think you–”

“Please don't stop on my behalf,” you waltzed in, confident, and sat on his well-made good boy's bed.

“W-What?” Youngjae blinked, even more, rattled by the sight.

He didn't leave because he didn't want you, he clearly did. He probably only left because of his father and that dumb promise he mentioned.

“Is this how you've been dealing all along?” You laid back on the comforter, smirking and remembering all those afternoons by the pool you’d thought you’d seen his curtains fall. He certainly enjoyed spying so it gave you an idea. He could try to resist you all he wanted, you'd still made him cave. “You don't want to touch me, right?” Your step-brother nodded, spellbound. “Because you're the perfect son.”

He swallowed hard, “But you keep… Saying those things, sunbathing… And to my friends...”

“Yes, you’re right... So let's start over.” You sighed in fake contrition, “I'm sorry, I've made this so hard for you. I’ll be good too from now on.”

Youngjae scoffed in disbelief, “You are sitting topless on my bed.”

“Oh,” looking down at yourself, you cupped your breasts. “I thought you liked the looking.” His cock was standing up, glorious testimony to this mess. “Don't worry, I get it. I promise I won’t let you touch me...” Throwing your head back without breaking eye contact, you moaned and lightly twisted one of your pierced nipples. “But I’ll make you watch...” Out of his mind, Youngjae did just that as you caressed your own chest for him. Somehow his eyes on you now burned even better than his hands earlier.

You were so turned on, so worked up by all the days of teasing and loneliness. Your hips started swaying on his bed, craving some fiction and release.

“You're crazy,” his voice was laboured but he had yet to escape again. This time you wouldn't have followed.

“I-I'm so wet, Youngjae...” Giving in, your right hand fell to your sex, rubbing your last piece of clothing. He was captivated.

“Fuck it,” he immediately breathed out in surrender, hand wrapping around his dick. That was it, you finally had him. He was all in, playing along with your new favourite family game.

No touching, just innovative teamwork.

You had to establish ground rules, but pushing them was what fun was all about.

“I want you so bad...” You mewled, slipping your middle finger inside your bikini bottom.

Stroking himself, Youngjae groaned, “So you’ve been saying baby, but now you have to show me.”

Oh shit. You were going to come so fast if the golden son had other surprises like that. In a hurry, you wormed out of your panties before he could change his mind once more. In front of his fully clothed self, you laid back, touching your damp slit while he observed intently. The whole experience was surreal, your mind was buzzing, overwhelmed by the wrongness of it all.

It felt so amazing though.

Touching yourself for your step-brother was the sexiest thing you’d ever experienced, and you were very accomplished. You would’ve done anything he'd asked of you, and Youngjae knew that but he abided by his dumb rules. Standing up he came closer, boxer messily shoved down from his earlier haste, one hand was in his hair, the other working hard. You kept rubbing your clit repeatedly letting him see, hastening the pace until you were numb all over, panting.

“Youngj-jae, I-I–”

Moaning, you broke faster than you had ever with someone, then again no one knew how to make you reach your own high better than yourself. Paroxysm made your thighs jerked as the pleasure waved through you, annihilating all sense of your surroundings.

When you came back, your step-brother was giving up too, bursting in thick spurts of hot cum all over your body and chest. His eyes were wide opened in black elation, intense, not missing a second of the show as he came on you. His whitish-gray seed painted your bareness in ribbons until he was completely emptied.

In silence, Youngjae dropped next to you on the bed, hands covering his face as you both caught your breaths. His now softening dick was still protruding out of his shorts and underwear for the world to see. It probably made for quite a view; your naked body covered in semen right by your respectable step-brother’s way more humble cock.

If your parents came home early, they would both have a stroke.

Youngjae sort of kept his word though... For today at least.

Because now that you had him all over, you knew you were going to crave him under you.

And no man had ever resisted your charms before.

Step-brother or not.

[The Pleasure Chest: A Cringe Fest]

GOT7 | M.list

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tinycaprisun · 3 years

Text

a song about it raining somewhere else

title: a song about it raining somewhere else characters: chuck taylor x trent beretta word count: 3822 part: 1/1 warnings: mild cursing, and like that’s kinda it? maybe mild angst? but also i’m a baby and it becomes fluff by the end? a/n: howdy, this is not another i’m back i’m back piece as much as it honestly is. no, see this time- this is actually a gift! 2 days ago was @trentjinshi’s birthday and i wanted to write him something! so i sat down for like 6 hours with my goopy goblin gay brain and spit out this obvious magnum opus. so, like, don’t hate it please. also hugest happy birthday to emil again!! yeehaw... i’ve technically already sent this to u

You know, of all days to have the soul crushing realization that you’ve secretly been in love with your best friend, Trent should have expected it to happen on Valentine’s Day.

The man had garbage luck anyways, and good things seemingly never happened to him. So when Chuck animatedly told him he had a date that night with some girl, Trent’s heart shouldn’t have blown apart like he had been shot. Sure, he pretended to be supportive of his buddy, returning his radiant smile despite the effect never reaching his eyes, And yeah, he wished him all the best, telling the taller man he hoped it went well.

But did Trent mean any of that? Fuck no! He was dying on the inside, mourning the loss of a relationship and love he didn’t even know he wanted! Perhaps he should have considered himself lucky that he didn’t start bawling his eyes out on the spot. The New Yorker had a tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve, so the crying really was not out of the question at that moment. But he contained his feelings somehow, moving on through the rest of that afternoon like he was trudging through a snowstorm. Slow, cold, and slowly dying from the inside out.

So that led him here, sitting in his car as the rain started to come down, refusing to turn the damn thing on. He didn’t want to go back to his hotel room. Because if he did, it would remind him of the obvious. He went home alone tonight.

Chuck wasn’t alone. His friend had a probably beautiful person with a perfect personality sitting across from him at a fancy restaurant. A person who wasn’t him. Why couldn’t Trent be his perfect date? He would laugh at his jokes, softly hold his hand as they walked in from the parking lot, pull his chair out for him, admire him like he was the sun-

A harsh banging came from his left, rhythmically tapping against the glass of his car window in time with the rain drops. Trent’s head jerked up from where it had defeatedly slumped against the steering wheel to see who was trying to get his attention.

It was a security guard, holding an umbrella in one hand and wavering him off with another, politely telling him to leave the premises as the arena building they were at was closing. To be honest, getting a ticket from not leaving and instead rotting in that parking lot forever sounded like a far better time than he was having. But, he didn’t have a choice. Story of his life.

Trent started up his car, quickly leaving off into the vast night with only his thoughts to keep him company. And that was rapidly becoming annoying. The singular thing on his mind was one person, and how all this time, his feelings were so obvious. Every time he even glanced in his friend’s direction his heart rate would spike. Before now, he had chalked that up to coincidence or - considering it was Trent and how his body loved to torture him - underlying health conditions. Evidently, it was neither of those things.

One would think he would catch on to his festering crush sooner; considering he thought the entire world of Chuck and whenever he had to go more than a few days without seeing him, he would get a weird sense of longing to be back in his presence, but nothing ever wanted to work out that way. Life thought it would be much funnier if Trent felt like he was being ripped apart at the seams by a simple sentence.

Between the still processing of what it even meant to have a crush on your best friend, and knowing that right now he was out with some other person having the time of his life, Trent was not feeling great as he drove down the freeway. Grumbling under his breath, he flicked the radio on to fill the car with something other than his problems. A song the brunette had never heard before crackled to life, being about part of the way through.

By the time we get there, everybody will be drunk The chairs will be on tables and the band will be unplugged We're gonna look real good, but we're gonna look real rude I'm sorry I'm not sorry that I'm-

Fucking perfect! The last person to mess with the radio in Trent’s car was Chuck, and bastard left it on one of his stupid country stations. Trent didn’t even like country music! That didn’t stop him, however, from a few days ago when they were driving from city to city and let Chuck put on whatever he liked, even if it was something he was going to hate. He would make tiny sacrifices like that all the time for his partner, because he knew it would earn him one of those sunlit smiles. Trent really would do anything to make Chuck happy, and had been since they met.

Late to the party with you Oh, who needs confetti? We're already falling into the groove And who needs a crowd when you're happy at a party for two? The world can wait 'Cause I'm never late to the party if I'm late to the party with you

It... It was a love song?

“Throw me off a fucking bridge.” Trent mumbled to himself as he exited an off ramp. Seriously, who out there was tormenting him and making him have possibly the worst day ever? What omnipotent being did he piss off? He thought he was an alright dude, not getting into other people’s business and sort of keeping to himself. Most days he made an attempt to be somewhat nice to others and never did any of that vile or cruel shit. And yet, he was cursed to drive home while listening to a love song in a genre that he hated, and only helped to remind him more of his best friend.

Let's promise when we get in that we'll try to get right out Fake a couple conversations, make the necessary rounds These kinda things just turn into "Who's leaving here with who?" But I just want 'em all to see me come in late to the party with you

Wasn’t that a funny line. Wanting others to see the person you’re with because of how much you loved them? Trent understood that. Whenever he would go anywhere with Chuck, he would always want people to know he was there with him- whether he realized it or not.

He could talk for hours about him. It could be the simple telling of a funny story, or gushing about how good he was in the ring. Or how great of a friend he was. That made Trent wonder about what Chuck would be like if they were together. His mind wandered, dreaming up scenarios and infinite possibilities as he pulled into his hotel’s parking garage.

The musing didn’t stop when he killed the engine, happily ending that fucking song that was starting to piss him off with how cute it was. Trent pushed himself out of the car, gathering his singular bag from the trunk and wandering inside through the rain. Which, if anyone was curious, was even worse than it was when he left. It was coming down in buckets now, being slung into the New Yorker’s face by the wind.

Checking in was easy enough, having the briefest of conversations with the man at the desk who happened to have a thick southern accent.

Chuck had an accent, but only when he drank a lot. It took about 3 and a half beers for it to come out, but by that point he didn’t care all that much to hide it. He wouldn’t be trashed, as he was a pretty solid drinker and had made putting strong shit back a hobby over the last few years. Trent knew exactly how it sounded, though. A smooth Kentucky accent that always caused him to punctuate the last word of his sentences and pronounce certain things differently. Never anything like “y’all” or something southern like that, after all Chuck wasn’t that dime store cowboy they worked with.

The thing Trent remembered the most about Chuck’s accent was how he said his name. He would draw it out, almost like he was whining, except it was low in his voice and always accompanied by a wide grin. One that’s toothy like Cheshire Cat, and annoyingly sweet like bubblegum. Trent idly wondered if he tasted like bubblegum too, but the thought turned vivid fantasy was interrupted for a moment by the elevator reaching his floor.

The brunette slowly approached his room, still partially entranced by the ideas he had created in his mind as he unlocked his door and slipped in. From there, it felt like he wasn’t even alive anymore. Not in a morbid sense, but as in he wasn’t participating in the concept of reality at that moment. Trent was so disconnected from his actions, it was almost as though he was outside of his body and looking in from somewhere else. So much so, that when he snapped out of his revere from his phone buzzing, he was lying in bed wearing only his boxers.

Not that what was on his phone was of any importance to him. All Trent saw were notifications for things he didn’t care about, the only thing sticking out was a short text from Orange sending him more condolences over his current “issue”. Damn, he was acting like someone had died, not his friend’s heart being broken. Trent didn’t bother responding, tossing the device back on the bedside table and rolling over to face away from it.

The alarm clock on the other stand read “10:17 p.m.”, blinking at him like the piece of shit was broken. It also only now occurred to Trent that he had never turned the lights on while he was basically astral projecting. So he was bathed in darkness, with the only illumination being that digital clock and the street lights below outside the window.

Was he going to fall asleep at a respectable time? Because deep in his bones he could feel the shroud of tiredness creeping through him from all of the emotional energy he drained today. And with that, Trent grabbed one of the unused pillows and wrapped himself around it, cuddling it tightly and not bothering to get under the bed covers.

Maybe if he tried hard enough, Trent could pretend the pillow was something else. --

Who in the hell was knocking at his door at - the New Yorker stopped his angry brain tirade to peek at the clock again - 11:53 at night? He had only gotten to sleep an hour and it was cut short by who knew what. If this was Orange coming to tell him he had broken another hotel microwave by “forgetting to take the metal spoon out of his mac and cheese”, Trent was going to fucking kill him.

Getting up from where he lay, Trent stumbled blearily across the room to the door. In those few seconds, it processed with him that his hair must have come untied while he was sleeping because it was messily draped around his shoulders. Among that, he was still only dressed in boxers, riding rather low on his hips. Maybe he had a restless sleep even though it was quick?

He didn’t care what he looked like though as he slowly pulled the door open with a yawn and blinked from the harsh light flooding in from the hallway. Trent prepared to open his mouth and berate his shorter friend when he heard a sniffle come from in front of him.

Chuck was standing on the other side of the doorway, soaking wet from the rain. By the look on his face, it seemed as though he had been crying as well, with red eyes and a running nose. His eyes didn’t meet Trent’s as he all but whispered, “H-hey, man.”

Did the longer haired brunette care that his friend was ice cold and drenched from head to toe? No. That was why without words, he dragged his friend into the room and hugged him tightly, letting the hotel door slip closed on its own. Chuck didn’t need to be told twice to hug back, nearly crushing Trent from the strength of his shaking arms.

They stayed like that for a good while, with Trent rubbing soothing circles into his back and letting him rest his head on his shoulder when he began to weep again. That was before he slowly drew back, silently taking Chuck’s hand and guiding him to his bed so he could sit. Trent grabbed the comforter and wrapped it around his friend, figuring he could just use a blanket later when he needed to sleep.

“I... didn’t even tell you- what’s wrong..?” murmured the Kentuckian, slouching in on himself and bringing his knees up so they were closer to his chest. He must have been really cold. Trent paused for a moment, looking with a pained yet sympathetic smile.

“Don’t need to. You’re upset, and I gotta fix that.” He wasn’t sure who hurt him, or even what, but just let it be known he was going to destroy whatever it was.

“Well, uh, t-thank you?”

“Yeah, dude. I-” Love you. “Care about you. You’re my friend and shit. Hurts to see you cry.” With that, Trent carefully maneuvered around Chuck and hopped off the bed to go rifle through his clothes for something dry he could wear. And- probably some pants for himself. When he first opened the door, he couldn’t help but notice Chuck gave him the slightest look up and down, with his cheeks going red afterwards. Trent assumed it was only because he was cold, and the warmth from his bedroom had fucked with his internal body temperature.

While digging through his bags trying to find some of the clothes he always packed for his friend - and if it were any other day than today, Trent would have told you it was because he was just being a nice guy. He knew better than that now. - Chuck began to talk again. “Date ditched me...”

“They didn’t show up?”

Chuck sighed. “No, she did. But- when her ex came around... She would’a rather been with him.”

Trent grabbed the extra clothes and stood, turning around to face Chuck who was staring off into the corner. Considering how already destroyed his heart already was from earlier, he was a bit surprised it still had a few more pieces that could shatter at this sight. Coming back over, he set the pile to one side of him, then sat back down on the other. “Chuck...”

“I don’t know what I expected? Every girl, or hell- every guy, I’ve ever tried to date has never worked out for me. I don’t get it.” Oh, Trent should not have been so happy to hear those words. Well, he wasn’t happy to hear most of them, and was hurting for his friend, but two of them in particular stuck out to him like a sore thumb. Every guy. That meant Chuck had been on dates with men. That meant, even though it was fucked up to think about this at the moment, that Trent still had a chance.

“You just haven’t found the right one, man. None of those assholes from before deserve you anyways.” Chuck brought his gaze back over to Trent, eyes glassy and expression- disbelieving. His hair was matted to his head, still wet in some places, but mostly stuck in small spots to his forehead. Everything else about him was still about the same caliber as that, slowly drying and clinging to parts of his body that weren’t being disrupted by the comforter.

“Or maybe I didn’t deserve them...” Something- came over Trent then. There wasn’t a word for the mix of emotions he felt upon hearing that. But what he could feel were his hands taking either side of his best friend’s face and holding his head up to where he would look him in the eyes.

“That’s not true, you and I both know that. Anyone in the world would be lucky to have you.”

Chuck honest to god laughed at that and tilted his head. “Name one person.”

Fuck. For all intents and purposes, the answer he desperately wanted to give was ‘Me’, but that never came out of his mouth. Instead, it was like Trent was suspended in fear, unable to say what he wanted for the thought of being rejected. Or somehow even worse, him thinking it was a joke and getting upset with him. So, Trent said nothing, trying to think of a different response that would be true, but didn’t give himself away.

That was the nail in the coffin, though. Chuck took his silence as an answer, unable to provide a single person who could possibly want to be with him. The other man shook Trent’s hands away from his face, hurt welling up in his eyes with a grimace as he moved to grab the clothes that were gotten for him.

“See,” Chuck hobbled to a standing position, holding the clean garments close to his sodden chest like it was going to protect him from the pain he was feeling. Trent, just say something, anything, he yelled to himself whilst watching Chuck shuffle over to the bathroom and pull the door open. He flicked his eyes down to the floor for a moment before coming back up and locking onto Trent’s. “No one could ever love me...”

