#and when sniff tries to contribute he just goes 'that's Not true and it's Not grammar and it doesn't even Rhyme'

[briviting]

snufkin calling out sniff’s poetry for Not Rhyming will never not be funny to me.

#moomin #snorkmaiden #snufkin #little my #art attag #comics #nichest one I've done tbh gjfk #but ye that bit where snufkin's hanging out on a raft like 'you could make a poem out of this' #and when sniff tries to contribute he just goes 'that's Not true and it's Not grammar and it doesn't even Rhyme' #but also this doubles as projecting bc the 'eye/fearful symmetry' thing always bugged me as a kid gfjkd

[bluefirewrites]

‘A Flowery Back-And-Forth’- Juke Florist!AU

Juke AU where Julie’s mom had owned the Petal Pushers Floral Company, now run by her Tía Victoria and she helps by delivering orders on her bike. 

Another riff from the Triad Chat Vault. Happy JATP Appreciation Month!

"Alright, I'm on it, Willie!" Julie calls out, slipping the arrangement in her basket, foot primed to pedal-

"Wait!" Willie sidles up to her with a conspiratorial smirk, "Can you do me a teensy weensy favor?"

Her eyes shut, already groaning, "No, no. Willie, no-"

The skater sticks out his bottom lip, pouting, "Please? I'm willing to pay for the 'Julie Molina Special'"

Julie points to the sign hanging in the Petal Pushers shop, "Do you see a 'Julie Molina Special’ or arrangement up there?"

Willie presents her a wad of cash.

She eyes it warily, "You're shelling out so much for this, aren't you?"

"It's Alex," he says, eyes twinkling, "He deserves the best," he elbows her playfully, "Right?"

Shit. Romance isn't dead after all.

And Julie does need the money.

"Okay, fine," she pockets the cash and mounts her bike "One 'Julie Molina' delivery special coming up."

"Yes!" he hugs her from behind, careful not to squash the flowers, "Thank you. He'll appreciate it for sure."

"I'm doing this for you," she rings the bell and starts rolling down the street, "And you better properly introduce me to your boyfriend next time!"

"Here you go, courtesy of your boyfriend,"

"Will do!"

Julie bikes over to the address, not too far from her house. 

“He’s in band practice right now, so take the flowers there,” Willie had told her. 

She could already hear the music flowing from the garage as she pulls up and parks her bike. Carefully scooping up the bouquet, she knocks on the double doors. 

It takes a moment for anyone inside to notice the knocking due to the loud music (which is pretty good from what Julie has heard so far. And she doesn’t really listen to much music anymore). 

The guitars and drums are put to a halt. Then a voice calls out. 

“Who is it?” 

“It’s Petal Pushers Floral Company. I have a delivery for an ‘Alex Mercer’?” 

“Cool. Come on in.” 

Heeding instruction, she pushes the doors open and walks inside. She spots Alex immediately, by the drums. The blonde raises his hand and Julie comes forward with the large bouquet Willie ordered for him.

"Um..." Julie e starts, rubbing her hands together nervously, "There's more."

"Thanks!" Alex blushes, admiring the rainbow of flowers collected.

“And the card,” 

Alex quickly swipes the card, eyeing his bandmates in case either of them would dare to steal it and read it outloud. He reads the note to himself and he blushes even more. 

“Happy One Month, Hot Dog,” he recites an excerpt for everyone, to which they all go ‘aww’. Then Alex nods at her, “And you’re Julie, right? Willie tells me all about you. Thanks for coming by.” 

“Really no problem. Just doing my job. As a delivery girl and his friend.” 

Speaking of friend duties...

Then she looks around the room and shrinks in on herself seeing that she does have an audience, one that she recognizes. 

There’s Reggie from her Home Ec class and the other boy, Luke, she thinks, the one she always spots with a guitar case in his hands.

"Um..." she starts, rubbing her hands together nervously, "There's more."

"Oh," Alex says, surprised, "Really?"

"Yeah..."

"I don't know what it is that makes me love you so...I only know I never want to let you go...'" she sings, snapping to the beat, trying hard not to look at anyone else but Alex.

I'm so gonna kill Willie for this...

She clears her throat. And goes for it. 

"'Cause you started something, can't you see...That ever since we met you've had a hold on me...”" she starts moving around the space, spinning and dancing like an old-timey singing-gram.

Coming back around, she catches eyes with Luke, and she immediately averts her eyes, turning red.

No, Julie... just keep singing. This would all be over soon. So you won't have to keep embarrassing yourself in front of cute boys...

“It happens to be true.... I only want to be with you!" she finishes on own knee, with jazz hands.

She's met with a round of applause as she stands up, feeling awkward.

"Wow!" Reggie claps, "Your boyfriend got you flowers and a pretty girl to sing you a song."

"That was great," Alex beams at her, "You're really good!"

She blushes, waving off the compliments, "Not really a thing we do at the shop, but Willie insisted."

"What a shame," Luke finally pipes up, his eyes never having left her ever since she walked in, "I bet a lot of people will buy flowers... if they're being delivered like that."

Julie swears she's glowing red like Rudolph at this point, with the way he stares. 

Julie walks her bike up to the garage, finding only Luke there playing away on his guitar.

"Thanks..." she mutters shyly, rushing out the door and towards her bike, “Have a good one guys. And you sounded great by the way.” 

“We’re Sunset Curve,” Luke shouts after her. 

“Tell your friends!” Reggie follows up. 

Julie politely waves at them and bikes away, all too keen to continue on with her route and try to put this whole embarrassing moment behind her. 

If only Luke Patterson was planning to do the same. 

Ever since she made the delivery, the guy would try to flag her attention at school. With a ‘Hey Flower Girl’ and striking up conversation, which throws her off balance. 

She tries not to associate with people in the music program as often, not since she left due to... personal reasons. (Flynn is a notable exception)

Julie would be friendly, to Alex and Reggie to an extent as well, (to Alex especially since he is Willie’s boyfriend), but she’s just trying to get by with her busy schedule of school and her job at the flower shop. 

She goes to work after school two weeks later and makes her rounds with the deliveries Tía sends her on. Tía only gives her the remaining orders that the trucks couldn’t take, last minute ones that are within riding distance.

(Julie can’t wait until she’s able to get her license and really make a contribution to her family’s business). 

She’s just about to call it a night when Tía surprises her with one last minute arrangement. A call made while she was out. 

It’s about 6 at this point, getting darker and so she packages the bundle of peonies quickly, puts it in her basket and looks at the address. She rolls her eyes when she reads where it’s going and who it’s for. 

She knocks against the door, bearing the small bouquet of peonies, "Ahem?"

It startles the boy and he fumbles with his instrument. He looks up to find her standing there and grins. Soon, the guitar is off his person and he's meeting her at the door.

"Hey," he greets.

"Hi," she smiles, although confused, "Delivery for 'Luke Patterson'?"

The boy glances around the empty space before feigning realization, "Oh! That must be me!"

"Looks like," Julie couldn't help but giggle. She gives him the flowers, their hands making brief contact during the exchange. 

"You like peonies?" Luke sniffs the flowers, playing with the paper wrap.

She pulls back, clearing her throat. She wants to ask that question at the forefront of her mind, but she really shouldn’t assume anything about their customers. But she couldn’t help but wonder who the flowers are for. 