“Chuck-” Trent was too late, Chuck had already disappeared into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. And God damn it, his stomach had sunk to the depth of his being, twisting and turning like he was going to be sick. He should have said something. Even if it meant ruining the only thing he really had left to care about. There was his job, his other friends, his family and that; and while they meant a lot to him as well, he truly believed in that moment, and probably for some while now, that Chuck was his world.

As goofy and kind of bullshit as it was to hear, that’s what he felt like. That this guy he’s known for a good chunk of his life was his sun, moon, and every star in the sky. And Trent knew he’s never felt that way about another person. He knew that no other person on this Earth - or fuck, any other planet - could beam at him when they pull an upset and win a match together like he could. No one else made his chest feel warm whenever they complimented him quite the same way that Chuck did. There wasn’t a soul who had the same giggle, the wit, the determination, the personality- fucking any of it. No one had quite what his best friend had, and that was why he loved him.

Trent had no idea how long Chuck was going to be in there, or if he was ever going to come out. Knowing him, he could stay in there all night, not wanting to face the world again- let alone his friend. Even still, he got up from where he was and placed himself a few paces away from his bathroom door. Within his head, he hyped himself up, vowing that no matter if he got scared or felt like everything was going to go wrong, the New Yorker was going to tell him the truth.

Approximately 4 minutes later - if you asked Trent it felt like 10 years - Chuck finally emerged from his hiding place, dressed in some of his friend’s clothes and with shockingly drier hair. Not sure why he was so surprised that he had run a towel through it or something, but that didn’t matter. The taller man seemed confused as to why Trent was standing at the door, but before he could ask what was happening, Trent said, “I do.”

Chuck squinted at him with a, “What?” but it came out choked off and shaky, like he wasn’t prepared to speak.

“You said no one could ever love you, and that’s not true. Because I love you,” He wanted to protest, but now that Trent was talking, he couldn’t stop. “And I didn’t realize it until today, but I seriously am so in love with you that I don’t think I could picture my life without you. You mean everything to me and I would do anything for you just to see your beautiful smile or hear you say my name. And I know it sounds like I’m lying and that I’m trying to make you feel better, but I’m not. If I think about it, I feel like I’ve loved you forever but never realized it, and I wish I could have known sooner. Because you need to know that you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met, and I would be the luckiest guy in the world to even have a chance with you-”

“Trent-”

“I love the way you purposefully send me a string of those stupid emojis over text because you know it annoys me. I love how you can make anyone feel better with just one smile and your passion for loving others. I love how much you love animals and how every dog you see, you consider kidnapping-'' Trent had become so caught up in his declaration that he hadn’t noticed his friend had moved from in front of him and Chuck’s lips were on his.

Before he could even do anything; not even get a gasp at the sudden action, Chuck was already pulling away, breathing as if he had just run a mile. His face was bright red and his hands were holding either of Trent’s arms as he searched his face for a reaction. Or anything really.

“I- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” It felt as though Trent was living in one of those shitty romantic comedies he secretly liked to watch, because he was the one who cut Chuck off while speaking with an somehow even more desperate kiss. He felt him respond almost instant, bringing one of his hands up to Trent’s face to cup it gently as his own arms latched cautiously onto Chuck’s hips. And that was where they stayed, for who knew how long, but every second of it was exactly where they wanted to be.

You know, of all days to have the life-changing realization that you’re secretly in love with your best friend, Trent - and Chuck for that matter - hadn’t expected it to happen on (the day after) Valentine’s Day.

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dontasktheradiodemon · 3 years

Text

Costume Shopping (2/8/2021)

Alastor and Sir Pentious @usedhearts, in preparation for a Mardi Gras masquerade ball next Sunday, go get the supplies they need to make proper fancy costumes.

This requires breaking into a mall in the middle of the night.

This does NOT require copious handholding, hand smooching, or heart palpitations when they accidentally brush each other’s bare hands, but somehow they managed to squeeze some of that in anyway.

(Has either of them noticed the other’s crush yet? No.)

Sir Pentious

Telly looked at himself in the mirror, adjusting his bowtie for the hundredth time. That looked fine, didn't it? He thought so. He adjusted Hattie, and brushed off his shoulders. A nice black button up, and an embroidered black vest-- this was appropriate wear for going out shopping, right? He hoped so. He slithered over to sit on his bed. Now, he only had to wait for Alastor to show up. His eyes slowly slid back toward the full length mirror and he got up to slither back over-- just one more adjustment, he had to look perfect!

Alastor

As much as Alastor adored harmlessly startling Sir Pentious, today wasn't the day for it. Today he was going to be an absolute goddamned gentleman and an unparalleled delight, and that started by not arriving in a way designed to make Telly's hood go *floomp.*

So instead a nearby radio crackled to life. "Knock, knock."

Sir Pentious

The hood still floomps! But only a little, and he blinked as he turned from the mirror toward the radio that sat on his bedside table-- why was it there? Mind your own business, that's why. He slithered over and answered softly. "Yes? Alastor? Ah, come in?"

Alastor

“Are you asking me to acknowledge that I can hear you or are you inviting me in?”

Sir Pentious

"Ah, both?" He laughed a little.

Alastor

“A multi-purpose greeting! Very well! Incoming in three, two, one...”

No “boo” this time; he appeared out of the shadows near the bedside table, grinning his usual grin, dressed in his typical dress—except for his hair, which he’d taken the time and effort to meticulously style into finger waves for the first time in quite a while. “Gooood evening!”

Sir Pentious

His eyes are immediately drawn to Alastor's hair-- those finger waves look so good on him, Telly can feel his heart giving a squeeze. Oh, _oh_, he's suddenly struck with how handsome Alastor is, he needs a moment. Once his brain restarts, he cleared his throat, smiling at him.

"Good evening, Alastor!" He slithered closer and pulled him into a hug. Oh, and he smelled nice tonight too! That body wash scent is really coming through. Blelelele. Don't mind him. He pulled back, reluctantly, but kept his hands on Alastor's arms.

"Tonight is going to be fun! I've never gotten this dressed up before, I'm excited to see what all we can find for the theme!"

Alastor

Alastor didn’t even notice the pause, his brain was trying to boot back up too after seeing Telly in a layer less than usual. By the time it was functional again, he was being hugged. Off to a great start so far!

He beamed, catching Telly’s arms in return. “So am I! It’s been years since I’ve put together a costume! I usually just recycle the ones I already have on hand, haven’t had the inspiration to put in more effort than that.” Careful, Alastor, you’re almost drifting into depressing territory. He offered his arm. “Shall we? There’s a quick jaunt through my wiggly friends’ dimension, but from there on out we should be able to walk the rest of the evening.”

Sir Pentious

He took Alastor's arm very readily, almost too readily. But he ignored that, nearly wiggling with excitement.

"I'll be sure to try and keep my face-eyes closed this time! I think that may help with the effects!" He laid his hand on the arm he was nearly clinging to, turning his smile toward Alastor. "I'm very ready to go!!"

Alastor

“Then let’s!” A quick portal and they were off.

Sir Pentious

Telly squeezed his eyes shut. No looking this time! And he clung to Alastor, nice and tight.

Alastor

Alastor took them to a pricy little steak restaurant downtown, the kind of place that served dangerous enough diners that the waiter wouldn’t *quite* immediately bolt at the sight of the Radio Demon, and that was discreet enough news wouldn’t leak out that the Radio Demon appeared to be hanging out with a new ally. It turned out to be a good choice for more than one: upscale and sophisticated meant dim, moody lighting, which meant a warm orange glow shining off snake scales and a very happily distracted Alastor.

But not so distracted he couldn’t remember what they’d come for. As they ate, he finished his prior description of the ball they’d be attending—along with being influenced by Venice’s more extravagant Mardi Gras traditions, it was also a gay ball, which in Alastor’s experience had always meant greater freedom in the variety of costumes one could choose from and how extravagant they could get. Full-face masks weren’t mandatory, but *were* extremely common in that town’s Mardi Gras celebrations, and Alastor would probably be wearing one himself to avoid terrifying other ball goers. The ball was black tie for anyone who wasn’t in costume, but those in costume were expected to look at *least* that fancy. The galleria they’d be going to should have plenty of stores with clothing that more than met the dress code.

And speaking of the galleria—about halfway through dinner Alastor cheerfully announced, “They should be closing right about now,” and continued on with his unhurried meal.

Sir Pentious

Telly had been a little nervous at first-- he hadn't been to a restaurant like this in some time. He was very glad to have worn at least stylish clothing instead of say a t-shirt or something. He tried to remember his manners, to not rush to get the food into his mouth as quickly as possible, which had become his habit over the past century.

When Alastor made his announcement, his head cocked to the side. "Closing?" He asked, as he took another bite. "Oh! Are we having a special showing after hours?"

Alastor wasn't hurried, so neither was he, even as every bit of him yelled to just eat the entire steak whole.

Alastor

... Had Telly not realized...? *Oh.* Alastor’s grin stretched even wider. “I’ve got a friend at the galleria who’s letting us in.”

Sir Pentious

"Oh! Well, I'm excited to meet any friend of yours, Alastor." He smiled and continued to eat. Soon enough, he was done, and the couple of glasses of wine he'd had with the meal made him feel warm.

Alastor

“Oh, don’t get too excited. They’re not a conversationalist.”

Once Alastor settled up their bill in his usual way—with a smile and a promised favor—he led Telly through an assortment of side streets and alleyways to the nearby glass-roofed mall, and then to a door not on the main road but on a side facing a currently-empty parking structure.

“Lovely architecture, isn’t it,” he said, although he wasn’t looking in the architecture; he was weaving through a line of shrubbery next to the driveway that divided the galleria from the parking structure. “And it’s filled with all sorts of quirky little stores! For a while they had one that sold nothing but macaroons. I don’t know if it’s still there—I rarely get to visit this place, I make people nervous... Ah!”

Alastor bent down. “Allow me to introduce you to my good friend, Brick!” He emerged from the shrubs, waving his find. “He’s a brick.” He winked at Sir Pentious, wound up, and chucked the brick through a glass door.

An alarm went off. Alastor mustered up all the authority and severity of an elderly librarian, held a finger to his lips, and hissed, “*Shhhh!*” The alarm turned off. Alastor stepped inside and started sweeping aside glass with his shoe.

Sir Pentious

He followed along after him, through the streets, and to the galleria. "Oh, macaroons, I haven't had those in--"

Telly paused at the sight of the brick, and then he just....watched as Alastor broke into the building. Oh. OH! _That_ was why Alastor had wanted to wait until they were closed. He let out a rather loud, hissing laugh, his head thrown back.

"Oh! I see now! Breaking and entering!!" He cackled as he slithered closer, leaning down to brush aside any glass in his path. He threw Alastor a smarmy, sly sort of smile. "You didn't mention crime! Oh, how fun!!"

Alastor

What a delightfully devious smirk that was! Alastor beamed and offered Telly a hand as he crossed the threshold, as if he was assisting him in stepping over the glass. Didn’t actually do anything to help, but any excuse to hold hands. “Mention it? And ruin the surprise?! Never!” He looked up and around the dark mall.

Sir Pentious

Telly gladly accepted the hand, and even twinned his fingers with Alastor's-- for support, obviously, his eyes down at the glass. Didn't want any accidentally gouging him, that would ruin their night, and that was the last thing he wanted.

"Where to first?" He asked, beaming at Alastor even as his eyes continued to keep a look out for more stray glass.

Alastor

Alastor’s heart leaped into his throat. He wasn’t going to let go of Telly’s hand for the rest of the night. (He definitely was, it was going to be hard for them to try on clothes if they didn’t let go.)

“*First,* a gift.” He rummaged around in a pocket, fished out a tiny radio, and offered it to Telly. “Keep this with you and turned on if we split up, it’ll scramble any security cameras. Plus, isn’t it cute!” It was, in fact, extremely cute. It was palm-sized and made out of a sparkly clear purple plastic that had fallen straight out of the 1990s. “And *now...* As I recall, there’s one of those trying-too-hard-to-be-quirky novelty stores near the front of the galleria. I’ll bet they’ll have interesting costume accessories up there!” He squeezed Telly’s hand. “Shall we?”

Sir Pentious

His eyes went wide at the sight of the tiny radio. He took it carefully and purred. "Oh, how darling..." He tucked it into one of the pockets on his vest, giving Alastor's hand a squeeze.

"I probably won't need it, I have to get your opinion on everything, after all!" And he also did not want to let go. This hand belonged to him now. "Yes, let's! Lead on!"

Alastor

“Oh no no no! You picked the theme, *I’m* going to have to get *your* opinion on everything!” He briefly leaned his shoulder against Telly’s. “We’ll just have to stick together!”

He raised his free hand and summoned up a floating flame in his palm to serve as a light. “Onward!” And onward they went.

Sir Pentious

And into the first store! What an odd selection. Telly's picking things up and putting them down, inspecting things, and then he spots something that makes his eyes widen. "Oh, look! Masks! We need those, don't we?" He laughed, moving closer, taking Alastor with him by the hand.

"Oh, these are very neat."

Alastor

“We certainly do!” Alastor held his flame closer to examine them. He could have looked for a light switch, but... nah. He left the flame hovering unsupervised in the air a moment as he picked up and examined several masks’ smiles.

Sir Pentious

Telly looked over the masks, his free hand stroking his chin as he pondered over them. Then his eyes fell on one that made him gasp.

"Oh, Alastor, look," He said, taking it from its place. Verdigris and with sea AND snake themed decorations, he held it up to his face. "Isn't this darling?"

Alastor

"Like a seaside statue to an ancient god! Perfect!" He rummaged around the selection a bit more. "They've got some weird stuff here, don't they!"

Sir Pentious

"They do!" He looked around for something to put the mask in. Telly very much did not want to release Alastor's hand, but it was seeming like a necessity if he wanted something to carry the spoils of their thievery. "I'm going to look for a bag to put our things in, I'll be just a moment!" He squeezed Alastor's hand before releasing and turning to slither over to where he saw some cloth sling bags.

Alastor

Aw, did they have to let each other’s hands go? Alastor would have been happy to go with Telly to grab a bag. But protesting would be weird, wouldn’t it? “All right, I’ll be here.” Utterly abandoned, *heartbroken* and *alone*—oooh, this mask was attached to a jaunty hat.

Sir Pentious

Telly picked a bag at random, slinging it around his shoulder to hand across his body, and stuffed his mask inside. He returned to Alastor's side and tilted his head. "Find something good?" He asked, staring a little down at Alastor's hand. Would it be weird if he grabbed it again? Friends held hands all the time, right? Yes, yes they did, he decided, and took Alastor's hand again, twinning their fingers like before.

Alastor

All this handholding! Alastor was going to be spoiled rotten at this rate.

“This one’s got a fancy hat on it.” He turned it slightly. “I don’t much like the mask itself, though. I don’t like those ones with a bottom half shaped like a cowcatcher.” He put the mask back. The search goes on!

Sir Pentious

Telly nodded. "Yes, you probably want one with a smile, correct? Unless you're planning on being VERY incognito, then perhaps a frown." He smirked, gesturing to one that looked just like the tragedy mask from theatre.

Alastor

The studio audience gasped, scandalized, and Alastor put a free hand over his chest. “Me? No! I’d *never*!” He started rummaging through masks again. “... Not *this* time, anyway.”

Sir Pentious

Telly laughed, looking over the masks again. He reached up high, using his tail to stretch himself up further-- a little awkward when he refused to let go of Alastor's hand again, but ce le vie-- to grab a red mask from up high. It was a jester one but perhaps they could alter it to fit the theme. "What about this?" He asked, handing it to Alastor when he settled back down.

Alastor

Oh... jester... He gave the mask a yearning look. He had an array of jester costumes already from Mardi Gras past. How he’d love to add a new one. But...

“No. Not this year, I don’t think.” Hard to fit a jester into a sea serpent theme.

Sir Pentious

He nodded, reaching up to place it back. "Perhaps we should head to another store, if the masks here aren't working? I have mine, but you need something just as suitable!" He turned his head to look around the store and then gasped. "Oh, look, over there! Netting!" He started to drag Alastor over to it.

Alastor

“I can probably dig a suitable mask out of the ones I already have.” As fun as it would be to get a new one. “We don’t have to worry about mine *too* much...”

Netting? What kind of netting? What did they need netting for—? He supposed he was about to find out. He let himself be dragged.

Sir Pentious

Telly excitedly started to pick at the netting. There were different colors and styles of it, but he dug out a spool that looked like a plain sort, and then a blue, one with large holes. "Oh, these look good-- like from a ship!"

Alastor

“... Does it?” He stared at it. He clearly hadn’t spent enough time around ships. “Like for fishing?” That was what nets were used for on ships, right? Did they get used for anything else? He didn’t know.

He leaned against Sir Pentious. “So, do you have a specific idea yet for how you’re going to pull off this ‘sea serpent’ theme of yours, or are we snatching up nautical odds and ends and seeing what we can make out of the mess of it?”

Sir Pentious

"I had a few ideas! I thought we'd be able to find a dress of some kind that could be used as a base and then just...." He gestured with the hand holding the netting, shrugging a bit. "Fancy it up? I suppose?"

Telly chuckled. "And yes, netting on ships were used for fishing, but also for rigging! Lost of ropes on a ship."

Alastor

Eye zoom. “A *dress?*” He realized, belatedly, that his overly-interested reaction might be taken the wrong way, so he hastily clarified: “I’ve always thought you’d look nice in a dress! You know—something that would flatter your figure. You have a... a good... figure, for dresses.” He realized, belatedly, that ensuring his reaction was taken the *right* way might not help him out much either. “I, er, I suppose that’s obvious, compared with the alternative—pants, that is...”

Oh look, a topic change! “Rigging! Yes, of course! Like in pirate films, where they, you know, climb all over the ship’s masts. Swashbuckling as they go.” He pantomimed swinging a sword. Apparently he thinks “to swashbuckle” is a synonym for “to sword fight.”

Sir Pentious

He couldn't help but laugh at that reaction, and the explination after, his smile and eyes just oozing a fondness that made his heart feel fit to burst.

"I didn't think wearing just a suit jacket would make a very good costume! And dresses look much better on me nowadays, it's true! Especially with all this--" He gestured to his tail. "But I don't often have a chance to wear them! Most of my dresses and skirts are too flowy to wear around the airship or while doing work-- plus they'd get dirty and grimy and I spent good money on them."

His face scrunched momentarily, before relaxing back into a smile. "I want to look spectacular! I want to stand out and catch attention! Having a lovely dress would help with that."

Alastor

Whew, good, Alastor got a laugh—and a *very* fond smile, wow. He was probably imagining some of that fondness, wasn’t he? That wasn’t real.

“Oh, you’ve—got more?” It would *definitely* be weird to ask to see Telly in his other dresses. “Well! Shouldn’t be surprised! Suits you!”

Wasn’t that exactly what Sir Pentious deserved? To be *spectacular*. To be the center of everyone’s adoring attention. “Unfortunately, at the ball we’re going to, no one stands out unless they’ve got a twelve-foot-tall flamethrower-wielding Ferris wheel strapped to their back. But we’ve got a whole year to plan for the next one! And we can *certainly* make sure that anyone who does look at you won’t want to look away!”

Sir Pentious

"Yes! A few. A couple in the style of my time, and a few more modern ones-- those ones flow better, but for the Victorian ones, I have a built in bustle!" He laughed. Telly lifted the hand still playing with the netting, and he pulled his glove off with his teeth, using his now bare hand to feel the netting again-- testing the texture. He wanted to be sure it would feel alright and didn't set off any alarm bells in his head. Satisfied, he took the glove from his mouth-- and then the decision whether to stop holding Alastor's hand to put his glove back on, or keep holding his hand. Hand holding won out, and he just stuffed the glove into the pocket on his vest.

"Oh, I know-- I looked up some pictures! Some of those costumes are insanely complicated! We certainly would need more than a week to do something like that, but we are Sir Pentious and Alastor the Radio Demon, I'm sure we can come up with something that's at least eyecatching!" He laughed, shrugging.

Alastor

For a few seconds, Alastor's attention was entirely seized by Sir Pentious's newly-exposed hand. He had an overpowering urge to hold it/rub his face on it/lovingly bite it. And yet he doesn't. Hell will appreciate how truly astounding Alastor's self-control is.

*Sir Pentious and Alastor the Radio Demon,* their names sound so *good* together. "I'm sure we can!" He beamed at Telly. "You know, I'm probably not going to be much help at finding a suitable dress—some people can just look at a gown and *know* how it's going to look on the person it's for, I've never had the talent—so maybe we should divvy up this scavenger hunt? I can find all the nautical odds and ends you could ask for, and you can focus on finding that perfect dress."

As much as he would love to keep holding Sir Pentious's hand all night, it would significantly hamper their odds of finding everything they needed—and he needed to get away from the temptation to put his fangs and/or lips somewhere he shouldn't.

Sir Pentious

"You're correct-- I would know what styles fit better on me! But I don't know this place very well. Never been. Where would one go to find a good, fancy dress?" He handed the netting off to Alastor, unaware just how close that got his bare hand to the deermon's face.

Telly slithered towards the doors of the boutique, glancing out and then up down and all around. "Do you know where the dress shops are? Don't they usually have maps in these places?"

Alastor

Alastor's aware. He leans just a little closer, then straightens up. "It might be a bit obvious, but if it was me, I'd slither around until I found a store with fancy dresses in the window and smash the glass in!" A laugh. "I know they have fine dresses, but I've never had cause to go dress shopping here! I usually go for the fancy foods or the mortal imports. But yes, there should be maps—we probably passed them in the dark. Shall I retrieve one?"

Sir Pentious

"Oh no, I like your idea better!" He laughed again. "Haha! _Crime._"

He slithered out the doorway of the boutique, still holding Alastor's hand. He turned and absentmindedly lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it, before letting go. "I will find the dress! You find other nautical bits and baubles, and your costume things of course! Oh, and if you see any pearls, grab them!"

He was a good distance away when he realized what he'd done, and froze. His brain rewound and played the moment again, as he stared wide eyed at nothing, tongue stuck out. Annnd then he started slithering faster down the hall-- maybe Alastor didn't notice? Or hopefully at least didn't mind. _You are an IMBECILE, Pentell Tinely. Truly, a complete moron_ He berated himself as he went ahunting for dress shop.

Alastor

He got so *gleeful* over a bit of burglary. If Alastor didn't know better, he would have expected Mr. Airships And Lasers would be long past such minor, petty evil. But no, he was still as delighted by them as if he was committing his very first misdemeanor. It was so refreshing, so exhilarating—

His mental train derailed, tumbled off a bridge, and crashed in the canyon below. He stared after Sir Pentious as he slithered away, Alastor's hand still suspended midair where it had been left. Had he really—? He *had,* hadn't he? What did he mean by it? Nothing, surely. Just a friendly gesture. But what if... No. no. *But what if...*

He put his untouched hand over his heart; he was sure he'd felt it thud, just once. Probably his imagination. He leaned against the doorframe, raised his hand, and pressed his lips to the glove where Sir Pentious had left his kiss.

Give him a couple of minutes. He'll be fine in a few minutes.

Sir Pentious

Telly is slithering. Oh lord is he slithering. He finds a shop and looks around for something to toss through the window. His eyes landed on a nearby chair and he grabbed it, tossing it with all his might. The crashing of it was offset by the alarm, which he silenced with the little radio Alastor had give him. Now it was time to find a proper dress.

Alastor

The sound of a crash in the dark startled Alastor out of his reverie. Right—they were here on a mission. And like hell was he going to leave one stone unturned or one store undamaged in his quest to make sure Telly had the *exact* costume he wanted. He strode out of the store and set exuberantly to his task, like a knight inspired to new valor by a favor from his lady—if “valor” could cover acts like “smashing every case in a jewelry store and gleefully rummaging through the rubble.” Really, if you thought about it, it was less violent than jousting.

By the time Alastor crossed paths with Sir Pentious on a second floor walkway, he was master of his emotions again—haha just kidding, when he spotted Telly he immediately started playing a love song and had to frantically shut it off.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hclK-UKJNgk

“Telly!” He practically bounded over the walkway, momentarily looking less like a mere dancer and more like a full-blown deer. “There you are! I’ve got a magic trick for you, want to see?”

Sir Pentious

He'd found a couple of good dresses, and taken them all-- along with a few others that had caught his eye. Another bag was around his body now, holding his spoils as he'd been getting ready to smash another shop window. But upon hearing his name his head swiveled and he beamed at Alastor's bounding gait.

"Yes! Of course! Show me!" He set down the chair he'd raised, waiting for the trick.

Alastor

“All righty, here we go!” He summoned up another floating flame to illuminate his impromptu stage, pulled a bright yellow handkerchief out of one pocket that he’d picked up expressly for this purpose—“Now, observe, seemingly a perfectly normal handkerchief”—and stuffed it up one coat sleeve so that only the tip stuck out. And then pulled it out, where it was now tied to a red handkerchief, which was tied to a blue handkerchief, which was tied to a string of pearls, and pearls, and pearls, and pearls, and pearls, and pearls...

Sir Pentious

With each pearl, his eyes seemed to get wider, and his jaw more slack. God, if he could jump up and down in joy he would-- but doing a little bouncing accordian dance would have to do. "Oh!! Look at all of them! And those colors! They'll be perfect!"

He slithered closer and started looking over them, inspecting-- and one would notice that he was now missing both gloves. He rubbed his thumb over the smooth surfaces of the pearls and purred happily.

"These are gorgeous...." He beamed at Alastor, and then rushed forward, pulling him into a hug. "You always know just where to find the best stuff!"

Telly pulled back and pulled out the two dresses, showing them to Alastor. "I found a couple good ones! I like the way they look like waves, and they sparkle!"

Alastor

“Are the colors good? Most of them aren’t the traditional white, I was worried they wouldn’t meet your standards! After all, you deserve only the best!”

He watched, entranced, as Telly ran his naked hands over the pearls. Oh, what Alastor wouldn’t give to get one of Telly’s fingers between his pearly whites... (... Pearly yellows?)

Before he had time to ruminate too much on that frankly alarming fantasy, Telly was pulling him into a hug and Alastor’s brain had to reboot. What were they—Right! Clothes. He inspected Sir Pentious’s finds, holding up one of the skirts by the hem and gently shaking it to see how the fabric rippled. The fluttering hem curled and curved like the crest of a wave. “*Very* nice.”

Sir Pentious

"Natural pearls are much better than the generic white! They have so much more character and charm! I used to have a few broaches and rings with them when I was alive-- they were _exquisite_." He sighed dreamily, before snapping back.

"Yes! Aren't they lovely? I grabbed a couple more of the same to be used to modify either one. I was thinking it could be shorter in the front and longer in the back to go over my tail, but make it so I won't be slithering on material all night." His face scrunched. "It's most uncomfortable when that happens."

He stuffed the dresses back in his back and leaned in eagerly. "What did you find for your costume?"

Alastor

Alastor laughed at the thought of Sir Pentious slithering on his own skirt. “Like tripping over the cuff of your own pants, I suppose.” He lifted one foot to hook a finger demonstratively into the folded-up cuff of his pants leg. The too-long pants had been folded up for so long that the crease had practically fused in place, making it look like the pants came like that unless one took long enough to stare and realize that the pants’ inner seams were visible on the lighter-colored bit folded up.

“Oh! Right. Mine.” Almost sheepishly, he opened a bag he’d slung over one shoulder, took out a hat box, removed a snazzy looking navy blue tricorn, and plopped it on his head. How dashing. “I got a little sidetracked looking for nautical things. But I found this in a home goods store!” He fished a couple of porcelain sea shells painted in faux verdigris out of the bottom of his bag. “I think they’re supposed to be soap dishes.”

Sir Pentious

He was right, it was very dashing, at least Telly thought so. And then the dishes caught his eye and he let out a little 'Ooo'.

"Oh! I know what you could use those for!" He took them from Alastor's hands and held them up, one on each side of Alastor's shoulders. "Pauldrons!" He gave a hissing giggle and then set the shells back into Alastor's hands. With his bare hands. Oh, he's noticed that now.

"Ah, well, since we've found quite a bit for me, would you like me to go with you to find more for yours? I think I saw a high end suit shop down that ways a bit." He gestured over his shoulder.

Alastor

"Now there's a thought! I was going to slap one on the back of Mic, but I like yours better." How were they going to turn a couple of porcelain soap dishes into pauldrons? He had no idea. Maybe Rosie would, Rosie was good at Crafts.

Alastor glanced in the direction Sir Pentious had gestured. "Sure! Not one of those places that has ninety-seven black suits and three gray suits, I hope? Not that your traditional black tie is bad, of course—I just hate to be another identical tux in a room full of 'em!" He offered an elbow to Sir Pentious.

Sir Pentious

"Oh no, I saw some right colorful ones, don't you worry!" Telly laughed, taking Alastor's arm with his bare hand-- and oh just how much more intimate that felt, he was so used to wearing gloves all the time. Though it certainly wasn't the first time he'd touched Alastor with his bare hands...there was the beach and all. But that was different, they'd both been dressed down. Now, he could feel the texture of Alastor's coat, and he couldn't help the way his thumb rubbed against it-- it was a good texture.

"I think I saw some more _my_ era suits in there too, so that might be double worth checking!"

Alastor

Alastor's entire sensory experience has been narrowed down to the thumb rubbing his arm. Please hold while he tries not to trip over his own feet.

"Oh! The fancy stuff!" His eyes brightened. "Good! I hate those stores that only cater to *modern* fashion trends. Some of us died more than a decade ago, you know!"

Sir Pentious

"Yes! This is usually why I go to a tailor-- they at least will make things in my preferred style!" His thumb keeps that stroking-- he really likes the way Alastor's coat feels-- and stops in front of the shop.

"Here it is!" Annnd he's letting go to pick up another chair and chuck it through the window.

Alastor

"Oh, do you have a regular tailor? What's their name?" He wonders if both of the Sir Pentiouses he currently knows go to the same tailor.

Alastor doesn't even flinch when the chair goes through the window. What poise.

Sir Pentious

He looks a little embarrassed at that question, giving a shake of his head. "Not really, no. I used to see one that also dresses the princes and dukes and such, but since I fell out of favor..."

He sighed and shrugged. "Luckily, I can mend my own clothing fairly well. Enough to keep things together at least."

Alastor

Alastor’s brows go up at this report of a tailor to royalty and nobility... and go back down when Sir Pentious mentions the falling out. “You deserve better than *that!*” Granted, Alastor mended *his* own clothes—but Alastor wasn’t an aspiring dictator. And also didn’t deserve nice things.

Sir Pentious

Telly began to clear a path for himself through the glass, brushing it aside to make sure he didn't slither over any of it. He avoided looking at Alastor, and sighed a bit.

"Perhaps, but tailors also cost money-- most of the time. I can't afford something like that right now." He straightened when he was done and slithered into the store, a smirk appearing his lips. "But _this_ doesn't cost money!" He snatched the nearest suit jacket off a manikin and put it on. It was baby blue and too large, but Telly batted his lashes as he posed. "How does it look?" He is so near to cracking up he's shaking trying to hold back the laughter.

Alastor

A crooked smile stretched across Alastor’s face. “It certainly fits the ‘sea serpent’ theme—because you look like you’re swimming in that jacket!” Studio laughter. He pulled on the first jacket he saw that looked big enough to fit on top of the coat he was already wearing. “What about me?” It’s a garish orange that doesn’t flatter *any* of the shades of red he’s wearing.

Sir Pentious

Telly couldn't help the burst of laughter-- oh that looked _terrible!_

"You look like a traffic light and a traffic cone had a child!" His head threw back and he cackled out, his shoulders shaking. He gulped down some air, ditching the coat he wore to pull on another-- this one purple and sequined.

"What about this, Alastor? Flattering, no?"

Alastor

“An enthralling love story if ever I’ve heard one!” He laughed along with Telly. “I suppose they met at work! While they were both *on the road,* no doubt!”

His laughter petered out as he considered Telly in the coat. “Well, now! The color looks nice on you.” He surveyed it a moment longer; then snorted. “*Sequins,* though. You look like you’re headed to a disco.”

Sir Pentious

Telly laughed, before taking off the jacket and chucking it. He slithered further in and started inspecting the manikins.

"Oh look! That one's a fop!" He said, pointing at one dressed in early 1800s fashion. He tilted his head at it and then burst out laughing. "Oh god, I swear there was a painting back home of my father in this exact outfit! He looked ridiculous!!" Wheeze.

Alastor

“Oh, is *that* the sort of people who shop here.” Alastor sniffed snootily. “Well! Who wants to be associated with *that sort* of people? I wouldn’t want to shop at the same stores as them.” A pause. “But I wouldn’t mind stealing from the same stores at them.” He seized the coat off the mannequin and pulled it on—without removing the traffic cone jacket first. “How do I look—stuffy? I *feel* stuffy.” Probably because he has three coats on.

Sir Pentious

Telly watched Alastor put on the jacket and burst out laughing again-- he was doing that a lot right now!

"Oh yes, very stuffy! Puff out your chest a little more and you'd be a spitting image!" He snorted, and reached to tug the two sides of the coat closer together, doing up one button. "Never knew you were so aristocratic, Alastor! Whyever did you never tell me?" He winked, overexaggerating the motion.

Alastor

He puffed up his chest and turned up his nose, his smile drifting closer to a smarmy smirk. “Oh, there might be a bit of that somewhere in the family tree, but we don’t discuss *that* side of the family, heavens no. We don’t keep company with those sorts. *Aristocrats!*” He scoffed.

Then looked down at the coat. “Really, how do I look in this—1800-ish, do you think? It’s closer to your time, you’d know. That’s when about half of the stage show is taking place.” He looked around for a mirror.

Sir Pentious

"Oh, yes, your musical! Hamilton! Hmm, this would probably be too late for that, it takes place during the Revolution, doesn't it? This is more..." He tapped his chin, considering. "More 1830s, I believe."