So she just settles for: "Nice arrangement.”

"They're pretty, yeah,"

He tilts his head, "But are they your favorite?"

Julie purses her lips, "Nope. Not really."

"I swear you give me a peonies kinda vibes,"

"That's a thing?"

Setting down the flowers onto the table, Luke nods, "Oh yeah. Don't you try and guess what kind of flowers people would buy when they come in?"

"Sometimes,"

"But still," he pinches a peony from the bunch and offers it to her and Julie's breath hitches.

"For you,"

She crosses her arms, despite the butterflies. Instead of accepting it, she raises an eyebrow at him.

"I'm not one to take a customer's flowers,"

He shrugs, "Consider it a tip?"

"Why? ‘Cuz you don't have any money?" she jests, making her way down the driveway.

"C'mon, Julie," he calls from the open garage, "Here." he holds out the flower again.

Rolling her eyes, she mounts her bike, "I'm not a peony-kind of girl, remember!"

"I'll figure out what kind of girl you are," he says, almost like a promise.

"Good luck with that!" she shouts back, racing down the driveway and onto the street.

The last thing she sees is him grinning like an idiot in the doorway, tossing aside the peony, and watching her ride off into the evening.

Little does she know that this is only the start of their little flowery back-and-forth...

Tagging: @blush-and-books​​ @lydias--stiles​​  @thedeathdeelers​​ @ruzek-halstead​​, @pink-flame​​, @ourstarscollided​​, @nottheleastbrave​​, @echocharm17618​​ @smolfangirl​​ 

#juke #jatp #juke au #julie and the phantoms #palina #juke-box #blue draws stuff #julie x luke #luke x julie #flower delivery girl! Julie #mannnn #we tossed around so many ideas in the chat #gonna bust some of them out for appreciation month #curious to what else we came up with? 0.0 #my girls inspire me so much :)

[sylphid187]

Epilogue:Another One

Sunlight hits his face as it streams through his bedroom window. Kenma groans and tries to roll over from his current position on the bed, but finds that he has difficulty moving. He blinks his eyes open and then looks down, only to see a pair of arms draped around his waist, holding him tight. His thoughts begin to drift and he sighs fondly, remembering that he is no longer sleeping alone again, because after long weeks alone in a large house, Kuro is finally home. 

Kuro had to go on regular trips away for the JVA, that was just part of the job description. Of course, this means Kenma is usually alone at their, yes it's officially theirs now, home. Getting Apple Pie, Pie for short, has been helpful to ease the loneliness. The calico kitten has been nothing but a rumble of energy and adorable, always there to keep Kenma company. But it didn't erase the loneliness completely, and there was just no feeling that could compare to having Kuro around. 

But current events have allowed them more time together in the following months. With the V-League officially back in season, Kuro has been put in charge of attending those specific events. With most of the games being held in nearby stadiums, Kenma could actually spare some time to go watch them live with him. This was especially true when Shouyou was playing. The Jackals games were either watched live or in the comfort of their living room, at real time, while cuddled together. Kenma has never missed any of Shouyou's games. 

It's been around six months since their messy confession, give or take. Six months since they came out to the public as a couple, and the start of their rollercoaster of a relationship. They didn't have the perfect relationship, Kenma thinks. They still had misunderstandings, and sometimes they argued about the silliest things. But they never went to bed angry at one another, never slept without trying their best to settle things, in a way that won't leave either of them struggling to pick up the pieces of the fight the next day. Overall, Kenma was content and happy, and he hoped that Kuro was too. 

"Thinking about something?" Being stirred away from his thoughts, he feels Kuro mutter. The other's face buried on the top of his head, voice still groggy. 

"Hm. Nothing important." Kenma replies with another sigh. 

"Care to share then?" Kenma feels Kuro shift his position a bit, allowing the smaller male to turn around and having them face to face, before once again feeling Kuro's arms around his waist. "I'm a very good listener you know." 

"I was thinking of replacing you." Kenma states in a deadpan voice. 

Kuro gasps "Kenma! I'm offended! Only six months and you're tired of me already? Woe is me." Kuro tightens his hold and touches their noses together. "So tell me then, what do I have to do to regain your favor?" 

"You can get up and make breakfast." Kenma states. "And maybe I'll reconsider." 

Kuro immediately grins. "I knew my cooking was good for something. Here's an idea, you stay here and get some more shut eye. I'll make sure you have something to fill your empty stomach in a bit, yeah?" Kuroo starts to get up, slowly untangling himself between the mess of limbs the two of them are in. But Kenma immediately stops Kuroo and keeps him in place. "Kenma?" 

Kenma buries himself between the blanket and Kuro and snuggles closer. "Ten more minutes. Please." He just isn't ready to leave this warmth just yet. 

He feels Kuro place a kiss on the crown of his head, and hears the other give out a small chuckle of amusement. "Of course kitten, whatever you want." Kuro slowly settles back into his previous position. And it doesn't take long for sleep to overtake him again, filled with complete contentment and bliss. 

 

When Kenma wakes, it's to his stomach rumbling and the wafting smell of buttered toast and sizzling bacon. He slightly sniffs the air before opening his eyes and sighs in disappointment that he can no longer feel Kuro’s warmth beside him. Kenma allows himself to yawn and stretch before he rubs his eyes to force himself awake. He puts on slippers and pads out of the room, straight to their connected dining area and living room. 

He stops mid-step and blinks when he sees Kuro standing there, cup of coffee in one hand, and cat food on the other. 

"There you go buddy, must be tasty huh?" Kuro crouches down to place a generous amount of cat food into Pie's bowl. The kitten gives a pleased meow. "Yeah, yeah. I don't want you ever complaining to Kenma that I starve you, you hear me?" 

"Meow" Pie continues to stare at Kuro with wide eyes. 

"No! You are not getting any more this morning. We want you well fed, not extremely chunky!" 

"Meow" came with marching padding at Kuro's feet. 

"I know there's nothing wrong with being a chunky cat! But you're young and we have to make sure you eat healthy first, then maybe we can get you a nice piece of fish for dinner, how's that sound?" 

"Meow!" 

"I knew you'd see it my way. Now, go get your breakfast!" And Pie saunters off to her bowl and just about devours her meal. 

Kenma smiles at the domesticity of the entire scene. Kuro having an entire conversation with their cat, completely unaware, with all his barriers down. It reminds Kenma how easy it is to just fall into normalcy with Kuro, even with their new relationship. It's as if nothing and yet everything has changed all at once. 

"You know, I can't believe you lost an argument with a cat." 

Kuro immediately turns to face him and grins. "Excuse me, I did not lose. We just happen to reach a healthy compromise." He places his coffee mug down on the table, and starts to pour Kenma a cup of his own. He motions for Kenma to come over, and the gamer complies, ready to get his dose of morning coffee. 

"She got her way. You're giving her fish for dinner, it'll be your fault if she turns into a spoiled cat." 

"Oh come on, don't pretend that you don't sneak her pieces of your dinner from under the table." Kuro grins at him as he slides Kenma's plate of a healthy breakfast. 

He doesn't have a retort to that. because yes, he does shove Pie bits of his dinner from under the table, but Kenma would never just admit that and let Kuro win that easily. 