Telly glanced around and let out a little 'ah-ha!' as he slithered towards another manikin. "This one is more appropriate! Late 1700s, to early 1800s."

Alastor

“The first act takes place during the revolution. The second act takes place... 1790s to early 1800s, I think.” He shrugged, “Jefferson missed the late 80s and the election of 1800 is covered, that’s all I remember about the second act’s chronology!” He wasn’t a history buff.

“Perfect!” He unbuttoned all his coats and jackets and shucked off three layers at once, pulled on the coat, struck another puffed-chested pose, and asked, “How insufferable do I look? Do I look like the kind of man who would boast about his nation being free over a backing choir of his own slaves? That’s the level of insufferable we’re looking for, here.”

Sir Pentious

Telly tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Alastor with a critical air. He stroked his chin and hummed. "Hm, almost....Something's missing though."

He glanced back at the manikin and then at Alastor, back and forth, and then he snapped his fingers. "Ah! I know what it is." He snatched the cravat off the manikin and tied it around Alastor's neck-- and just over his bowtie. He tucked it down in the front of the jacket and then nodded. "There! Can't be insufferable without a cravat!"

Alastor

“I already feel like the kind of person whose foot I’d step on if I saw me at a fancy party.” He rescued his own coat out of the discarded pile on the floor and bounded deeper into the store. “Where are the mirrors in this place? I want to see the full effect—“

He skidded to a stop. “Oh, *hello.* Does this look piratical to you?” He’d passed a long, deep sea green coat with large cuffs a multitude of metal buttons. To Alastor’s eye, it certainly looked like something the seafaring sort would wear, but his knowledge came from movies.

Sir Pentious

He slithered after Alastor as fast as he could, laughing. "Mirrors are probably near the fitting rooms, if they have those--"

Telly stopped short right when Alastor did-- but not soon enough not to knock into him. His arms went around him automatically to make sure he didn't fall as his eyes locked onto the coat.

"Oh...Oh that's beautiful. You'd look so dashing in that, I can see it now!" He reached up to grab the coat, this time being a lot more careful with the garment. "Like a real pirate, right out of the stories!"

Alastor

His arm went around Sir Pentious to keep him stable, so naturally he hardly even thought about the movement.

“Well, forget *this!*” He let go of Telly so he could toss his douchebag aristocrat coat to the ground, carelessly kicked it aside—the theater crew was probably going to supply their costumes anyway—and pulled on the pirate coat. “Oh, now that’s quality fabric! You’re not finding *this* in your run-of-the-mill costume store.”

Sir Pentious

Telly dug into Alastor's bag, getting out the tricorn and playing it on his head. He circled him and did up the buttons and fixed the cravat. He was laser focused on the task at hand, pulling out a couple strings of the pearls from Alastor's bag as well, draping them around his shoulders. He hummed and hawed as he worked, his entire world narrowed down to _this_.

"Oh, yes, stunning-- won't even need those shells for pauldrons with a coat like this..." He looked around, searching. "Gloves, gloves...." He dash-slithered toward another display, snatching gloves in a pale tan leather and then some darker brown ones. He spotted some boots as well, and grabbed two pairs in colors that matched the gloves.

"Here, try these. I want to see which looks better, the dark or light." He offered the spoils to Alastor, eyes wide, nearly vibrating with Purpose.

Alastor

Alastor stood still as Telly decorated him, only slightly turning his head to try to see the adjustments. “Tan with green?” he asked dubiously, eyeing the gloves. “Do you think they’ll match the color scheme we’ve got here?” Says the man whose only conception of color matching is “everything’s a slightly different shade of the same color.”

All the same, he pulled off his clawed black gloves and reached to take the paler gloves first—and brushed Telly’s bare fingers with his own.

Sir Pentious

They'd touched before, hand to hand, but there was something different about it this time. That brief touch, the darkened store, made it feel like a shock to his system. Telly's breath caught momentarily, and he swallowed, averting his eyes. Good lord, he felt as twitter-patted as the first time he touched-- No, no, he wasn't going to think about _him_. That man would not ruin this feeling for him.

"Th-the lighter color of the tan will pop against the green, and will look very good, but the darker brown is subtler and won't draw the eye away from the coat as much." The words spilled out of his mouth, the only thing he could think to say that didn't involve passionate confessions of feelings.

Alastor

There was a blurt of music, that same love song from earlier, only a couple of notes before Alastor violently shut it off. He swore he could still feel playing inside him, rumbling in his rib cage. He couldn’t breathe.

What Alastor wanted to say was “Can I marry you?” What Alastor actually said was “Probably the dark brown. I think the coat should be the focus.” He reached to take the other pair of gloves—careful not to touch Sir Pentious’s fingers as he did. His hands trembled.

Sir Pentious

His hood did a half floop at the sudden burst of music-- but settled down the instant after it shut off. He could swear his heart was hammering loud enough for Alastor to hear, and he tired to still his shaking hands as he offered the other pair.

"Yes, I think it should too-- you'll look very handsome in it-- I mean, you _do_ look handsome in it now, but you'll look even better once we're both in costume! It will go well with mine." He blinked and tilted his head. "I wonder how long it would take to make a fan to go with my outfit..."

Alastor

"Well, once it's all on, I won't look like *me* at all, will I—I'm just the lucky mannequin displaying it. So, as long as the costume itself is handsome." Watch him dodge around having to acknowledge a perception of him as handsome and therefore a being with a visible form that people can have opinions on. He hastily pulled on the gloves. He muttered to himself, "Uh—mirrors," and headed to the back on his original search again, where he finally found a full length mirror.

He summoned up several floating flames to illuminate himself clearly in the mirror. (If Telly cared to catch up and look too, he'd find that Alastor's face in the mirror was concealed under static distortion.)

Adjusting the cravat, he almost absently said, "Don't know much about fan construction, I'm afraid."

Sir Pentious

He did care to catch up! And he stood behind Alastor as he inspected himself, his head tilting. That was an odd thing to see in a mirror.

"I thought that only happened in pictures or videos of you?" He asked gesturing to the distortion over his face in the mirror. Telly also took this time to adjust his bowtie and dust off his vest. And roll up his sleeves a touch-- if he was going gloveless, might as well add a little forearm, that looked nice.

"Oh not to worry, I'll figure it out."

Alastor

The distortion vanishes almost as soon as Telly mentions it. "I wanted to see how the costume looks without my face getting in the way, since I'll be wearing a mask in the completed thing."

Sir Pentious

"Ah! Yes that makes sense." He nodded, putting his hands on Alastor's shoulders. He idly brushed them off and adjusted the coat a little.

"I think this is perfect-- might need some alterations, but both our costumes will need those!" He chuckled.

Alastor

"I'll need pants. And shoes for hooves." He stood still as Telly made his adjustments. "But that shouldn't be too hard to find."

Sir Pentious

"A simple pant wouldn't be too hard to whip up for a seamstress or a tailor, but maybe we can find ones that match the coat here?" His hands settled there on Alastor's shoulders, and he stared at him in the mirror.

"You strike quite the figure in this already, it'll look magnificent once it's properly adjusted."

Alastor

“... *Right,* I will have to get it tailored, won’t I.” Can you tell he hasn’t gotten new clothes in a while. “Where did I grab this? Maybe it had matching pants hanging nearby.” He *would* have started walking that way already... except he didn’t want to escape from under Sir Pentious’s hands.

Sir Pentious

"Well, let's go look and see!" He patted his shoulders once, before slithering around and offering his hand. "Come on then."

Alastor

Hand-holding it was. These new gloves were thicker than Alastor’s usual pair. Pity.

There were, indeed, matching pants near the coat. He looked for a pair that he *thought* was in his measurements—he hadn’t needed to remember them in... hm... a while; and then he got a couple more in the sizes up and down from his own, just in case he was wrong, and anyway maybe he could make some use from the matching fabric. He’d rather deal with the spare pairs than find a dressing room while Sir Pentious had to wait around for him.

“Well, I think *that* should do me just fine!” He stuffed all the pants in his bag, then grinned at Telly. “What do you think? Mission accomplished?”

Sir Pentious

The leather of the gloves felt nice in his hand, and his thumb was once again rubbing. The pants were easy enough to find, and when asked, Telly went over a mental checklist.

"I think all you'd need are boots, or shoes now, but I think that's probably a job for a specialist with the hooves and all! So, yes! I think we are! Did you want to come back to the airship and see the other spoils I got?" His eyes were eager-- it was clear he didn't want to part ways with Alastor just yet.

Alastor

“I’ll visit Clove & Fawn sometime this week, I get all my shoes from them.”

Oh, coming back to the airship sounded *wonderful.* They could get started on properly assembling their costumes—which would probably involve less in the way of actual costume assembly and more in the way of friendly banter and attempts to make each other laugh. And this late, if he came over to the airship, it would be entirely unreasonable *not* to expect an invitation to spend the rest of the night...

“Oh, I shouldn’t,” he demurred. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m sorely tempted! But I’m going to have to get an early start tomorrow, going out for shoes, begging Rosie for tailoring help, maybe running some errands for her in payment...” He sighed deeply. “No rest for the wicked, I’m afraid.”

He didn’t have a good track record with spending the night on airships.

Sir Pentious

His face did fall a bit but he tried his best to hide most of it-- stiff upper lip, like his father would always say. He put on a smile, squeezing Alastor's hand. "All right, that's fine! I need to start on that fan, anyway. You can just drop me off then-- Should you take the dresses for my costume or should I keep those? To take to Rosie and all..."

Alastor

Alastor caught that slight shift in Telly’s expression before he covered it up; Alastor glanced away. He hoped that Telly believed Alastor really would have if he could have; his excuse for declining had been a lie, yes, but he certainly hadn’t lied about being tempted.

“You keep them—Rosie’s not going to be able to do much with them without you there to take measurements from! In fact, perhaps I ought to just take you along with me tomorrow so she can get both our measurements at once, don’t you think? Save us from making multiple trips?”

Sir Pentious

His expression brightened again at the proposal for the next meet up. He nodded eagerly, grinning at Alastor. "Oh, yes, I'd love to! It would definitely save time, and we need all the time we can get to get these costumes together! Sounds like a good plan to me!" Was he being too eager? Maybe, but he didn't care. He'd get to see Alastor again, and so soon-- that's all that mattered to him at that moment.

Alastor

“Wonderful!” And he’d made up for declining Telly’s invitation, he hoped. “Then I’ll contact you when I’m up, or you’ll contact me when you are—whichever, we’ll coordinate then.”

Sir Pentious

"Yes, sounds good!" He moved closer, twining his arm through and around Alastor's. "Let's head back then! I want to get started on that fan."

Alastor

Alastor reached across to take Telly’s free hand—he was just offering extra support, making sure Telly was secure for the journey, that was all. “Hold on tight!”

And out they went, leaving behind a royal mess for somebody else to deal with.

#usedhearts #chat log

7 notes · View notes

a-stitch-in-time-and-space · 4 years

Note

Headcanon: Julian Bashir is autistic and has frequent sensory overload, and the only two people who can help him are Garek and O’ Brien. Me? Projecting? It’s more likely than you think!!!

Ha, moooood. Which on that note I have a somewhat intense fic here in which Julian has a meltdown. It’s not related to sensory issues so much as “oh boy a lot of shit’s happened to him” but if you want more O'Brien helping him out after this – so because we gave that fic to O'Brien, let’s give this one to Garak.

Also can we talk about the fact that it’s canon that Julian and the other augments can hear sounds at decibels that non-augments can’t and that it causes them pain, but Julian just taught himself to not react, like fuck, how did someone write this and not follow through on Julian-Bashir-is-autistic-and-or-otherwise-nd!

sorry for taking so long, a. this got a bit longish so it’s under a cut and b. I got distracted by the fact that I always want to see everyone’s notes on reblogs in case of interesting discussion points and i have just now learnt that that cannot be done easily if a lot of people reblog at once… oh hyper-fixation how you get me time and again

this takes place post-Doctor Bashir I Presume and alludes to the fact that during this time Garak and Bashir’s interactions were gradually stripped away in the show (because it too gay) - Andy Robinson ran with that in A Stitch In Time and had Garak write about how much he regretted the two of them not remaining close/hinted that he was in love with him… so take that background as you will.

—— More Space ——-

Thank goodness, he thought after an indeterminate amount of time. O'Brien was here. He would be able to calm him down, he would know how to come up with some soothing description of exactly which of DS9’s pistons or pipes or programs was currently making that noise and he’d either fix it or stay with him until it sorted itself out. Or maybe the noise was gone and the residual whining was just himself recreating it perfectly in his head, or maybe he was just too far gone by now for it to matter, but O'Brien would help. Since the two of them had become friends and some of Julian’s old ticks had returned after his augmentation had come to light, Miles had been a surprisingly steady presence in his life.

“Doctor?”

No, not Miles.

Garak.

He couldn’t make himself respond. His body felt like it was compressing him into a vice, with all his ability to focus somehow splintered into a million shards, each of them painful to the touch. Oh no, what if Garak touched him? If Garak touched him right now he might shatter or scream or something else entirely outside of his control, but talking was also impossible right now, so he couldn’t ask him not to touch, please don’t touch-

Garak sat down in front of him, far enough away that it didn’t feel like too… much.

“Doctor. You don’t need to say or do anything.”

He could manage that.

“I was wondering why you’d missed our lunch date. Very pleased to find you didn’t simply opt not to come without telling me, although I find the alternative to be distressing.” He stopped talking for a moment then. “Apologies for breaking into your room. Again.”

While Garak simply sat and occasionally spoke Julian was dimly aware of the fact that he could feel his edges hardening again. The shards were being pulled back together.

He also noticed now that he was freezing. It usually happened like that, having sat sedentary for however long or coming down from some emotional extreme. He shivered.

“This station is cold,” said Garak.“The temperature, the lights, the people… all too cold.”

Julian managed a smile and it was like his mouth was freed from a curse. “It is, isn’t it.”

“Not to mention loud,” Garak added.

“All that machinery,” Julian nodded and spoke slowly. His mouth still needed to unstick. “Every time an alarm goes it’s like a sharp pain… I used to be… much better at this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I used to… I used to get these all the time as a child. Meltdowns, shutdowns, I think. But then my parents told me later that it was a side-effect of the augmentations and I tried to… to will myself to stop them, to bypass my natural instincts in order to not be found out and it worked, in a way, or at least nobody found out. I familiarised myself with and categorised any sights, sounds, smells, feelings I came across on earth during my Starfleet training and ordered them into lists and sublists: What I could handle mostly, what I could handle sometimes, what I needed to avoid at all costs. I managed to… to pretend. And then I came to Deep Space Nine and for awhile it was all too much again, I had to make new lists, but I managed, I really… I really did, I really did, I really-” he was talking himself into hyperventilating again, he knew this, but he couldn’t stop now, “- and then I got captured and it was like everything just stopped. I barely- I don’t even remember most of it, but when I got back it was so much worse -”

“Julian,” said Garak and the sound of his first name coming from Garak’s mouth surprised him back to the now. “Julian,” said Garak again. “You’re here. With me. On a floor that is quite cold, I might add.”

Julian breathed out and mumbled under the exhale. “One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.”

“What is that,” asked Garak.

“Counting my fingers. It… helps.”

“Noted,” and the easy way in which Garak seemed to have just accepted that he would be helping Julian again in future was another shock to his system, but then why wouldn’t he? Even if they hadn’t met up as often as they used to. Even if he was untrustworthy at heart and Julian could never figure out why Garak wanted his company at all. He found he missed Garak’s simple and complicated nature. It grounded him, somehow.

He got up off the floor, reaching out for Garak when he stumbled. He held him just tight enough to make sure that he wouldn’t fall. Not overcrowding – Julian suddenly remembered that Garak was claustrophobic. He must know how easily sensory inputs could become too much.

At Garak’s questioningly soft hold on his arm, Julian nodded and he helped him to the sofa. “Would you like some water?”

Julian nodded. As Garak went to fetch it, he began to talk again. Somehow… he just needed to get it out now, like an excision. “After the truth came out my mother told me that they’d been lying. I mean, they’ve been lying about so much, but specifically about this. I’ve always been like this. Or. Some of it. The meltdowns. I thought… those memories weren’t real. But now they are? Some of them. I’m having trouble sorting them.”

Garak handed him the water.

“I developed a theory,” said Julian, forgetting to sip.

“Tell me your theory doctor,” said Garak, his tone of voice tender as he sat down beside him, again, close enough if he needed him, but not too close.

“I was wondering why a heightened inability to process inputs was a side-effect of the vast majority of augments, when I had this inability before my augmentation. I started to suspect that it was less to do with the augmentations and was simply… who we were. The augmentations gone wrong could throw that into extremes, but that may have more to do with medical trauma responses than… anyway, I can’t confirm until I have more data. I did research into my own developmental delays, the medical history – it’s fascinating how we repeat cycles actually, first it was considered a form of possession or changelings, then it began to be classed under a broad form of what would be known as schizophrenia, then divided into narrow and still somewhat inaccurate categories of autism, aspergers, adhd, add, high and low functioning etcera, and then was gradually broadened again under general brain-differences known as neuroatypicals or neurodiverse,” he took a breath and continued: “- I’m not too interested in 21st century history honestly, but I know the government upheavals affected medical classifications and concepts of what was known broadly as “disabilities” at the time, and that it fundamentally shifted again once we formed the federation. But then -” and here he started gesticulating widely in excitement or outrage - “it all becomes the same just repackaged, doesn’t? Stigma against augments who are overwhelmingly people like me is stigma against neurodiversity is stigma against the “possessed,” it’s…” he trailed off. “It’s all the same,” he finished lamely.

He’d become very aware suddenly that he’d done that thing that annoyed most of the people he ever conversed with, running his mouth while forgetting the other person. But Garak didn’t seem annoyed. He was listening intently, in fact. At the pause he even nodded and offered: “The history of such matters is different on Cardassia. Or rather, mental and developmental differences don’t get acknowledged on Cardassia.”

“Eugenics?” said Julian with a frown.

“Not as such. We don’t mind in theory, as long as everyone can perform the tasks they’re assigned to. It’s a… class thing. If you belong to a powerful family and are expected to do great things in the army or politics or the sciences, being unable to do so for any reason is usually – what is the term humans use? - “Swept under the rug.” But then someone like you, dear doctor, if you had been Cardassian it might surprisingly have been easier for you.”

Julian shook his head. “My abilities are due to my augmentations. I’d have been… I don’t know. Not me,” he said softly.

At that, Garak gave him a look that he couldn’t pin down. Something… surprised for a moment, almost? Then smoothed out into an enigmatic smile. “Perhaps. From what you tell me you’ve always processed like you do, you’ve just been given better tools to translate and more…” he searched for the word for a second, before landing on: “space.”

At that Julian burst out into an unexpected laugh. “I certainly have enough space out here. More than enough, I’d say.”

Garak’s smile deepened. “But it doesn’t matter. Either you were always going to be able to pursue medicine and the stigmas of your parents and surrounding society were preventing you from discovering that on your own, or your augmentations made you unlock new abilities. But on Cardassia someone with the kind of passion you possess would have done well, with or without them.”

“If I were born into the right class. And if I didn’t get arrested for being fundamentally against the militaristic state.”

“Naturally,” acceded Garak. “And I must say I’m quite relieved to find the incorruptible, perfect federation comes with its own flaws. One wouldn’t have expected it with the way humans constantly go on about it.”

“Oh, we go on about the federation? According to you Cardassia is superior in culture -”

“- oh, definitely -”

“- politics -”

“- without a doubt, my dear -”

“- criminal justice system?”

“- well, we’ve never brought a wrong case before the court-”

“- I know you’re just saying that to rile me up-”

“- my dear doctor, when have I ever been anything but sincere?”

“- when have you ever said anything you meant?”

“- I am offended, truly-” said Garak with a big grin on his face.

Julian found it the easiest thing in the galaxy to return.

“Remember to drink your water,” he was reminded, gently, before they continued their lunch discussion. It was a moment in which they both forgot that they had ever begun to drift apart in the first place.

—— The End ——-

#Julian Bashir #Elim Garak #ds9 #st: ds9 #star trek #fanfic #writing

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Level Up, Chapter Ten (Branjie) - Holtzmanns

read on ao3 | word count: 4722

“It’s a great thing. Hey, can I be your momager? Kris Jenner style? Build a Mateo empire and all that?” Alexis’ face lights up, and Vanessa has to resist the urge to roll her eyes. Her sister never changes.

“You’re not even my mom. Besides, if you were a Kardashian, you’d be Khloe at best.”

Alexis pouts. “That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

AN: So…it’s been another month…oops. Sorry everyone! Real life is busy busy, but I’ve had time here and there to work on this fic so while it’s slow going, it’s still trucking along. Thank you guys so much for all the love you’ve given this fic so far, I appreciate it so much. Let me know what you think of this chapter as well! As usual, writ is amazing for betaing <3

Beep beep beep-

“Fuck.” Vanessa grumbles underneath her breath as she hits snooze on her alarm clock for the fifth time in a row, but looking at the 7:15 that flashes on the display, she can’t ignore her wake up time for much longer.

She’s back at work today, a shoot up in midtown. First day back after the tournament.

Not that Vanessa wants to think about it.

The evening after her last match had been a blur, the events mixing together and forming a grey cloud hovering above her brain. Maybe it’s good, though, because the last thing Vanessa wants to do is relive the way her opponent broke down the structures of her boxing skills as if doing so brick by brick. Now, she feels no better than a beginner walking into their very first class. Hell, maybe Vanessa never had been.

Brooke must be so disappointed with her, now that yesterday’s events have had a chance to settle and allow for some reflection on their surfaces. She hadn’t wanted to show it much last night, being more concerned around whether Vanessa was okay. But now, the fact that her coaching skills are being wasted on Vanessa is probably sinking in, considering Vanessa wasn’t able to stand up to a little bit of a challenge in the ring.

The fact that Vanessa has the day off from training today feels like a blessing. She can push away the events of yesterday and hide them behind a wall in her brain, one strong enough to conceal all the humiliation and disappointment running through her veins, the types that feel like they will never clear out of her system again. She doesn’t have to peek behind the wall until tomorrow, until she’s back in the gym for another morning practice to relive how terribly she’d burned under pressure.

Vanessa reaches out towards her bedside table, fumbling around until she snags her phone by the popsocket in between her fingers just as it’s about to drop. The battery that flashes on the screen is low, nineteen percent, something that makes her frown. She’d definitely plugged it in last night when she’d gotten home, in between sulking on the couch and watching reruns of Malcolm in the Middle to try and wipe her brain. By the time she’d climbed under her covers and unplugged her phone, it had been fully charged.

The dropping battery, now at seventeen percent, is a far cry from being the most alarming thing on her screen. Not with notifications upon notifications on her lock screen from both Twitter and Instagram and, wait - one that says that Bad Bunny of all people has just followed her?

What?

Maybe Vanessa’s still in dreamland, one where she’s become a famous boxer or a rapper with connections in high places. Maybe her alarm clock is about to go off one more time to properly wake her up, because nothing about her screen makes any sense at all.

But then Vanessa’s phone starts to buzz and it’s Monet who’s trying to Facetime her, and she swipes and is about to grumble how it’s early in the morning, damnit-

“Finally! The legend herself is awake!”

“What are you on about?” Vanessa holds back a yawn as she pushes the blankets away from her legs, swings them over the side of her bed.

“You’re a meme, bitch!”

“Huh?” Vanessa’s brows push together as she heads to the bathroom to brush her teeth, phone held in one hand. “Was that Monique’s voice?”

“Not relevant.” Monet waves her hand, when a figure in the background shoots a smile to the camera. “What’s more relevant is the fact that your dumbass has gone viral. You’re trending on Twitter.”

“I’m what now? What the hell would I go viral for? I don’t do anything.” Vanessa mumbles, the toothbrush still in her mouth. “Except lose matches.”

“That’s sort of what you’re viral for.” Monique pops into the frame, a gleeful smile on her face. “Well, more like your little performance after you lost.”

Wait, what?

“What do you mean, performance? I don’t remember doing anything.”

Vanessa tries to ignore the way her heart is beating faster and faster as she spits out her toothpaste, trying to rack what’s left in her brain after actively pushing down the events of last night, because shit, did she do something stupid like have a tantrum? Throw a fit? She can’t even remember after trying to forget it all and the night feels like a blur to her, and fuck, if she’s gone and done something stupid…shit.

She’s real screwed now.

“Wait. You don’t remember?” Monet’s mouth drops open almost in sync with Monique’s and Jesus Christ, this would be funny if Vanessa wasn’t currently filled with a sense of impending doom. “You serious?”

“What did I do?” Maybe Vanessa’s voice gets a little bit squeaky but it’s a miracle that it even comes out at all, from the way that she’s about to implode on the inside.

Monet fiddles with her screen on the other end as a link pops up in Vanessa’s notifications. “Better you watch it yourself.”

Jesus Christ.

The link takes Vanessa to Twitter and fuck, it’s a video of her and her opponent after the match has ended, one that’s surprisingly good quality - probably all the professional cameras that were filming the final matches for some obscure sports network. On screen, Vanessa’s drenched in sweat and looking a little woozy but somehow her braids are still intact, and it’s nice to see that at least her opponent is looking equally as knackered. Though the referee raises the hand of her opponent to indicate the win and watching the events back, it does sting a little bit. They’re still in the ring as the tournament’s master of ceremonies makes his way over, a bedazzled microphone in his hand that sparkles under the bright overhead lights.

“That was quite the match, ladies! I gotta hand it to both of you because that was entertaining boxing. Let’s talk to you first, Vanessa, after that loss. What’s going through your head?”

Vanessa watches as her on screen self leans in towards the mic, a little bit unsteady on her feet. “Coulda done better. On that note…Miss Vanjie out.”

On screen, she sways a little bit, her eyes rolling back and-

Wait. She’d gone and fainted yesterday during the interview?

The camera pans to the floor for a second before focusing on the interviewer again, who looks only slightly alarmed as a medical crew surrounds Vanessa. “Well. That’s one way to make a statement.”

“What the hell?” Vanessa mumbles to herself, because…that’s what she’s viral for? Fainting?

What?

She goes back to the Facetime app where the call with Monique and Monet is still open, twin expectant expressions on their faces. “What’s so exciting about fainting? That’s embarrassing as hell.”

Monique looks delighted by the question. “You see, it’s memeable.”

“Very memeable.” Monet finishes, and Vanessa wants to bonk both of their heads together, really.

Text after text pops up from Monique on the top of the screen, all Twitter links and oh god, Vanessa’s almost afraid to see what they hold.

But she has to know.

She clicks the first, the caption making her pause.

Interviewer: so why would we hire you?

Me :

There’s a cropped version of the video right underneath, and Vanessa’s not sure why she presses play, really, to hear herself say ‘ Miss Vanjie out’ and faint again.

Doesn’t get any less embarrassing than the first time she’d watched it. She clicks on another that Monique’s sent to her.

My mom: are you gay?

Me:

Vanessa can’t help but giggle because, well, the video does fit. She can’t deny that. She goes through the rest, and the way the captions get better and better is a little infuriating.

Me seeing a person from high school in public:

Me when my mom asks if I took the chicken out of the freezer two hours ago like I was supposed to:

When your professor calls on you in class as you’re about to enter REM sleep:

Good lord. Vanessa really is a meme.

She lets out a groan as she goes back to Facetime, Monique and Monet’s twin cackles an unfortunate soundtrack. “I’m really a meme. I’m a whole ass meme.”

Monet looks almost proud. “Yeah you are. ‘Miss Vanjie’ is trending on Twitter.”

“Okay, but what am I gonna do?” Vanessa almost doesn’t even notice the way that she starts pacing in front of her closet, in line with the way that her thoughts are beginning to race because fuck, this is going to be embarrassing.

Hell, it’s already embarrassing. She’s a meme, in a viral video and she’s trending on Twitter of all things for fainting at an opportune time and her mom’s probably seen it and her coworkers and the entire fucking world, for that matter. Jeez.

What does Brooke even think about all of this?

“You can’t faint your way out of this one, Vanj.” Monique snickers, growing into a full laugh when Vanessa groans, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Just a little too soon for that.”

Monet is oblivious to her internal turmoil, though, her face close to the camera on screen. “You have like, a hundred thousand followers on Instagram now. Pretty damn cool if you ask me.”

“I do? What?” Vanessa goes to the app, which opens for a split second before crashing. Damn. “Who the hell is following me?”

She tries to open it a second time and her notifications page refreshes every few seconds, with likes and comments pouring in on her recent posts. Most of them say ‘Miss Vanjie out ’, a fact that Vanessa does her very best to ignore. But hey, at least Monet is right. She does have a shit ton of followers now.

Woah.

“They want to follow the meme, the myth, the legend, that’s why. I bet you can get sponsorships and shit.” Monet’s looking excited, sharing a gleeful smile with Monique. “Damn. I shoulda fainted on television.”

“I didn’t faint on purpose.” Vanessa groans, flopping back onto her bed and trying to ignore the way her heart is pounding out of her chest. “It just sorta happened.”

It did. Not that Vanessa can remember it in the least, because the evening still feels like a blur in her brain, one that she had tried to bury in the initial embarrassment of losing the match but now, she’s not sure if she can.

It’s going to be a little bit harder to push the events of yesterday behind a wall when the whole world now knows about it. She’s going to need some Men in Black style memory wiping to even think about living in blissful ignorance now.

“Brooke said it was ‘cause you had low blood sugar. She was damn relieved it wasn’t from a concussion.”

Shit. Vanessa didn’t even think of Brooke’s reaction to her fainting, after seeing her dad go through what he did all those years ago-

“I should call her.” Vanessa rushes out, biting her lip. “Talk to you later?”

Monique waves. “See you, meme legend.”

Vanessa rolls her eyes as she hangs up, trying to wipe her clammy hands on her pants before calling Brooke. She answers on the first ring, her eyebrows creased and a worried look on her face.

“Thank god you’re okay. You feel okay?”

“I’m a meme.”

Brooke’s anxious expression melts away, her eyes beginning to crinkle as she holds back a laugh. “That you are. How did you even manage that?”

“I dunno! I forget most of it!” Vanessa runs a hand through her hair, because hell, that’s a question she wishes she had the answer to. “Did that actually happen?”

“You bet it did. Next time, I’m giving you an extra protein bar before your third match of the day. Your energy was just drained.”

“Speaking of the match…” Vanessa trails off, busying her eyes with her closet to pull out some clothes because what is she supposed to even say, really? “I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” The confusion on Brooke’s face is genuine when Vanessa looks back at the screen, her eyebrows creasing together and it’s almost worse, really, to have to actually explain. Pick it apart.

“For losing. For not really taking in the coaching that you were trying to give me between rounds. For being overconfident during the match, I don’t know.” Vanessa lets out a breath. “I just…I feel like I let you down.”

The words really begin to settle in as they leave Vanessa’s lips, crystalizing in the air. This tournament had been the first one of hers that Brooke came to, and she just had to go and lose the last match in a blisteringly pathetic way. Does Brooke regret coaching her? Having her name attached to someone like Vanessa?

Vanessa lets out a breath as the thoughts build upon one another, filling up more and more space in her abdomen, but Brooke shakes her head. “You think I’m disappointed because you lost a match? Unless you’re the Hulk and have something to tell me, it’s impossible to win every single fight that you enter. You’re not invincible, and guess what? Boxing is hard. Really hard. Even making it to the finals on your first try is something that you should be proud of.”

“Yeah?” Vanessa doesn’t mean for her voice to come out so shaky, she really doesn’t.

Brooke for her part smiles, though it doesn’t do much to calm the beating of Vanessa’s heart in her chest. “I, for one, am proud of you. Not only for the matches that you won, but for that last one. Even when it was tough, you kept pushing until the very end. You gave it everything you had.”

Vanessa makes a face. “Quite literally.”

“Had a feeling you were going to make a splash somehow. Didn’t think it would be by becoming a meme.” Brooke keeps a straight face for approximately three seconds before bursting into laughter, and Vanessa groans, flopping back onto her bed.

She’s never, ever, going to live this down. Ever.

“At least it’s a funny meme. Could’ve been worse.” Vanessa sighs.

She supposes she’s lucky it wasn’t as humiliating as it could have been. Though as she’s trying to think about it, Vanessa’s not sure how to make it even more embarrassing. A nip slip? A crowd reaction shot?

“Speaking of which, the gym is getting tweets from news outlets trying to write about it. They want a first hand scoop.” Brooke snorts.

Vanessa raises an eyebrow. “Seriously? Are you kidding? What sort of wack news outlets want to write about a meme?”

“Think of places that start with ‘b’ and rhyme with ‘uzzfeed’.”

“Ah.” Vanessa nods, because that makes more sense. She pauses, looking at the way Brooke’s face is smiling and kind, when she doesn’t necessarily feel like she deserves it. But maybe, Brooke’s just that nice. “Also…thanks. For what you said.”

“I am proud. Real proud.” Brooke’s smile is soft, reaching her eyes, and it makes Vanessa want to reach into the screen, give her a hug. “As far as students go, I got lucky.”

“Even though I turned into a meme?”

“Especially because you turned into a meme. Don’t let the fame get into your head, though. We have practice again bright and early tomorrow.” Brooke clicks her tongue as she winks, and it’s nice, because for a minute, everything just feels normal.

“Looking forward to it.”

Vanessa hangs up the call and maybe she’s feeling a little bit better after talking to Brooke, her heart not quite threatening to break her chest open anymore. Sure, the threads of disbelief are still hanging over her head in webs because this doesn’t feel real, not really, all the notifications on her phone and the way that Monet and Monique had gleefully told her the news, giddiness mixed in with a little bit of jealousy. Vanessa’s not at the point of wanting it, not just yet. She’s not sure if she’s going to get there, just not the way that her friends would.

But hey, maybe it’ll be fun. And she has no other choice but to roll with it, does she?

“What the fuck?”

Alexis’ exclamation of surprise echoes from her bedroom and it’s enough to make Vanessa amble over, see what she’s up to. “What?”