"I'll take your silence as an admittance of guilt." Kuro tells him. "But don't worry, at least you know she's got both of us wrapped around her finger...or is it her paw? That just doesn't sound right."  

Kenma smiles again as he shoves a piece of bacon in his mouth. He's too focused on his breakfast; that when he looks back up a while later, he sees Kuro staring from across him. The taller male's resting his chin on one hand, finished coffee mug on the other, and looking at Kenma with a look that seemed like he hung the stars. 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Kenma asks. 

"Like what?" 

"Like that. Like....I don't know, like I'm some kind of mythical creature. Or like I'm the best thing you've seen all day." Kenma clarifies with a raised eyebrow. 

"You are though." Kuro says with a smile so soft, Kenma kinda wants to slap that look off his face. 

"I'm what?" he asks again. 

"Best thing I've seen all day. Best thing in my life actually." Kuro says with the smile never leaving his face. 

Kenma's face burns, he looks down and aggressively stabs the next chunk on his plate and shoves it into his mouth. He hears Kuro guffaw at this, and feels his face get even hotter. "You know kitten, any more and you'd put our old Nekoma jackets to shame with that shade of red." 

"Shut up Kuro." Kenma mutters while he throws a glare at the other's direction. Kuro just continues to smile, already knowing that there isn't any animosity in that look. 

The remainder of breakfast passes in comfortable silence, moments with Pie inserted in between. Once they're done, they do their part to clean up, and then start their other routines for the day. Kenma goes back to his room and begins to focus on paperwork with Bouncing Ball and his upcoming stream, and Kuro goes to his own room to have a meeting with people from the JVA. 

It's pretty much routine at this point. Their jobs often being the reason why they can't always spend time together 24/7. But Kenma likes to think it contributes to why he loves Kuro so much, loves being with Kuro so much. His relationship with Kuro was never something that followed a certain set of standards or locked in a set of rules. They didn't have to always see each other to be happy, they didn't have to always physically be around one another all the time to be together , and they didn't require a regular update on each other's business every time. They also never deemed it necessary to be overly public about how they felt, at least not by their standards, which probably contributed to why they took so long to acknowledge their feelings in the first place. 

Theirs is more a quiet, straightforward kind of love. One filled with silent affirmation, affection, comfort and just being there when the other needs it the most. Kenma was never loud to begin with, always just observant and aware, but he never had to be for Kuro to know how he felt. Years of knowing each other has ultimately made Kenma realize that it's always, ever, been Kuro. And it always will be. 

Later that night, as the day ends and they snuggle together on Kenma’s large bed, Kenma’s thoughts drift to how lucky and content he is. Pie has chosen to sleep in between them on the bed tonight, positioning himself slightly, just on Kenma’s stomach. He thinks of his little family that they have built together and wonders about the future they have. 

"Hey." Kuro whispers, the man's hand stroking Pie's back, coaxing the kitten into a deeper sleep. 

"Hm?" Kenma tries his best not to squish their furbaby while snuggling just a little closer to Kuro. 

"We should get Pie a companion, don't you think?" Kuro asks him. 

Kenma raises an eyebrow questioningly. "You want to get us another cat? Why?" 

Kuro shrugs "I think it'd be nice to get the little guy a friend that's all. And don't you want Pie to have a friend?" 

"We aren't getting another cat." he tells the other. Kenma is trying to dispel this impulsive decision, and it has nothing to do with the fact that he would absolutely adore another cat. Kuro simply grins and their debate that night ends at that.

Three days later though, Kuro enters their home with more cat toys, another bag of cat food, and a small burmese cat following behind him. 

"Kuro. What's that?" Kenma stares, and gives the other a look . 

"... Not another cat?" The taller male says sheepishly, as he slowly sets the purchases down.  

The black burmese cat then pads over to Kenma and goes in between his legs. It's only then that Kenma notices the wet fur and shivering body. He bends down to pet the small creature and unknowingly smiles as he does. It then pads over to Pie who is observing at the corner of the room, and begins to nuze the other kitten. Kenma sighs in defeat before looking up to see a triumphant grin on Kuro's face. 

"Hey in my defense, I went to the store to get more cat food. This little guy just followed me home." He raises his hands in resignation after he puts down all his remaining purchases. "And it was raining Kenma! I couldn't just leave him there!" 

"Good on you for saving the cat. But we can't keep him Kuro. We're busy enough as it is and we already have Pie to take care of. We'll get him cleaned up and take him to the vet then find him a good home. Maybe Bokuto and Akaashi will want to take him." Kenma stands up and gives his pants a pat down. He desperately tries not to look at the new cat too long, or he's sure to cave into the request. 

When he looks up, Kuro is right in front of him. "Aww can't we keep him?" Kuro loops an arm around Kenma's waist and touches their noses together. 

Kenma glares. "I know what you're doing. And it's not gonna work Kuro." 

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about." Kuro says with a smirk. 

"We aren't keeping him." And again, Kenma tells himself that this isn't exactly because he doesn't want to, but that he's trying really hard not to give into temptation, and be the responsible adult in this relationship. 

"We can afford to get another cat though right?" 

"Well, yes we can." 

"And we love cats" 

"We do." He bites his lip at this. Damnnit Kuro. 

"So we should definitely keep this one." 

"No we won't" 

Kenma realizes at this moment that he's a liar. Because he never really could deny Kuro, just like Kuro couldn't very well deny him. And when it's all said and done, and they wake up the next day and watch as their cats are also cuddled together, Kenma can't really complain. 

Their newest addition to the family fits in with them perfectly. Like two pieces of a puzzle and two halves of a whole. 

Just like Kenma and Kuro.

Always together, no longer alone. 

So yes, Of course they keep the cat.

I added a second chapter to my previous KuroKen fic. This one is just pure fluff 🥰

#haikyuu fanfiction #haikyū!! #kuro tetsuro #kozume kenma #kuroken #kuroken fanfic #fanfic #haikyuu fluff #fluff #ao3 fanfic #sylphid writes

[shutupandshipit]

Sharpen Your Blades - Ch.6

Summary: “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

The thinning of Aizawa’s patience was evident in the twitching of his brow. “If you stop asking questions, maybe I could finish explaining.

”With a huff and roll of his eyes, Katsuki glanced away from their coach.

“City Hall and the SC want us to give them more variety. We are a team solely made up of single skaters. Every year, we dominate the rankings for single skate while Shinketsu dominates the pairs, so this year both cities are being required to split their skaters evenly between singles and pairs with at least one pair coming from out top five.” There was a collective intake of breath, but no one commented, choosing instead to remain silent. “Unfortunately, for us, it’s a lot easier to switch from pairs to singles. With our male to female ratio, alpha/beta/omega ratio, and those of you actually experienced with pair skating, we’re at a disadvantage. So, I’ve decided to choose your partners for you.”

…..

Or where Katsuki and Izuku are forced to be partners so they can continue to compete, but the blood in the water may be thicker than anyone realized.

Pairing: Bakudeku

Rating: T

Chapter: 6/20

Previously <- Chapter 5: Nine-years-old

Chapter 7: Catch -> Next

Chapter 6: Something about cats and bags

“And first place goes to the very talented and ever excelling Bakugou Katsuki! We look forward to seeing where you go from here!” The announcer stepped forward, her smell so sweet that it was nearly syrup on his tongue. She slipped the gold first place medal over his head, the ribbon scratchy against the back of his neck, before stepping back. “Let's hear another round of applause for our winners! What a great competition they gave us!”