“How the hell did you get verified on Instagram? Totally not jealous or anything, nope.” Alexis huffs and Vanessa scrambles onto Alexis’ mattress beside her, peering over at her screen.

And there it is. A fancy blue check beside Vanessa’s 245k followers, which, when she refreshes her page, grows to 250k. Holy shit.

“But that means at least two hundred and fifty thousand people have seen that stupid video. Lord almighty.” Vanessa groans, walking over to Alexis’ bed so that she can hide her face in the blankets, as if it will hide her from everything else, too.

Two hundred and fifty thousand people now know what Vanessa looks like, and know about the idiotic things that she tends to say under pressured situations. That many people have decided to follow her on Instagram, which up until now has really only featured makeup looks and silly pictures with her friends.

Alexis pats her shoulder, looking a little too calm for Vanessa’s taste. “Technically the video on Twitter has millions of views, so I’d say the number is a bit higher.”

Vanessa’s stomach turns. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Who said I was trying to do that?” Alexis waves a hand. “Listen, mom and I are the ones you should be thanking. We made you go take boxing classes, right? Now you can be an influencer.”

“You say that as if it’s a good thing.” Vanessa makes a face. A nice gift from them, truly. All Vanessa’s wanted in life. To be a meme of all things, a fucking meme.

One that Bad Bunny follows.

“It’s a great thing. Hey, can I be your momager? Kris Jenner style? Build a Mateo empire and all that?” Alexis’ face lights up and Vanessa has to resist the urge to roll her eyes. Her sister never changes.

“You’re not even my mom. Besides, if you were a Kardashian, you’d be Khloe at best.”

Alexis pouts. “That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Whatever Khloe, this Kim has to head out to work.” Vanessa stretches, lifting herself off the bed to grab her bag as she hears Alexis huff from her position on the mattress.

“Who says you get to be Kim?”

The thing about owning a business is that there is always work to be done.

There are bills to pay. Parents to call. Equipment to order. It never ends, not when Brooke is the sole one responsible for making sure everything gets done the way that it should.

Not that Brooke minds it too much. She likes being at the gym, even if she’s getting work done - the place is always comfortably busy, with classes taking place, athletes training on their own, parents cheering on their kids. The hum of activity in the gym is easy to tune out and becomes white noise that is comforting, a reminder of what she’s used to. The gym is a second home at this point, the banners on the wall and the constant stream of the classes as familiar to her as breathing.

It’s a home that she likes to be in.

So that’s why Brooke is there at 8 p.m. on a weeknight, despite the fact that today is Vanessa’s day off before training starts again tomorrow. She still has things to do in her office, always does and sometimes, it feels better than just sitting at home.

“Three kids fell over dramatically and yelled ‘Miss Vanjie out’ as I walked into the gym just now. Their instructor did not look amused.” Vanessa’s head peeks past the doorway and Brooke ignores the way her chest feels a little bit lighter from hearing her voice, seeing her face. Confirming the fact that she’s still in one piece.

“What are you doing here? It’s your day off.”

Vanessa shrugs, leaning against the doorframe. “I got bored. What are you doing here? Do you live here? Serious question, is there a bunk tucked away somewhere in this office?”

“As convenient as that would be, I haven’t fully lost it yet, so no.” Brooke snorts.

Vanessa plops herself down on the edge of her desk, her matching lilac sweatshirt and sweatpants dwarfing her frame while making her look cozy. “I was going stir crazy after work.”

“Hmm?”

“At home.” Vanessa shrugs, her legs swinging a little as they dangle. “Don’t wanna do any chores, can’t talk to Alexis ‘cause she won’t shut up about the fact that I’m a whole ass meme. Can’t go on social media ‘cause it keeps crashing. Also, some reporters found my number and won’t stop calling me. That’s weird, right? Where’d they find that?”

Vanessa bites her lip as she fiddles with her hands on her lap, and the sight makes Brooke’s chest tighten. Sure, Vanessa is smiles and bravado personified, someone with an uncanny ability to charm the pants off of anyone who interacts with her, but her current situation is…exposing. It’s as if she’s put on display under a lens for the whole world to see and react to and share their thoughts on, and worst of all, it’s not in Vanessa’s control, or anyone’s control for that matter.

And despite Vanessa’s charisma and extroverted personality, Brooke understands how it can be unsettling. She’s been there, after all.

If only Brooke had a way to protect her. She’s her coach, isn’t she? Shouldn’t she know what to do? Except no rulebooks that Brooke has thumbed through have ever come with instructions on what to do when an athlete becomes an internet sensation. Especially when most of the time, athletes are trying to make it big on purpose.

Brooke lifts herself up, ambling around the desk to sit down beside Vanessa. There’s a vulnerability in Vanessa’s eyes that’s not often visible when others are around, like her teammates. No, it’s an expressiveness that Vanessa has allowed Brooke to begin to witness over time - the softer sides of her, the ones that are less polished and ready for an audience, and Brooke doesn’t want to ever take it for granted.

She holds out her hand and Vanessa intertwines their fingers without a second thought, their hands fitting together like pieces of a puzzle despite their difference in size. Vanessa’s palm is warm and there’s no way that Brooke can actually feel her pulse through their grip but from the way that Vanessa’s looking up at her, she wonders if their heartbeats are in sync.

Brooke looks at Vanessa, really looks at her. She’s someone that Brooke has trained for a while now, someone who is trying to convince her to marathon Bad Girls Club, someone who Brooke considers a friend - Vanessa’s her friend, right? Is that what they are? Vanessa texts her memes while she’s at work and makes Brooke laugh more than she ever thought she could during training sessions and that’s what friends are supposed to do, aren’t they? At least, Brooke thinks so. Sure, Vanessa is her athlete and someone that Brooke trains and there’s a certain level of professionalism that goes into a coaching scenario but…it’s different. This is different.

Vanessa is more than just her athlete. She’s someone that Brooke cares about, someone who deserves everything and Brooke just wishes that she could give it to her, make her happy because her smile is the cutest thing and always lights up a room. So it makes sense, then, the way that Brooke’s heart tugs, seeing Vanessa like this, her shoulders slightly slumped and her leg bouncing from anxious energy.

“I wish I could control it, y’know? I feel like it’s a beast that’s definitely outta my skill set ‘cause last I checked, ‘Miss Vanjie’ was still trending on Twitter. How is a dumb meme spreading so fast?” Vanessa pulls out her phone, her eyebrows scrunching together when the screen is already lit up with notifications. “Christ on a bike.”

If only there was a way that Brooke could shield Vanessa from all of this - no, not shield her, but rather help her wield the spotlight that’s been cast on her. Somehow give her a chance to sit in the driver’s seat with control over what her new audience can see. Brooke wracks her brain, trying to think back to her professional boxing days and how she’d managed her career. Well, not that she’d done the managing, Detox had done that for her-

Oh.

“I don’t know if control would be the right word, but managing, maybe? I know someone who might be able to help with that.” Brooke ventures, because hey, it’s been years since she’s talked to Detox, much less been a client of hers but maybe she’ll have some suggestions.

Maybe she’ll even take Vanessa on as a client of her own.

Vanessa raises an eyebrow. “Who? The lord himself so that he can control all of social media?”

“What? No,” Brooke snorts, “though I like that suggestion. I was thinking more in the direction of my old manager.”

Hell, Brooke doesn’t even know if Detox is still in sports management anymore because it’s been years, after all. Though Brooke supposes it’s never a bad idea to at least look into her - having someone that she already knows and trusts is better than a random sleazeball who could be trying to fleece Vanessa for a fat check.

Brooke’s definitely not going to let Vanessa be taken advantage of, that’s for sure.

Vanessa looks unconvinced. “A manager? Slow down, ‘cause I’m not even a pro yet. I’m apparently the most amateur boxer to box this side of the equator, from that tournament. Wouldn’t a whole ass manager be a little fast?”

“First of all, continue that negative self talk, and that’ll translate to more reps during tomorrow’s morning workout.” Brooke gives Vanessa a look and her sheepish smile is enough to make her own expression soften almost immediately.

“Aye aye, captain.”

“Second,” Brooke continues, “you may not be a pro boxer just yet, but you seem to have splashed into the mainstream in a more memorable way than any pro boxer will ever be able to achieve. You have a platform now, and that’s not something that’s easy to get.”

“A platform built on a meme.” Vanessa mumbles, and Brooke nudges her shoulder.

“It’s your platform. Your microphone. Sure, it’s not exactly what you expected, but what big break ever is? It’s your turn to figure out what you want to do with it.”

Vanessa bites her lip. “You make it sound easy.”

“Sure as hell won’t be easy. Fame never really is, honestly. But I’ll be here with you to navigate through it and figure it out. If you’ll have me. Help you discover what kind of stage you want to have.” It’s presumptuous, Brooke knows, because she’s only Vanessa’s coach after all and it’s not like they’ve been working together for years and years, and maybe Vanessa doesn’t even care that much.

But then Vanessa’s throwing her arms around Brooke’s neck, and Brooke’s face is pressed against the soft cotton of her hoodie and it’s funny, really, how well Vanessa fits in her embrace, from the way she almost curls up against her. “You better be. You’re my coach, which means we’re automatically ride or dies, right? Isn’t that how it goes?”

“Is that how you want it to go?”

“Is that how you want it to go?“ Vanessa pulls back and the sudden uncertainty in her eyes makes Brooke want to reach out and smooth over her furrowed brow.

But she doesn’t. Instead, she pulls Vanessa back into a hug. “It’s definitely how I want it to go.”

“Good.” Vanessa’s voice is muffled as she shuffles closer in their hug. “Now call up your friend Detroit or whatever her name is, ‘cause we need her advice.”

“Detox?”

“Close enough.”

Find me at @plastiquetiaras ! Let me know your thoughts if you feel like it

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #lesbian au #boxer au #holtzmanns #level up

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alittlebitgoofy · 3 years

Text

Glass wings - chapter five (lemonjuice)

i'm back back back again with more gay fairies and this time we have a gay elf and another gay pixie, very fun!! i'm excited to finally get jan and rock into the mix >:)

thanks to my dearest @dollalpaca for betaing and putting up with my lack of commas. it's a lot to deal with

ao3 link

Time felt like it was floating; maybe it was the hazy morning air, or the warmth that was enveloping her, but Lemon had never felt so comfortable. She was somewhat aware of the body intertwined with her’s. Cracking her eyes open, she saw Juice still pressed into her side. Soft breaths tickled her collarbone, Juice’s head having not left her shoulder the entire time they’d been sleeping.

Lemon couldn’t bring herself to move and risk disturbing her friend, she had a feeling Juice wasn’t the best at letting herself sleep, always opting to do things than give herself time to rest. It was an issue she couldn’t press for fear of making things awkward, only try to subtly influence. She looked calm, peaceful for once; the blonde showed no signs of waking up any time soon. Even when she was relaxed, Juice had a natural frown, her face never seeming fully happy apart from the rare, softer moments that happened. The night before was one of those, something where the air around them was different, things came out easier and it felt as if nothing in the world mattered, only their company.

It surprised Lemon how easily she fell into the grasp of another person—she’d spent so long pent up, alone by her own choice but regretting it more day by day, powerless to stop the torment she put herself through.

Then Juice came around, giving her someone to really connect with. Finally, a friend.

Juice woke up some time while Lemon was busy in her own thoughts. She stayed still at first, melted into Lemon, not wanting to move from the comfort she offered. Her half-asleep brain could only process that the warm thing next to her was good and needed to be kept around.

After pulling Lemon slightly closer than before, Juice didn’t budge. She set her claim, curled up in bed with Lemon, and refused to leave or even slightly mess up the current situation. Lemon was brought back to reality by Juice shuffling as much closer as she could physically manage, her affection not going anywhere any time soon.

“Morning, Juicy,” Lemon spoke softly, not yet ready for the day, still fighting off the sleep. The response she got was a soft hum, not having processed the greeting, however wanting to appear as if she had.

“G’morning, Lem.” Juice’s tone was rough with tiredness, her words muffled by her head still burrowed into the pixie’s shoulder. Her speech was less annunciated, just about not slurring together in fatigue.

It didn’t take too long for them both to fully wake up. Lemon, having already been fairly alert choosing to stay in the blissful state of Juice’s affection. (but enjoying Juice’s endless affection) The latter needed a few more minutes to wake up, before engaging in a conversation. Within a few more minutes, Juice moved her arms from Lemon, startling the pixie. She sat up, eyes still heavy with tiredness, though a lot more alert than before.

Eventually, Lemon followed suit, the pair quietly preparing for the day ahead of them, a morning routine made easier with the company of another person. Juice stared at Lemon quizzically as she only ran a hand through her hair and shrugged.

“Do you not brush your hair a lot? Are you one of those people who don’t need to? Or is it just something you dislike.” Lemon paused, how did she explain that she despised brushing it until she had to, for no real reason? It just made her uncharacteristically angry.

“I don’t like it, I have too much hair and it’s a pain to brush it all out, so I don’t if I can get away with it, which I could have before you pointed it out.” She childishly stuck her tongue out for emphasis, while Juice struggled to hold back the laughter at her usual dramatics.

Lemon wanted nothing more than to run when she saw Juice pick up her comb, glancing between it and her hair curiously. The fairy made her way to her side, nudging Lemon to see if she was allowed to do so. Lemon wanted to say no, but something about Juice’s soft expression melted her into accepting with no fuss.

It didn’t take long before Lemon grunted at the pulling of her hair with the comb to detangle it. It was a horrible feeling, all the more reason she despised that thing. Juice tried to be as gentle as she could, but she had to be more forceful to get out any knots. Lemon became more docile as they went along, her hair becoming a lot less messy, though still as fluffy as ever. Lemon found herself enjoying the soft contact of Juice, steadying her head with a hand leant against her neck, or running her hands through the hair to check she hadn’t missed anything. It made her body warm in an unfamiliar way, but something she would crave again all the same.

Juice smiled proudly at the finished product and Lemon hummed in satisfaction. Running a hand through her hair, the pixie flashed a grin, happy with the result. The blonde took the opportunity to fluff up her hair like how it usually was, running her hands through it to check the neatness all over.

That was the only reason, not that she enjoyed being in such close proximity with Lemon or anything.

---

Although it had gotten easier, flying with Lemon was never a good idea—she would zoom off at a speed that Juice could hardly keep up with. Thankfully, the pixie had decided to rest on her shoulder, making herself comfortable as the fairy flew them further on.

“There’s something over there!” Lemon jolted, gesturing to the right, sounding uncharacteristically serious. Juice shot her a confused look, not sure what caused the sudden outburst or why her eyes were so trained on the direction she had pointed to.

“I can feel something, I don’t know what it is, but I need to go check it out,” Lemon said quickly, flying off of Juice’s shoulder and deeper into the surrounding forest.

“Lemon! You aren’t going alone, slow down,” Juice sighed, following Lemon as fast as she could and hoping the pixie didn’t fly into anything in her sudden burst of energy. The pixie paused, fluttering her way back to the shoulder and directing Juice from there.

They flew decently far out, to the outskirts of the village where a few people lived, who didn’t like living in the main town area for whatever reason. Upon spotting a house in the distance, Lemon’s eyes lit up. That was it! That was the thing she could feel. There was something inside that house that was drawing her to it, and she needed to find out.

---

Jan sprung back to consciousness at an alarming rate. No grogginess, only a sudden burst of energy that startled the person leaning over her.

Before her brain could catch up as to why there was a concerned elf in a cloak staring at her, something pulled at her. The sensation was willing her to leave the little cottage and venture into the surrounding woods, though that seemed like a bad idea.

“Hey! Don’t just leave! You’re not really in the state to—!” The elf threw herself to grab the pixie as she jumped off of the bed, before stumbling to the floor atop the other girl, her voice failing as they collided with the ground.

“Are you alright? I know you fell quite hard, but you just jolted up all of a sudden and it was terrifying,” the other girl spoke slower, a lot quieter that time. She struggled to hold eye contact, seemingly scared of Jan. It was a lot to realise someone may be intimidated by her, but the pixie tried to keep herself as small and harmless as possible in response.

“I’m okay, everything hurts, though. I’m not quite sure what happened.”

“Well, you see. I accidentally shot you down from the sky with my bow, because I saw you and got scared, I thought you were a predator and defended myself before properly looking,” meekly, the elf mumbled out an explanation.

Jan felt herself stifling a giggle at how adorable the person in front of her was. She looked too nervous for Jan to want to poke fun at her, but the way she blushed, the tips of her pointy ears turning pink, was too cute. Although the situation wasn’t good, the pixie couldn’t help but stare, taking in every aspect of the pretty girl.

Oh no. She couldn’t be—

Jan blinked a few times, shaking the thought from her head before it could finish. The idea of emotionally bonding with some random person who accidentally injured her was ridiculous. She was cute, it didn’t go any deeper than that. She also was the reason Jan couldn’t keep her balance right now, yet that seemed the furthest worry from her mind.

“It’s fine, I’m not that hurt.” A skeptical look made Jan laugh, although being hit by an arrow was painful, she hadn’t had too many bad injuries. Minus the pain all over her body, but that wasn’t a problem when her attention was focused on something; or rather, someone else.