The stands erupted in cheers all over again. Bouquets were thrown onto the ice, red and blue and yellow. Letters with his name scrawled across the front. Stuffed animals, several of which were bunnies. Bunnies like the ones people had come to associate with Izuku.

Katsuki had won first place in his first ever competition skating singles. He'd completely annihilated the other competitors. That was a huge accomplishment, especially after his abysmal show from last season. He should have been elated. He should have been proud. He should have been smug.

But all he felt was bitter. Bitter and frustrated and angry.

He shouldn't have been alone up on his podium. There should have been a tousle of green curls on the podium next to his.

There should have been someone for him to celebrate with.

When the photographers called, “Smile for the camera!” he could only manage a deeper scowl.

…..

Katsuki was, for all intents and purposes, distracted. Had been distracted from the moment they'd set up shop in the studio again, Midnight presiding over their training for the day. Midnight was and had always been her stage name. She specialized in Burlesque and pole dancing, but few people knew she'd been classically trained in ballet before finding her true passion. The addition of her specialties gave her too much insight into the body, but made her an asset in Aizawa's arsenal.

It also meant she had a rather... unique training style, to put it simply.

He enjoyed it, enjoyed the challenge her particular teaching style presented. After more than half a decade of training, people might have thought they'd get used to the rigor of her training techniques, but she never let them dwell in the same regimen for too long.

That day though he was too focused on how far she was getting Izuku to pull his leg over his head. Due to his injury when they were younger, she tended to make Izuku stretch out his hips more than anything else. And fuck, could they stretch.

Izuku's leg easily straightened out above his head with his hands wrapped around his ankle, and then Midnight put a hand on his shoulder to push him forward. “I've seen you pull some stunts, Midoriya, I know you can bend further than that! Test your limits! You will be the envy of all mates, and you and your future mate will both be thankful for your flexibility!”

“Midnight, please stop!” Izuku shouted in reply, cheeks and ears red, but there was also laughter on his lips.

'Omega mate. Omega mate. Omega mate.'

Katsuki wanted to tell his alpha to shove it and shut the fuck up, but he couldn't deny that Midnight had a point. They weren't mates, but fuck if Katsuki wasn't already imagining every position he could bend Izuku into. His mouth was watering.

He really was doing his best to discreetly stare, but just like the last time, he lost track of his surroundings after a few moments.

“Bro, stop looking like you're ready to rip out his spine! It's creepy!” Sero shouted right into his ear, startling Katsuki out of his reverie. His friends seemed to be really good at that nowadays.

Ashido smirked, elbowing Kirishima in the ribs and startling the other alpha out of where his eyes were trained on Kaminari beside Izuku as he tried and failed to mimic the omega. Kirishima had had a crush on Kaminari for the better part of five years, but the blond had been up Shinsou's ass since the alpha had joined their team. It was a little sad to watch how hard his best friend pined, but it helped that he also had the hots for Ashido. She was affable about the whole thing at worst and willing to experiment at best.

“What?” Kirishima asked, grinning abashedly as he scrubbed at the back of his head, “I, uh, wasn't paying attention.”

“Bakugou looking at Midoriya like he wants to rip out his spine. I think he's thinking about his spine, but for entirely different reasons, am I right?”

Kirishima, bless his dumb heart, looked completely lost when he looked back at her. “Why would he be thinking about his spine at all?”

Ashido's smirk only grew. “Same reason you'd be thinking about Kaminari's spine. It's that curve.”

“Stop. Just stop,” Sero pleaded as Kirishima's cheeks blushed the same color as his hair, “I don't want to hear anything else. That's just... Whatever's going on here, let's leave it for after practice.”

“What are we leaving for after practice?” Kaminari chirped as he dropped down between Sero and Kirishima, cheeks flushed and sweat dripping down his brow. He grinned and panted, “Midnight wants you next Bakugou. She's eager to get her hands on you, Shinsou, and the other leads today.”

“Fantastic,” Katsuki grumbled, standing. He was thankful though, thankful that he would be able to escape the conversation without having to contribute to it.

“Spines and how flexible they can be,” Ashido chirped back, cheeky smile firmly in place as Kaminari grinned back just as knowingly.

Again, Sero said, “Stop!”

Katsuki made his escape, leaving Sero and Kirishima to deal with the ensuing conversation.

…..

Izuku didn't notice that he was staring until Uraraka's elbow found its way into his side. Groaning, he glared over at her. “What was that for, Chako? It's supposed to be Omega Solidarity, not Omegas Against Each Other. Why would you hurt me?”

Uraraka smiled at him. Well, 'smiled' might have been a nice way of putting it. Smirked was more along the lines of what she was doing. “This is Omega Solidarity.”

Passing her an unimpressed look, Izuku continued to remove the tape from his ankles and toes. A second later though, he glanced up and found himself distracted all over again. His hands stilled as he watched Katsuki easily work through the exercise Midnight had assigned the leads.

Katsuki had been holding a handstand for the better part of a minute, and with easy grace, he tilted one leg down to touch the floor in front of his face while the other remained extended. With barely a push, he returned his leg to its original position before dropping the opposite leg on the other side of his body near the back of his head. It was a feat of athleticism that had Izuku hotter around the collar than he'd been in awhile.

In his chest, his omega chanted, 'Alpha mate. Alpha mate. Alpha mate.' He wanted his omega to shut up because it only made him long for Katsuki all the more.

When Uraraka nudged him again, he took a discreet sniff of the surrounding air, but luckily, his blockers were still working as advertised. People could already smell when he got anxious, he didn't want to imagine what he'd do if they could smell his arousal as well.

Leaning into him, Uraraka murmured, “You might want to wipe the drool off your chin.” She sat back with a laugh and watched as he stammered loudly.

“I-I-I- I don't have drool-! Chako!” Jumping to his feet, he shoved his feet into his red sneakers and everything else into his bag. He scrubbed a hand across his chin, but luckily, it was dry. “You're a menace!”

“I'm not the one slobbering everywhere!”

“I'm leaving!” he shot back, gathering his bag tightly to his chest, “I don't know why we're friends!”

“Because you love me. Tell Mirio I said hello!” she called as he darted towards the door that led to the locker rooms.

A quick glance back found Katsuki's inverted eyes on him. For the briefest of moments, they caught each others gaze, and heat sizzled beneath his skin. Immediately, he ducked his head and pushed out of the studio with a muttered 'goodbye'.

The walk to the studio where he recorded the podcast with his co-host was uneventful, but uncomfortable in the cold. It seemed like overnight the temperature had dropped from a comfortable 10 degrees celsius to something just above freezing. His breath plumed from his mouth, and he fervently wished he had a scarf and something warm to drink. He had neither though. He didn't even have his gloves or hat, both threadbare after nearly ten years of use. They'd begun to fall apart last year, but he still hadn't set aside the money to buy a new set, more focused on growing his collection of figure skating memorabilia and replacing the blades on his skates. Honestly, he thought he'd had more time before the cold really set in.