Before their conversation could continue, a loud bang startled the pair. Jan felt the pulling sensation even stronger now.

Something was demanding her attention.

She had to follow it; her body decided that for her. She walked out of the house with the panicked elf quickly pacing after her. Jan idly wondered if she was always so panicky, or if this was something far too out of her comfort zone, leaving her almost unable to function.

“Wait, it’s here! Her!” A high pitched squeak of a voice spoke far too loudly for someone of her size. In a flash of yellow, Lemon fluttered in front of Jan.

Their expressions mirrored each other, shock and confusion soon morphing into excitement, upon realising their shared species. It was one of the first times Lemon had truly been left speechless.

“So you’re the one who gave me that feeling? You’re a strong little thing.” Jan inspected the small creature in front of her. Lemon only shrugged in response, not too aware of exactly what was happening, intrigued nonetheless. There was something about the soft lilac eyes and hair of the girl in front of her, that made her feel comfortable.

Lemon shifted into her human form, staring Jan down much in the same way she had just done. She couldn’t figure it out, but the woman had a comforting energy. It reminded her of something she hadn’t felt in a long time, but she couldn’t let herself linger on that thought.

----

“So, you’ve never met another pixie?” Jan stared at Lemon in shock, the raw energy emanating from her being completely untrained was almost inconceivable. Lemon shrugged, not seeing it as a huge deal, despite her excitement to meet another pixie.

“Yeah, I mean, I grew up around fairies, so it’s kind of similar, but I don’t know much about pixies.”

“Well, we need to make up for lost time! I bet you barely know how to use your powers. You can teleport and levitate things, but can you feel emotions, or sense energy? You’re close enough with Juice to connect with her if you tried. I’m not sure how it would work between a pixie and a fairy, rather than two pixies, but it’s definitely possible.”

“Connect? How so?”

“It’s just a thing pixies do; we get close enough to someone and a link develops. It can be trained to sense general energies, but you’re tied to the energy of another person. So, you could be able to feel Juice’s feelings, and reach a deeper understanding of each other.”

“That sounds so cool! How do I do it? What else can I do? Can you teach me?” Lemon’s eyes sparkled with so much excitement, that Jan felt herself soften; Lemon was so earnestly energetic and eager to learn that saying no wasn’t an option.

Juice watched on with a smile—Lemon finding another pixie was something she’d mentioned wanting to do in a passing conversation, since she knew so little about herself. There was something about seeing her so happy that made her heart squeeze, Lemon deserved so much more than what she got.

Lemon was incredible, although Juice couldn’t find the words to communicate it. She wouldn’t admit how much she adored the little troublemaker, but she would never stop being thankful she met that idiot.

Rock nervously approached Juice, feeling they had similar energies. The fairy jolted in shock at a soft greeting, but they soon got into a conversation about the pixies. Juice was happy to share what it was like to be close to one, as Rock realised that Jan was likely to stick around. She would find it hard to leave for the time being due to her injuries; the elf quietly hoped to herself that she would stay.

Juice quickly found a kinship with the elf based on their shared awkwardness when it came to social interactions; her anxieties settled as she realised the elf had the same issues. Their discussions flowed surprisingly easily, as they waited for the two pixies to calm down their enthusiasm.

“So, is the intense energy just a pixie thing?” Rock cocked her head, curiously glancing between the pair and Juice.

“It must be, Lemon doesn’t know how to sit still—he’s always got to be doing something, or she’ll complain about being bored. It’s kind of fun, though; she keeps things exciting.” Juice’s eyes fell back onto an excited Lemon, her face growing into an involuntary soft smile.

Rock noticed something in the way the smaller girl looked at her, but decided not to mention it. It wasn’t her place to comment.

“Juice! Jan’s gonna teach me how to use my powers, isn’t that cool?” Lemon giddily bounced back to her friend, eyes gleaming with such excitement, Juice felt her heart warm with how happy she seemed.

Lemon deserved so much more than she got, and Juice was going to do everything she could to make sure that happened.

#rpdr fanfiction #glass wings fic #fantasy au #lemonjuice #jock #sportkura #Jan sport #rock m sakura #lemon x juice

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

Text

Survey #349

“we’ll meet again, when both our cars collide”

When was the last time you had a PopTart? It's been many, many months. Do you like hot chocolate? Well duh. Who made you laugh the hardest today? I haven't really laughed today. Who was the last person to promise you something, and what was it? Hmph. Would you ever jump into a fire to save your bestfriend? I know I would. Do you have a callus from writing too much? No, I only have calluses on my feet from when I used to walk for hours on end. They just never permanently went away, even with grooming. Who is someone you’ve made a bad first impression on? I dread to guess what the girl Jason dated after me was told about me. I shouldn't care at all, but I do. I have every reason to accurately be defined as "the crazy ex," and I fucking hate it. Who is your best guy friend? Girt, a friend from high school. Do you read cereal boxes while you’re eating? I did as a kid, but now I don't. I just kinda stand and eat. What’s the last thing you accidentally (or purposely) burnt? I kinda burnt the roof of my mouth on pizza the other night. Do you know anyone with a lip piercing? Me, haha. I know others, too. What did the last tattoo you saw, look like? I don't remember. Have you ever given birth? NO FUCKING THANK YOU. Do you enjoy making out? I mean if I'm in the mood to and I love you, yeah. Why exactly do you take surveys? "I genuinely like doing them and they’re great for venting and sorting out thoughts and whatnot. I can just ramble and get things off my chest." <<<< This right here covers it. As well, it's just a boredom killer. And I happen to be bored very, very often. Rockband or Gutair Hero? Both are great, why choose just one? What are you listening to right now? Halocene's cover of "Helena" by My Chemical Romance. It's beautiful. What kind of energy drinks do you drink, if any? None, because I just can't do energy drinks. They taste like pure poison to me. Have you ever been swimming in a river? No. Swimming in a river sounds pretty dangerous... Does your alarm clock wake you with music, or with an annoying buzz sound? Music. When you broke stuff in the house as a child, did you blame it on siblings? I'm hoping you don't mean breaking deliberately, 'cuz I wasn't that kind of kid. But anyway, I don't believe I did. Did you make it all the way through the Oregon Trail game? Yes. I was obSESSED with those games as a kid. Lions and tigers and bears, oh my! Which one are you more scared of? Tigers, probably. They're so stealthy and, while I may be entirely wrong, seem like the top candidate of the three to attack a human, be it for food or defense. And have you SEEN the muscles on a tiger? Christ. Describe the best use that you’ve found for duct tape: Uh, taping things lmao. Do you wrap gifts or use gift bags? I use gift bags, because I can't wrap for shit. What fast food place do you avoid at all costs? Arby's is really gross to me. Are you afraid of deep sea creatures? Just giant squid... *shudders* Have you ever agreed to purchase something on Ebay and got scammed somehow? No. I did, however, purchase something on deviantART and never got the product. It was going to be a present for Jason. In dA's defense though, I've bought like... two or three other things from there, and there were zero issues. It's really about the people you trust. If you get a call that says “Unknown”, do you answer it? Nnnnope. Do you have any bobble head figures? No. Have your parents ever left you somewhere without realizing it? I don't think so. Have you ever been in a tanning bed? No. Did your last kiss mean anything to you? Well yeah, I wouldn't have kissed her otherwise. Would you say that you have a nice smile? No; I've been self-conscious of it since I was a kid, mostly because one of my eyes looks more squinty than the other, but they both are to me. I've always said I look high when I smile lmao. Is there an ex you want to make up with? My mind immediately screams "Jason," but I know that's a horrendous idea. Our last talk ended peacefully and even with care and good wishes, and I need my fucking impenetrable head to accept that's where it needs to end. He does NOT need to re-enter my life. It would be so bad for me. Do you remember how you felt on 9/11? I have no memory of it, if I'm being honest. What outfit makes you feel the most attractive? None. Other than yourself, who knows you the best? Really? Whoever reads these lmao. What’s one complaint that you have about school? Common Core and how every student's school experience was not tailored towards their unique goals. Like they try to cram a shitload of identical and usually useless information into a kid's brain to make them a jack of all trades, you could say, but not enough information they need to properly pursue their career future. It causes such an unnecessary amount of frustration and stress. I have many, many complaints about the education system, but this one tops the list. What do you do while you’re on campus but not in class? Back in college, I would just do stuff on my laptop. Do you know anyone who has Autism/Asperger’s syndrome? Yes. Are you open to a same-sex relationship and why or why not? Well, considering I'm bisexual... Do you remember life without the internet? No. Have you ever found yourself to be ugly? I've gone my entire life thinking I'm ugly, if I'm being real. What is your state’s minimum wage? $7.25 a fucking hour. :'''''') Is there something you want to say to someone but can’t/won’t? There's a few people. What is your first memory of being in a hospital? Considering my mom worked at the local hospital when I was a kid, I remember being there quite, quite young, playing with my older sister in Mom's and her coworkers' room. I think Nicole was too young to really "play." Do you have any relatives with red hair? No. What is something good that has happened to you in the past week? I got my first Covid vaccine. My arm hurts like a motherfucker now, but to protect my mom, it's worth it. Please get vaccinated. How much was the rent/mortgage at the cheapest place you’ve ever lived? That's never been my business. Have you ever been to a gay pride parade? No, but I would go to a local one if I could actually walk five feet without being in serious pain and sweating like a pig. Do you still keep in touch with your very first best friend? We're friends on Facebook, but that's it. What was the topic of the last conversation you had with your dad? I can't remember, but it was recent, because we all met at Ashley's house for Nicole's birthday celebration. How often did you visit your grandparents when you were growing up? Pretty much never, given they all lived no less than like, 10 hours (via car) from where we lived. My immediate family are the only people in NC. When two family members are fighting, what do you usually do? Stay out of it, but admittedly try to listen just to know what's going on. Do you like the smell of men’s cologne? Yeah. What’s your all time FAVORITE freezer food? Do you eat that a lot? I survive off of microwaveable freezer food, so this is very hard... uhhhhh... perhaps this Banquet bowl meal that's mac 'n cheese with spicy chicken. It's absolutely delicious, like you'd never guess that sucker was just popped in the microwave. I'd say I eat it a moderate amount; it's a reliable option if Mom's not cooking and I'm really hungry, because it's super filling. Do you like documentaries? Have you ever watched one and find it boring? I enjoy them, particularly when they're about animals. Were you ever a fan of macaroni & cheese? Do you like Kraft dinner? Ha, speak of mac 'n cheese. I love it, and Kraft makes it fine. Do you burn incense? Not as much as I used to. I love the smell and just general vibe, though. What would you consider an unacceptable first date? Going to a bar or something. Have you ever been so sick you had to be taken to the hospital? In the head, anyway. Is there anything currently bothering you? Multiple things. Would you say that you’ve got something ‘special’ about you? No. Do you like things vampire-related? I don't really have an opinion on vampire stuff. Are you the kind of person who does not like talking about their past? I don't care. Have you ever been to a casino? No. What’s the last thing you wore a costume for besides Halloween related events? Back when I still took dance classes and we had the yearly recital. What does your father do for a living? He's a mailman. What’s the last app you downloaded on your phone? Haha, I re-downloaded this ollllldddd game I had before, Nyan Cat: Lost in Space (or something like that?) for my niece to play. She's hooked on it now. Are you in any discomfort right now? Yeah; as I mentioned, my arm really hurts. What do you know the most about? Of all things I know, almost certainly meerkats. Are you seeing anyone? No. Have you ever hooked back up with an ex, just for sex? Was it a mistake or no? No. Have you ever gotten in trouble for using a phone in class? No, because I didn't use my phone in class. Have you seen all the Shrek movies? No, which is a fucking crime. I need to see the last one. Have you ever finished a whole video game? Plenty plenty plenty. Do you know anyone with a pet snake? Yeah, myself included. If you had to live in an extreme environment — think Sahara, Antarctica, under the sea, on the Moon— where would you want to live? Why? Probably Antarctica. I'm sure it would be unpleasant, being that cold, but I feel there's more you can do about being cold than being in the scalding heat of, say, the Sahara. Living on the moon or in the deep ocean sounds super sucky. How was your day overall? It's been okay. Not as bored as usual, at least. How many people of the opposite sex do you fully trust? Like... zero. I want to say my dad, and I almost do, just... nightmares make that very, very difficult. Plus his past. What does your mom call you? Normally just "Britt." Write a sentence in another language: Oh god, my German is so rusty... uhhhh... Hallo, ich heiße Brittany, und ich bin 25 Jahre alt und wohne in North Carolina. I think I got the grammar right? Have you ever sent an X-Rated picture to someone? No. Even if I was comfortable with my body, I would be way too paranoid to at any point have a naked picture on my phone, even if I deleted it. Like, hello blackmail, but also, nothing you delete is ever really gone permanently. What big city do you live near? Raleigh is like an hour away. Do you like breaded chicken sandwiches? omg YES Is there a Sonic in your area? Yes, it's my favorite fast food joint. You have GOT to try the pretzel twists with cheese dip. Have you ever gone to a thrift store? Yeah, I love 'em. Do you think Johnny Depp is attractive? I do. Are you happy with the state you live in? No, not at all. I hate this place. Bunch of homophobic, racist rednecks. How many times have you seen the opposite sex naked? It's not like I counted every time I saw my ex naked over three and half years lmao. How many times have you seen the same sex naked? A few times. When days go by, do you cross them off on the calendar? I don't use a calendar. Are you currently counting down to something? If so, what? MY TATTOO APPOINTMENT!!!!! :''') I know I can't stop talking about it, but ugh I'm so excited. May 19th, c'mon already. Do you pay rent to your parents? No. Do you dye eggs for Easter? I used to as a kid. Not so much anymore. Are you in debt right now? For what? Oh god, I don't want to think of this. Would you ever work night crew? I really, really wouldn't want to. Humans are diurnal for a reason. Being awake in constant darkness would depress the fuck outta me, and it'd feel so lonely, with everyone I know asleep. Who was the last person that lied to you, or that you can recall lying to you? What did they lie about? How did you find out they were lying? I don't remember. Has anyone ever called you ugly, straight up, before? How did you react to this? No, not to my face. Who is the most stubborn person you know {excluding yourself}? MY MOTHER.

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''helena'' by my chemical romance

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hermannsthumb · 4 years

Note

What do you think about writing a bit about badboy Hermann, Who decides to be a rebel and awkward and nerdy newt?

this fic is just [hermann gottlieb voice] be gay do crime

did you know that Rebellious Hermann is like, the best

———————-

Newt’s standards for classifying things as out of the ordinary have gone up significantly since the whole end-of-the-world-at-the-hands-of-interdimensional-aliens things, but that that doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate something as being fucking weird every now and then when the opportunity presents itself. Case in point: Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, PhD, record-holder for the largest stick-up-an-ass of all time, currently bypassing the security to the rangers’ locker room and breaking about a dozen PPDC protocols just…to take a bath?

“Well, that’s the gist of it, I suppose,” Hermann says. “Obviously it’s not just to take a bath. The facilities in here are rather nice–steam, that sort of–” He gives a small, frustrated grunt. “Damn it, Newton, hold that bloody flashlight steady!”

“I’m trying, dude,” Newt says, and clamps one hand down over his slightly–slightly–trembling wrist to keep it in place. He’s not sure what he expected when he sneaked out after Hermann tonight, but it wasn’t this. “I’ve never broken in anywhere before, okay? I’m a little…” He casts a glance down the long, pitch-black hallway to their right, then the long, pitch-black hallway to their left, and scuffs his boot against the floor. “…nervous.”

Hermann turns to him sharply. Newt can’t make out his expression in the darkness, but if he’d had to wager a guess, he’d say it’s smug. “Newton Geiszler, rock star extraordinaire,” he says. “Self-described–ah, what was it?”

“Shut up,” Newt says.

“Rebel,” Hermann says. “Punk.”

“Ha, ha,” Newt says.

“And yet you’ve never once–”

“I’m a punk!” Newt half-whines, half-shouts. It’s pathetic even to his own ears, and he can hear Hermann snort. “No, I am, I am! I shoplift gum and shit all the time! And, uh–” He wracks his brains for examples of all the cool, rebellious stuff he’s done. Once he made out on the back of a motorcycle with one of his ex-boyfriends. He’s gotten arrested at plenty of protests. He broke a Nazi’s nose in a barfight. That counts for, like, eighty cool points. “Look,” he finally says, “just because I’ve never had the chance to break in anywhere before doesn’t mean I’m not a punk!”

“Certainly, Newton,” Hermann says loftily. He turns back to the open panel of wires he’s been poking at and adds, “Flashlight.”

Grumbling, Newt angles the beam back over Hermann’s shoulder and makes a conscious effort to hold it steady. Hermann continues poking around at the wires with his special pliers. Which he keeps, apparently, just for doing stuff like this. “Where did you learn to hack shit, anyway?” Newt says.

“Newton,” Hermann says. “I code jaegers.”

The door shoots open with a whoosh. Hermann drops the wires and settles the metal panel of the wall back in its place, then straightens up with a small groan. “There we are,” he says. “Do hurry. We don’t want to be seen.”