Instead, he just hunched his shoulders toward his ears and shoved his hands as deep into his pockets as they would go.

Stepping into the studio with a tremble, it was to the sight of his co-host already stationed in the recording booth with papers spread around him and their producer seated at the control panel. She pressed a warm milk tea into his hand after he'd shrugged out of his heavy coat. “You should have at least dried off before walking here. I bet your freezing.”

Izuku held the drink between his palms, sighing happily. “I am, but I'll be fine. Are we ready to go? Where's Tamaki?”

“Sick, and we sure are. Mirio's got a really interesting topic lined up for today.”

Grinning and stepping towards the room, Izuku said, “Can't wait.”

…..

If he had been smarter, Katsuki would have taught figure skating classes at his own team's rink. As it was, he hadn't been that smart when he'd started up the class. Instead, he'd been idealistic and allowed himself to be talked into doing them in the low income neighborhood on the other side of the city. He didn't get paid much for teaching classes, just whatever the recreation center could afford. Sometimes he didn't get paid at all, but he liked it. Liked working with the kids and watching them progress, and conversing with the parents to glean whatever information he could from them for whenever he had pups of his own.

Because he would have pups. There was no doubt in his mind about that. The question was with the 'when', but he was content enough to just wait for that to happen rather than seeking it out.

By the time he arrived, he was freezing and pissed about it. His fingertips had blushed a deep red despite the gloves he'd jerked on. At least his beanie and scarf had done their jobs, so he's just shoved his hands as deep into his pockets as possible. Glaring at the sky, all he could think about was that it would snow within the next two weeks.

All his alpha brain could do was worry about whether Izuku had made it to his next destination without freezing to death. 'Omega okay? Must keep omega warm. Provide warmth. Keep omega body warm to bear healthy pups. Provide for omega to provide for pups.'

Just inside the door to the small recreational rink, Katsuki growled and scrubbed at his forehead. He couldn't tell if his alpha was doing it on purpose or if the puppy fever was a sign that his body was ramping back up for a rut that was an entire month away, but he was over it. Ideally, he would have liked to get through the next few hours without thinking of Izuku at all.

Only if wishes were horses, he supposed.

As soon as his bag hit the bench near his students' parents, all ten of the tween gremlins' heads snapped around. They darted towards him, stumbling across the ice in their haste.

“Mr. Bakugou!” they shouted almost in unison, wide toothy grins pulling at their mouths.

“What? Can't I put my skates on without y'all bothering me?” he shouted back, sitting down heavily and pulling his skates free from his bag. When he glanced up, it was to every single one of them staring at him with wide eyes. “What?”

One of the girls, a little omega that had presented earlier that year smiled, canines small but sharp and lethal. One of her front teeth was missing. “Mr. Bakugou, we heard a rumor.”

Rolling his eyes, Katsuki returned his attention back to his skates. “Yeah, what was that? One of your teachers not really a beta?”

The kids giggled, and the same girl answered. “Noooo~” she sang, and something in her voice worried him.

Narrowing his eyes, he glanced back up at all of them. He didn't say anything, just waiting them out.

Finally, all of them still giggling, she said, “We heard you were skating pairs this season! We want to know who your partner is! Is it Mina? She's really pretty. Or is it one of the omegas?” She gasped. “Is it Uraraka? Oh! Or Kaminari, he's fun!” The gaggle of kids went off, tittering among themselves about who would be good enough to be his partner.

Before he could filter himself, he blurted, “How the hell did that get out so fucking fast? Jesus.” When the kids started to giggle again, he grimaced and glanced towards the parents, but he'd been teaching their kids so long that they seemed immune to his mouth.

“So it's true!” one of the boys crowed, “Who's your partner? Come on, Mr. Bakugou, tell us who you're skating with! Please!”

“I'm not tell you lot shit unless every single one of you can land your Salchow without falling!” Standing with a frown as they groaned, he marched towards the rink entrance. “Warm-ups! Get going! You're wasting my time and your parents'! Get going!”

Grumbling, the group pushed off the wall one by one.

…..

Across from Izuku, Nejire on the other side of the glass ticked off the seconds on her hand. When she reached 0, the On-Air sign flashed red and Mirio jumped in with a giant smile that only Izuku and Nejire could see.

“Welcome to another episode of the award winning podcast, Sharpen Your Blades! I am your host, Mirio, here to lead you through the intricacies of the figure skating world. With me, as always, is the beautiful, wonderful, underrated expert that is Deku. Tell us, Deku, how are you doing this fine evening?”

Grinning, Izuku theatrically groaned. “Well, I'm a little sore, Mirio. We were working with Midnight today, and I'm pretty sure she was trying to fold us into pretzels. I honestly come away from training with her feeling like under cooked pizza dough every time.”

“Sounds like my kind of time! So, training for the upcoming competitive season is going well then?”

Izuku snorted before he could stop himself. “It's going as well as it can right now. The beginning of a new season is always a little rocky, and I'm sure City Hall has already released the news that the skating division will be doing the spotlight for the Christmas Showcase.”

Something flashed across Mirio's expression, and apprehension wormed its way beneath Izuku's skin, making his smile falter. “Yes, yes, that's some big news. So, I have a question for you friend.”

Izuku said, “Sure. Shoot.”

“So, word through the grapevine, and I'm talking like a really trustworthy grapevine, is that you're going to be skating pairs this competitive season. Any validity to that statement?”

Mirio knew exactly what he was doing when he didn't brief Izuku on that question, and Izuku couldn't stop himself even knowing that it was the reaction Mirio had wanted from him. Silently, the other host let him stammer out unintelligible sounds for the better part of a minute before finding his words. “What are you talking about? Where did you hear that?!”

“I cannot, unfortunately, release the name of my informant as that would compromise their wonderfully convenient position! So, I take that to mean it's true. I can say that I am really excited to see you get back to your roots. Even if you don't stay on pairs, I think it'll be wonderful to see you in that vein of skating again. So, with that, care to let us in on who your partner will be?”

Instead of answering, Izuku groaned loudly and let his had smack into the table.

“Oh no, listeners! I think I may just have killed Deku. While he returns to the land of the living, I'll just continue on with this piece of gossip! And what a piece of gossip it is!”

#my hero academia #mha #bakudeku #dekubaku #decchan #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #omegaverse #a/b/o dynamics #omega!izuku #alpha!katsuki #figure skater au #no quirks au #my writing #sharpen your blades

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @michicant123!

Read on AO3

*****

Gnome Sweet Gnome

“No.”

“No!?”

“This is absolutely ridiculous.”

“Ohohoho, really . This is ridiculous, but the fact that you have been turned into a younger version of yourself again isn’t?”

“ Stiles , I’m a werewolf. I have a higher body temperature, therefore I don’t exactly need to be ‘bundled’ up.”

“Nice of you to completely ignore the fact that you’ve managed to get yourself into this kind of predicament again . And besides, I’m not about to go around town and have the good people of Beacon Hills thinking that I’m some kind of a child abuser .”

Derek frowns, but begrudgingly relents to Stiles’ fretting.

As Stiles tightens his childhood snowflake scarf around the grumpy boy, he reflects upon how exactly he ended up in this situation.

An hour earlier...