Newt switches off the flashlight.

Hermann was right, it turns out, about this place being worthy of sort-of committing felonies: giant sunken bathtubs, actual shower stalls, a sauna. Logically, Newt knows, it makes sense–back in the glory days of the PPDC the rangers were actual goddamn rock stars, but it still stings a little to know that a good portion of what could’ve been the k-science budget is now going towards Chuck Hansen’s bubble baths instead. “I come here every Friday night,” Hermann explains, leaning against the tile wall for balance as he shucks off his blazer and dorky saddle shoes. “It’s quiet at this time, and completely deserted–perfect for thinking.”

“Right,” Newt says.

Hermann strips out of his sweatervest.

“Uh,” Newt says. “What are you doing?”

“Taking a bath, of course,” Hermann says. He gives Newt a lingering once-over, nose wrinkling very slightly in something that might be disgust. “Hm, you ought to try one of the showers. The water pressure is divine.” Another once-over. “You could use a shower, actually. Are you aware you smell like rotting kaiju flesh?”

“You know exactly what to say to get a guy’s blood bumping, baby,” Newt says, but he won’t deny that Hermann’s right. He does stink pretty bad.

Hermann takes a ridiculously long bath that steams up the entire locker room, and Newt takes a shower with the best water pressure he’s felt since he traded in his overpriced apartment in Boston for military barracks. They reconvene by the deserted lockers once they’re done: Newt, having managed to wiggle back into his skinny jeans (a daunting task with damp legs), Hermann in a pilfered fluffy PPDC bathrobe and what appears to be plaid pajama bottoms. Of course Hermann wears plaid pajamas. “I found this with the towels,” Hermann explains, lifting his left arm. The bathrobe sleeve slides down to his elbow.

“Should you be, uh,” Newt says, “taking that?”

“It was still in plastic wrap,” Hermann says. “Close the door behind you.”

They slip out of the locker room, and Newt regrets shutting the door the instant he does it: they’re thrust once more into complete darkness, and until his eyes adjust, Newt’s only assurances that he hasn’t just been flung into some inky void of space are the blinking of a smoke detector overhead and the rhythmic clacking of Hermann’s cane. Even when they do adjust, it’s still fucking dark. “Hermann?” he squeaks.

“Over here,” Hermann says.

There’s a pinprick burst of flame some three feet ahead–Hermann’s lighter--and it illuminates Hermann’s face, his fingers, the newly-smoldering cigarette hanging from his lips. Newt scurries to catch up to him while he can still see. “I’m pretty sure this is a non-smoking area, you know,” he whispers, with a nervous glance up at the smoke detector’s light.

Hermann flicks ash to the floor. “Bugger that,” he snorts.

“You know, you’re like this one asshole who lived on my floor my junior year of undergrad,” Newt continues to whisper, trailing closely behind Hermann’s clack clack clack and the stale scent of smoke. “He set the fire alarm off every single fucking week because he wouldn’t, just, like, crack a window when he wanted to get high. One time--” Hermann’s cane clacks a little faster, which means Hermann’s trying to get away from Newt. Newt goes a little faster, too. “--one time it went off when I was in the shower and I had to, like, go outside wet, and it was snowing, and--”

“Oh, we’re here,” Hermann suddenly says, sounding very, very relieved. The orange glow of his cigarette is snubbed out against the wall. “Flashlight, please, Newton.”

“Oh, yeah,” Newt says. He fumbles it from his pocket and flicks it on.

They’re in a wing of the Shatterdome Newt doesn’t recognize, standing in front of a large door with an actual padlock--no keypad, like the rangers’ locker rooms or LOCCENT or any of the other higher-clearance areas that guys like Newt and Hermann don’t stand a chance getting into. Hermann pulls a hairpin from his pocket, tosses his cane to Newt (who only just manages to catch it without dropping the flashlight) and bends over the padlock.

“You’re kidding,” Newt says. “What’s in there?”

“Kitchen storage,” Hermann says. “They won’t miss one or two boxes of tea--they never have before--and anyway, it’s far less unsightly than just jamming teabags into one’s pockets in the middle of the mess hall, like you do with that instant hot cocoa rubbish.” There’s a metallic click. “Ah. There.”

Hermann places the padlock off to the side, takes back his cane, and tugs a cord dangling from the ceiling; as light floods out, Newt gapes at him unashamedly. “Okay, look, I can get hacking security, but--when the fuck did you learn how to pick locks?” Not even Newt knows how to pick locks, and between the two of them, he’s the way cooler one.

Newt can see Hermann’s smug smile this time. “Oh, don’t look so scandalized,” he says. “My teenage years were rather rebellious, and I daresay I never quite grew out of it. I imagine I could still hold my own in a fight should the need ever arise.” He tucks the hairpin into Newt’s top shirt pocket and gives it a little pat; then, to Newt’s surprise, he straightens out Newt’s collar. “Here,” he says. “Keep it for practice, if you like.”

Newt realizes he’s holding his breath. “Okay,” he squeaks.

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

If Newt replays the sensation of Hermann fixing his collar over and over in his head that night, and if--when he finally dozes off--it’s only to dreams about making out with him on the backs of motorcycles, then Hermann never has to know.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

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send-me-your-hcs · 4 years

Text

Forever Ch16

Collab fic with @ceratonia-siliqua (check their blog next week for the next chapter!)

Chapter 15

Read on ao3

Warnings: Eventual unhealthy/codependent relationship, possessive behavior, dark themes, check ao3 for additional warnings.

Bucky stared on in shock as Peter wept into his hands.

He cursed himself for leaving the boy alone, but even now, watching Peter fall to pieces on the couch in front of him, he knew it was necessary. As much as he hated it, the nearest town had been absolutely buzzing with the story of Tony Stark’s missing son, the raped boy, even all the way out here in rural Indiana, and they didn’t have the right gear to disguise Peter at all. He would have been seen without a doubt.

So it was necessary that Bucky left him alone, even though, right now, it was breaking his heart.

He set the bags down and drew the crying boy into his arms, shushing him. Peter clung to the sleeves of his jacket, hot tears flooding down his cheeks, sobbing his little heart out. “Baby,” Bucky said again, running his hands down Peter’s trembling back, practically crushing him to his chest. “Sweetheart, what are you talking about? What’s wrong?”

And then he saw it.

The TV flickered, and Bucky looked up just in time to catch sight of what looked like a press conference wrapping up, the screen filled with throngs of people holding up microphones, and at the front of all of them, like a king standing before his subjects, was the cold, furious face of Tony Stark himself.

Bucky’s hands tightened their hold on Peter, and he pulled him closer, his eyes narrowing.

No wonder Peter was so upset. They’d only spent one night together, and already, his thick-headed father was recruiting the whole world to try and separate them. Of course he would be scared, the poor thing.

Bucky sighed and softly kissed the boy’s forehead. “Is this what’s got you all worked up?” he asked gently, smoothing down Peter’s wild head of curls. “Baby. My sweet boy. Come here.”

He turned the TV off and gathered Peter into his lap, cradling him like a child. It shouldn’t have been easy to bundle an eighteen-year-old teenager in his arms this way, but Bucky was tall and broad in all the right places - there was a reason they called him The Winter Soldier, after all - and Peter was...well, Peter couldn’t have been more the opposite. If it wasn’t a slur to refer to gay boys as fairies, that’s exactly what Bucky would call him, because Peter was delicate and ethereal and Fae-like in every sense of the word.

So it shouldn’t have been easy to cradle Peter in his arms, but it was. It was like Peter was born to fit there, one more great, cosmic sign proving they were meant to be together. Everything from their circumstances to the very DNA that designed their bodies matched up to ensure that they were the perfect pair, and Bucky loved it, loved it almost as much as he hated the terrible sound of Peter crying.

“S’all my fault,” Peter said, the words all stringing together as he forced them out alongside his sobs. “My dad, he’s - I hurt him, I hurt him and now he’s - he’s so mad, and when he finds us he’s gonna...he’s going to…”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky said, his arms stilling, no longer rocking Peter against his chest like an infant. “Baby. Look at me.”

He cupped the boy’s cheek and lifted his face up, away from his chest, until their eyes met.

“Peter, I know you feel bad that we left the way we did, but you need to remember, your dad has responsibility here, too. This isn’t your fault.”

Peter rubbed at his eyes, trying, in vain, to stem the flow of tears. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, if your dad ever bothered to actually talk to you, if he was open to the idea of you having a relationship with anyone other than himself, if he had paid enough attention to you to realize you had already met someone and fallen in love...we wouldn’t have had to leave. We would still be in New York.”

Two wide, wet eyes blinked up at him in perfect, heartbroken unison. Peter looked at a loss for words, his mouth opening and closing like he didn’t know what to say. Bucky took advantage of his stunned silence, leaning down and pressing a tender kiss to the boy’s hair, hugging him tightly until Peter said, “R-Really?”

“Of course, baby,” Bucky said. He rubbed some of the lingering tears from Peter’s cheek with the pad of his thumb. “You’re an adult. Even if your dad didn’t necessarily agree with us moving in together, or if he just needed some time to warm up to the idea, that would have been fine. But from what you’ve told me, your dad...isn’t like that, is he?”

Peter hesitated a moment, then reluctantly shook his head.

“He would have stopped you, baby. He would have done anything - and I mean anything - to keep me the hell away from you. He wouldn’t have cared that we can tell each other anything. He wouldn’t have cared that I would never let anything happen to you. He wouldn’t have cared that we love each other.”

Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes again, but Bucky caught them before they could run down his cheeks.

“You can love someone and still know that they aren’t good for you, doll. Your dad...I think he does love you. And yeah, right now, I’m sure he’s takin’ it hard. But that’s on him, baby, it’s not on you. Because when you love someone, you have to be willing to let them go. And your dad never would’ve been.”

He pulled Peter in, kissing his wet, tear-swollen cheek, then the tip of his nose, and finally, his pretty, pink, pouty lips.

“Remember how I said you could write your dad letters? Maybe it would make you feel better if you wrote one, baby. I won’t be starting my new job for at least a week or so, so I won’t be able to mail it for you until then, but it might help you process everything if you wrote it out.”

A small, shy smile tugged at Peter’s lips as he sniffled, his tears finally running out. “You remembered,” he said, the angelic bell chime of his voice turned raw from all the sobbing. “You remembered that I like to write things out when I’m sad.”

“Of course I did, sweetheart,” Bucky said, wrapping his arms around the boy’s back and hugging him tightly. How could he ever forget? It was thanks to that that he found out about Skip and what he’d done. It was thanks to Peter’s love of writing that that rat was currently breathing his last wretched, pain-filled breaths.

“I also remembered you telling me how much you like to eat potato soup with cheese and bacon when you’re feeling down, so I picked up the ingredients for it, just in case.” He kissed Peter’s nose again and sat the boy upright in his lap. “Why don’t you come help me figure out where things should go in our kitchen, and then I’ll whip up a big pot for us for dinner?”

Peter’s cheeks darkened to an adorable shade of red, and he wrapped his arms tight around Bucky’s neck, his legs falling on either side of his hips as he straddled him.

“I’m still pretty sore,” he confessed quietly, burying his face in Bucky’s shoulder. “Will you...um. Will you carry me? Please?”

Bucky felt his dick twitch inside his pants, spurred on by Peter’s weight and the warmth of his body pressed against it. He carefully took hold of the boy’s sensitive ass, gently but firmly pressing them together as he prepared to stand.

“Always, baby.”

—

Their second night together was much more romantic than their first.

Peter, the poor thing, was still feeling a little achy and reserved as they made dinner. After Bucky brought their newly-purchased toiletries (and the lube) upstairs, the boy stuck to his side as they put everything else away, clinging to him as they acquainted themselves with their new kitchen. Bucky loved how Peter stayed tucked under his arm as he cooked, or propped up on the kitchen counter with his legs dangling over the edge, palms flat on the countertop beside his thighs to take most of his weight off his sore ass.

But they talked the entire time. Luckily for Bucky, Peter was pretty easily distractible. It was much easier to manage in person than through letters or emails - if a topic started swaying too far into unwelcome territory, Bucky merely had to intervene once with a tidbit he thought might catch Peter’s attention, and watch him sail off in a new direction.

It was comfortable, doing something as domestic as making his own dinner for the first time in ten years while his young lover chirped at his side. It felt like they’d known each other their whole lives. They communicated fluidly, like it was second nature, an instinct written into their very brain matter. Peter had an adorable playful side, silly in a way that couldn’t help but be endearing, sassy in a way that made Bucky want to leave their dinner burning on the stovetop to kiss that mischievous little grin right off the boy’s face.

Peter asked about the house as they ate, specifically about the locked door that led to the basement, and the safes built into the kitchen and master bathroom. Bucky feigned ignorance, suggesting that whoever restored this place had decided to modernize the odd features its original owners had installed instead of removing them. Peter speculated about the wealthy family who must have built the house originally, how strange and creepy they must have been, like something you’d find in a cheap horror movie about ghosts.

Bucky couldn’t help teasing him, and tapped the boy on the shoulder as they were cleaning up, side by side at the sink. Peter startled like a newborn fawn and whirled around in alarm. “Something just touched me!”

“Must have been that ghost my lawyer warned me about,” Bucky said.

Peter glared at him, and Bucky couldn’t help but burst into laughter, only laughing harder when the boy took the side sprayer beside the faucet and pressed down hard on the trigger, soaking him. Bucky was able to wrestle the nozzle away from him pretty easily - God, Peter was such a delicate, little thing, no wonder his dad never let him out of his sight - and hefted the boy over his shoulder like a deer, beaming at the stream of giddy laughter that poured from Peter’s smiling mouth.

“That wasn’t very nice, young man. I think you need to be taught some manners.”

Peter writhed on his shoulder, his legs kicking out futilely. “You totally deserved it!”

“Oh, really?” He trailed his hand up the back of Peter’s thigh, stopping just below the cheeks of that perfect ass. “You’re lucky you’re still feelin’ sore, or else I’d have you over my knee for a comment like that.”

He expected another sassy remark, but to his very pleasant surprise, Peter only whimpered, his hands tightening into little fists in the back of Bucky’s wet shirt, where his upper body hung limply. Bucky waited a beat, then trailed his hand up higher, until he was full on cupping the cheek of his ass.

“You like the sound of that, baby?” he asked, giving the cheek under his left palm a gentle squeeze. “Like the thought of Daddy bending you over his knee when you’re bein’ a mouthy little brat?”

“I - I dunno,” Peter said, but the erection digging into Bucky’s shoulder told a different story. “It’s...it’s kind of weird.”

“You ever been spanked before, doll? Hm?”

Peter buried his upside-down face in Bucky’s soaked back, and the man’s heart nearly burst. “No. My dad threatened to, a couple of times, but - he never had to actually do it.”

“Such a good boy,” Bucky purred, tightening his hands on the boy’s legs as he started walking out of the kitchen. “I don’t think Daddy will have to do it, either.”

Peter clung to his damp shirt as they started ascending the stairs, his voice coming out a little shy and scared as he said, “B-Bucky?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“The, um - the daddy thing - ” he gulped, nervously, squirming in Bucky’s hold. “We don’t...we don’t have to do that all the time, right? I mean, I - don’t get me wrong, I liked it, it’s just - for me, it kind of...it got kind of...I don’t know. Kind of heavy, I guess. We can...we can make love normally too, right? I mean - crap, that’s not the right word - I wasn’t trying to say we did it abnormally, just - can we do it...without the daddy thing, sometimes…? Would that be okay?”

They reached the bedroom, and Bucky took another moment before replying so he could gently pull Peter down into his arms, holding him bridal-style, before lowering him onto the bed like the precious pillow princess he was.

“Peter,” he said softly, cupping the boy’s cheek, his gaze flickering over that sweet, worried little face. “Of course that’s okay. I didn’t mean to spring my kink on you without talking to you about it first. It just sort of...happened.” He smiled apologetically, his heart soaring when Peter smiled back. God, he loved this boy. “If you don’t like it, you can tell me. I don’t want to do anything to you that you don’t like.”

“I do like it,” Peter insisted, leaning in to Bucky’s hands, nuzzling his palms slightly. “It was really hot. But sometimes, if it’s okay, I’d like to just do things...more…”

“Vanilla?” Bucky asked, smiling when Peter’s nose wrinkled. “Romantic?” he tried instead, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the boy’s forehead. “Slow?”

He could feel Peter’s cheeks burning in his hands. His sweet, innocent, beautiful boy. “Yeah,” Peter said, almost a whisper. “Yeah. More like that.”

Bucky tilted the boy’s face up and kissed him, slow and romantic, just like he asked, but still with every bit of desperate hunger churning in his gut shining through. Peter’s mouth opened for him on a gasp, and Bucky’s tongue delved inside, devouring, insatiable for more of everything this boy had to give.

“Okay, baby,” he said as he pulled back, just enough to crawl on top of Peter, flattening him down on the mattress. “I can do that.”

#winterspider #bucky x peter #bucky barnes x peter parker #ceratonia-siliqua #winterspider prison fic #forever fic tag

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