“It’s going to be fine . Derek is staying behind with you--”

“ With me, Scott?” Stiles scoffs incredulously, as he flops onto his bed, paying little attention to the freshly printed research notes being crushed beneath his weight. “We both know that he’s going to be skulking around town, scaring the crap outta anyone that gives him a passing glance because he has no control over his glares.”

“Dude, you’re nuts. I’ve seen Derek be all not glare-y plenty of times, especially with you. Besides, he wanted to stay behind.”

Stiles rolls his eyes at those words, “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I know. Just take care of that feral wendigo as soon as you can, I’m still not over our Die Hard movie marathon being so rudely interrupted.”

Scott chuckles good naturedly, but the audio of the phone call turns patchy, breaking the warm laughter into staticy pieces.

“Hey, buddy, I think you guys are going through shitty service area.” Stiles raises his voice in an attempt to get his parting message through, “Stay safe, kick some feral wendigo ass, I’ll be-- we’ll be totally fine.”

A broken thank you and half of what Stiles assumes was going to be a loving and brotherly parting message is the last thing he hears when the line goes dead. He stares at his now silent phone, pouting childishly at the fact that him and Derek were the line of defense for Beacon Hills while Scott and the rest of his pack went off to go deal with a feral wendigo that tore its way through the neighboring town.

It drew dangerously close to Beacon Hills, but inevitably didn’t tread onto Scott’s territory. Unfortunately, the feral wendigo showed no signs in slowing its killing spree. And Scott, being the overly generous true Alpha he was, insisted upon hunting down the wendigo before any others were unnecessarily killed.

Fortunately, things in Beacon Hills were actually rather calm for once. As this thought flits across Stiles’ mind, he reaches his arm out to knock on the side of his wooden bedframe three times. He never expected to be of the superstitious type, but when you deal with the supernatural on a daily basis, it’s only natural for certain superstitions to follow.

Anyways, things in Beacon Hills are rather calm for once. College is out for Winter break, meaning that Scott and him have been participating in much needed gaming, binging, and general bro time. Albeit being back in Beacon Hills doesn’t permit much time to enjoy such things, as in between the gaming and the binging just this past week they’ve had to deal with a whole ensemble of supernatural creatures.

A bunyip with a rather terrible sense of direction, skeevy gnomes, and apparently dryads (which, honestly, Stiles shouldn’t have been all that surprised by their existence). Just to name a few.

“Who knows, maybe Derek will sniff out some havoc-wreaking, supernatural creature during his patrol.” Stiles mumbles to himself. “Just a small thing to help the time pass faster…”

The doorbell rings and Stiles sits up with a start. He looks at the time on his phone with a frown, it reads 3:24 pm. His dad is still at work, Derek is still on patrol (even if he was done or found something he would have helped himself to the graciously unlocked and slightly cracked open window and just invited himself in as usual), and Scott along with the rest of the pack were on the trail of the north-bound wendigo.

Carefully and cautiously, with years of supernaturally honed wariness, Stiles carefully peers out his window to take a surreptitious glance at whoever was on the doorstep… a kid? Before Stiles can even process what he’s looking at, the kid looks up directly at Stiles and locks eyes. Stiles stumbles backwards from the window in shock and trips over his gnome research notes that were neatly stacked on the floor.

“What the shit ?” Stiles hisses under his breath as his mind tries to make sense of the kid at the house’s doorstep. A ghoul? No, no, that doesn’t make sense, a ghoul wouldn’t politely knock. Scared child of a mysterious origin? That’s the most likely… those clothes are obnoxiously huge for such a small kid…

A young but irritated voice travels up through the cracked window, “Just open the damn door, Stiles.”

“Can’t you just use your werewolf powers to break the door dow-oh my God !?” Stiles rushes back over to the window and pulls it all the way open, he leans out and looks at the kid with disbelief, “No. Fucking. Way .”

Sure enough, standing on the front doorstep of Stiles’ home was a very displeased, ruffled, and tiny Derek Hale. There was something off-putting about seeing a young (what was he, seven!? ) child standing with crossed arms and a glare that would make anyone's skin crawl if not for the fact that the person delivering the glare was a child .

“ Yes way. Now, let me in . Unless you want your door to be accidentally turned into toothpicks.” The threats coming from such an adorable baby face, somehow made them seem simultaneously more and less intimidating.

Stiles splutters and quickly makes his way downstairs. He pulls open the front door after taking a couple steadying breaths to reveal some three odd feet of pure irritation.

“Wh-What even happened ?” Stiles quickly steps away from the doorway as the enraged child pushes his way into the Stilinski abode. “Wait a sec, are you even Derek? The Derek I know would have Nightcrawler-ed his way up into my room without a second thought… Oh crap, I’m going to die now, aren’t I?”

The child gives Stiles an unimpressed and a well-practiced glare. That alone makes the anxious feeling that was starting to creep up his spine back off quickly.

“Last time I checked, Nightcrawler teleports and werewolves do no such thing.” Derek frowns up at Stiles’ dumbstruck, and now relieved face.

“Oh thank god, you are Derek…” Stiles splutters once more as he attempts to make sense of the scene before him, “W-th-w-how…? I reiterate, what happened?”

Derek turns with a growl and starts to head up the stairs, comically stumbling on the clothes that are Derek’s size, roughly 20 years too soon. Stiles closes his eyes and shakes his head in an effort to see if this was just some sort of elaborate hallucination. But young Derek is still there when he reopens his eyes. So he closes the front door and moves to follow Derek up the stairs.

“Uh...Der…?” Stiles speaks hesitantly, keeping his distance from the angry child.

“What do you think happened, Stiles?” Derek snaps as he reaches the second landing.

“I literally have no idea, hence the question. I thought you were mellowing out in your old age, guess I was wrong.” Stiles leans against the banister, “Though to be fair, you being a child might be a contributing factor to your classic Derek Hale grumpiness™. But no matter what age you are, you have a knack for being the most frustrating person I’ve ever had to deal with.”

Stiles chuckles to himself and looks up at Derek, awaiting an equally scathing remark, only to find Derek’s wide, hazel eyes focused on the ground, his small lower lip quivering just the slightest bit. Stiles is taken aback by this amount of sincerity upon Derek’s face, it’s so uncharacteristic but he can’t help but feel absolutely awful about his jabs.

“Uh…” Stiles struggles to find the words, which is par for the course when dealing with Derek in regards to anything other than snark and sarcasm.

“You’re right,” Derek’s voice is soft and so young sounding, Stiles stills at this, “I shouldn’t have expected you to just automatically know what went wrong.”

“Derek I…” But whatever moment of sincerity that managed to exist between the two of them was quickly forgotten as Derek finally returned Stiles’ earlier snark with a comment of his own.

“But I assumed that as our resident researcher and navigator of the bestiary, that you would have a grasp on exactly what could have caused this without me having to hold your hand through everything.” Derek turns and walks to Stiles’ room, calling over his shoulder, “I guess you’re growing senile in your old age.”

“H-hey! You’re older than me!” Stiles follows.

“Not right now, I’m not. As you have made sure to point out.” Derek frowns at the papers strewn about the room, “How the hell do you find anything in this mess?”

“I’ve told you before, I have a system of organized chaos, step off.”

“Right…” Derek responds dubiously. With a roll of his eyes, he goes over to Stiles’ wardrobe and starts rifling through the contents.

“Why yes, Derek. Please, help yourself to my clothes.” Stiles sorts through his recent research notes, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You know, I realize that I may not be as buff as you when you’re all regular Derek sized, but I think my clothes will still be too big for you. Unless you decide to wear a pair of my boxers as shorts…”

He hears Derek grunt in affirmative as he grabs the gnome notes that he so unceremoniously kicked out of the carefully organized pile on his floor. As he shuffles the pages together, he flips through them gently. There’s pages on gnome diets, their underground culture, how to visit them, how to appease them, et cetera.

“So I’m going to have to admit my ignorance here. Other than that thing that you know who was trying to accomplish, I have no idea why or how this is happening…” Stiles turns to look at Derek, who is now wearing a pair of Stiles’ egg printed boxers and an incredibly loose, threadbare tank top that he didn’t even realize he still had. “You’re gonna have to give me something to work with… so I can… crack this case.”

Derek blinks, no appreciation for Stiles’ joke making abilities.

“Forget you, that was hilarious. Throw me a bone.” He stops with faux consideration, “I guess I should be the one throwing you a bone though.”

At the lack of a reaction, Stiles withers and pouts, slumping against his windowsill.

“Are you done?”

Stiles nods silently.

“Okay, so I was on patrol, as we agreed.”

“Mm-hm?”

“And while I was on patrol, I…” Derek hesitates before continuing carefully. “Noticed something strange, and next thing I know, I’m suddenly in the body of my six year old self again.”

Stiles stares at Derek as he says this, his body language is strangely guarded and Stiles frowns. “I personally think you look closer to seven or eight, but that’s beside the point. Derek, that is possibly the least helpful thing you could have told me. Could you give me a place, smell, or description to work with? Literally anything helpful at all?”

“City park. Near the library.” Derek grits out the words as if the confession of that helpful information was physically painful.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Stiles stands and moves to his whiteboard, he spins it around to reveal a map of Beacon Hills. “Okay…” He pores over the map and sees that a sealed entrance to the old subway is located near the back of the library.

“Was this near the Eastern or Western part of the park?”

“Uh… east.”

“Hm…” Sure enough, the underground entrance meets up with about where Derek reticently described. He starts to mentally list the various supernatural creatures that like to make their home in the underground area. “So… why didn’t you just help yourself into my room as you usually do? You never answered.” Stiles says conversationally.

“I...I couldn’t.”

“What was that?”

“I said, I couldn’t.”

Stiles turns away from the board to gawk at Derek. “What do you mean, you couldn’t ? Derek, do you not have your werewolfiness right now?”

“No. I mean I don’t not have it. But I don’t have the fine-tuned control that my adult body does.” Derek looks down at his small palms, “If I try to use my werewolf abilities in anyway, I have no way of gauging the strength behind my actions right now.”

“Exactly how strong can a werewolf child be?” Stiles laughs weakly.

“Let me put it this way. I tried to run here on my hands and feet, because that’s usually faster for me. Rather than running, I accidentally destroyed part of the asphalt on the ground.” Derek slumps onto the ground, “I can’t control it right now.”

“Okay, fair enough.” Stiles turns back to the board and writes down a list of the underground dwelling creatures. “Did you catch a whiff of any of these before this happened to you?”

“I...might have noticed a gnome.”

“Oh man, really? I don’t want to have to deal with them again so soon.” Stiles goes over to his freshly organized pile of gnome notes, he flips through them to the sections on how to visit and appease them. “Please tell me you didn’t do anything stupid to piss them off?”

“Your confidence in me is astounding.”

“You haven’t given me much to work with, can you blame me?”

Derek levels him with a classic glare and stare. “I didn’t do anything to piss them off.”

“You sure you didn’t accidentally kick a gnome puppy or something? Destroy any gnome gardens?” Stiles grins, “Did you kill Gnomeo and Juliet?”

“Alright, clearly you’re not going to help. I’ll wait until everyone else is back.” Derek moves to leave the room.

“Wait wait wait, sorry. This is just… ridiculous.” Stiles flips through his notes to the visitation pages. There are illustrations of jewel toned beetles amongst the steps of how to enter a gnome’s underground city. “Hm? You know I was initially joking about stepping on gnome stuff but…” Stiles takes a closer look at the descriptions under the beetles. “Do you remember maybe accidentally stepping on this ?”

He turns the book towards Derek and points at the emerald beetle illustration. Beneath it reads the words “ used to shrink non-gnome creatures into a size that allows visitation into a gnome city, typically used for land negotiations and trading ”.

Derek’s eyes widen in recognition, but he quickly shrugs, floundering slightly, “M-maybe, I’m not sure.”

“ Dude , you should have said something sooner, Jesus.”

“Don’t call me dude.” Derek huffs and averts his gaze. But there’s gotta be something more to this.

Stiles rolls his eyes, “Whatever, c’mon we need to get you back to the gnome-man lands, they have these ruby beetles to reverse the effect of the emerald beetles.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, I’m not having you leave the house dressed in my boxers and a tank top that looks like it’s going to fall apart any second.”

“Stiles, it doesn’t matter.”

“What, are you gonna just walk there, while holding a bag of your adult clothing? Hoping that not a single concerned citizen stops you along the way?”

“I can use the woods.” Derek speaks with finality.

“Well the entrance to Gnome Town is in the basement of the library, which you will have to walk through to reach.” Stiles crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow defiantly, “You wanna try that again?”

“I can break into the library.”

“It’s freezing outside, and there will be plenty of patrons in the library today.” Stiles moves to his closet, “Try again, buddy.”

Derek’s cheeks redden with indignation, “And what are you exactly trying to suggest?”

With a grin, Stiles pulls down a cardboard box from the top shelf of his closet. He opens it to reveal child-sized clothing. He tosses a random graphic tee at Derek’s dumbfounded face and rummages deeper into the box. He plucks his matching snowflake patterned hat and scarf from the side of the box and digs some more. He withdraws some blue striped sweats aaand… from the depths of the box he unearths a bright red and tree-patterned winter sweater.

He holds all the items aloft with a huge grin splitting his face.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope! Bundle up sourwolf! Don’t worry, I’ll turn away.”

Stiles lays the clothes on the bed and turns around with a smirk. He hears Derek mumbling curses under his breath, but he also hears the shifting of fabric. Stiles’ eyes rove his closet and he frowns thoughtfully. He doesn’t have any kid shoes that his father deemed important enough to keep for future use. He then recalls a pair of yellow rain boots that sat long forgotten in the garage.

Derek grits out an “I’m done” and Stiles turns around to see little Derek bundled up in his old clothing. And if he were to be asked candidly, Stiles would have said that Derek looked absolutely adorable. Thankfully no one was there to question him.

“Hey, what about the hat and scarf?”

“What about shoes ?”

“Thank you for reminding me! C’mon.” Stiles grabs the hat and scarf from his bed. He also grabs the adult Derek clothes that were carefully folded on the edge of his bed and flies down the stairs.

Derek follows and forces out a small, “Thank you. I can actually walk without tripping over myself now.”

“Aww, you’re welcome. Glad to be of service.” Stiles puts the clothes on the kitchen table and opens the door leading into the garage. Sure enough, the pair of yellow rain boots are still there under the rake and years of debris. He shakes various bug carcasses out of the boots and presents them to Derek with a flourish.

“Your shoes, my liege.”

“Shut up.” But Derek takes the shoes and pulls them on. “ Now can we go?”

“Tsk tsk, you gotta put the hat and scarf on.”

“No.”

“No!?”

“This is absolutely ridiculous.”

“Ohohoho, really . This is ridiculous, but the fact that you have been turned into a younger version of yourself again isn’t?”

“ Stiles , I’m a werewolf. I have a higher body temperature, therefore I don’t exactly need to be ‘bundled’ up.”

“Nice of you to completely ignore the fact that you’ve managed to get yourself into this kind of predicament again . And besides, I’m not about to go around town and have the good people of Beacon Hills thinking that I’m some kind of a child abuser .”

Stiles pulls on the hat and holds the scarf out to Derek. He relents and lets Stiles wind the scarf around his neck, eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

“There we go, that wasn’t that hard, was it?”

“Whatever, can we go sometime today?”

“Yeah yeah, lemme grab my keys and wallet.” Stiles grabs those as well as a plastic bag for Derek’s clothes.

The drive across town to the library is awkward.

Stiles knows that Derek is still omitting something about his encounter earlier, and he’s pretty sure that Derek knows that he knows. He frets at a few stoplights, trying to find the right words to figure out why Derek was being so cagey about this whole encounter.

Stiles thought that they were past this pettiness, they’ve worked together for many years at this point, and he even tentatively considered them to be friends. But this evasiveness and unwillingness to be open about things was just like the early days of their… well, it wasn’t even an acquaintanceship, they barely tolerated each other.

“I can hear you thinking.”

“Well I wasn’t aware that this beetle granted you mind reading powers, unless you had mind reading powers as a kid and lost that ability with age.”

“No, I mean…” Derek sighs and looks out the side window. He twists his fingers into the fabric of the sweater. “I know that I’ve been weirdly unspecific about this whole thing.”

“Ha! Yeah, you think?” Stiles scoffs.

“It’s because I wanted to make sure that you weren’t affected.”

“Affected? By a beetle that you accidentally stepped on on the other side of town?” Stiles snorts, “Derek, c’mon. I thought we were past this.”

“We are , it’s just... I didn’t step on the beetle on accident.” He trails off into whisper at the end of the sentence, but Stiles heard clear enough.

“What do you mean it wasn’t on accident?” Stiles blinks, trying to make sense of the new information, “Your super sniffer should have told you that that beetle was magical, right? You should’ve known that stepping on some random magical being would have had some sort of consequence!”

“I knew that it was something.” Derek slumps in his seat and grumbles.

“ Something ? Derek, just tell me, stop this omission bullshit.” Stiles says with irritation.

“It smelled like one of the nogitsune’s flies to me. Which worried me.” Derek huffs, “There you go.”

Stiles stills at that. Even with what Derek just said, he still notices the strange amount of apprehension around the words. “And?”

“And what else? Do you want me to tell you how it made me worried about you? How scared I was about you getting hurt again? What do you want me to say, Stiles?” Derek’s voice raises in volume and he turns towards Stiles full bodily.

Stiles swallows the lump in his throat and pulls over to park. He blinks and shakes his head, trying to process what Derek just said. He turns his head towards Derek. Derek’s face is red and blotchy, his eyes are huge and have tears beading at the corners. His lower lip is quivering as his eyebrows stay aggressively furrowed.

“Well!?” A couple of the tears escape and stream down his round cheeks.

Combined with the teary eyed child in his car and his brain’s gears finally working, Stiles is astonished by his revelation.

“Oh my god, you care about me.”

“Wh-w- YES ! I thought that was obvious!” Derek responds emphatically.

“No, you really care about me. Scott said that you wanted to stay behind, and that you’re not ‘glarey’ around me.” Stiles rests his forehead against his steering wheel, “Oh sweet Jesus.”

“Stiles, I’m so sorry.” Derek speaks carefully, “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. I’m sorry for putting you in an awkward position.”

Derek sighs, “Now that I know, I can work on getting over you. I’d like if we could still be friends, despite this.”

“Oh my god, you’re so dumb.” Stiles takes a shuddering breath, “Did I say at any moment, that I didn’t feel the same?” Derek’s eyes widen at this. Stiles continues speaking and mumbling his thoughts under his breath, “I’m going to kill Scott. There’s probably not even a real feral wendigo is there?”

He stops suddenly, and grabs the plastic bag of clothes as well as a single chocolate gold coin from his cup holder. “Nope, I’m not having this conversation with you while you look like a third grader. C’mon.”

Derek blinks as Stiles owlishly, and hastily wipes the drying tears from his face. Stiles slides out of the car and goes around to open the door for Derek. Derek hops down and meekly tugs at the edge of the sweater, Stiles locks the car and holds out his free hand. Derek looks up at Stiles and smiles tentatively.

This isn’t exactly how Stiles imagined holding hands with Derek this holiday season, but it was still nice in a strange way.

The two of them enter the library and nod at the employees at the circulation desk. Stiles guides Derek through the stacks to the back of the building to the once carefully sealed door leading to the basement. He nudges the door open with his hip after making sure there were no onlookers, and the two of them descend into the dark depths of the library.

They carefully navigate the dark and dusty stacks of the basement and find the sealed entrance to the old subway platform. Or at least that’s how it appeared, Derek and Stiles pass through the disguised archway and enter a warmly lit platform. Standing before them were four gnome guards wearing what looked like armor made out of reptilian skin seated around a small table playing some sort of card game.

The gnomes look up from the table at the sound of Stiles and Derek entering the vestibule.

"Ey wouldja look at dis, dose humans are back." The gnome seated facing them calls out.

"Aye, I see dem." Says the gnome to his left.

"Dat were one seems to 'ave used an emerald beetle. But he didn't pass through here, right?" Says the one to his right. The fourth gnome nods silently in agreement.

The first gnome stands and grins with broken teeth, "Dey prolly need demselves a ruby beetle, amiright?"

Stiles takes this moment to speak, "Yes, yes that's why we're here. It seems as though an emerald beetle wandered off, and my friend here stepped on it."

"A were shoulda been able to whiff out oneuva our beetles." The left one speaks with an incredulous tone.

"Yes, he did, but he mistook it for another kinda magic. Easy mistake to make. Now could we get one of those ruby beetles to go, or is it dine-in only?"

"Stiles..." Derek hisses under his breath, his hand tightening around Stiles' infinitesimally.

The first gnome steps around the table and waddles towards them. "Sure sure, dats an easy mistake. But mistakes come at a price..." The gnome grins and holds out an empty palm.

"Show me the beetle first."

"Show me whatcha gon' give me for da beetle."

Stiles pulls the chocolate gold coin and a pair of clear red plastic dice from his pocket, while simultaneously the gnome buries his hand into his pocket and withdraws a closed fist.

“This is so dumb.” Derek whispers to Stiles.

“Shut up .” Stiles whispers back.

The gnome to the right pipes up, “On dee count a three…”

Stiles maintains eye contact with the first gnome as the right gnome counts down, “One… two… three !”

In the leather covered palm of the gnome lay a glittering and bright red beetle. In Stiles’ hand lay the chocolate gold coin and the red dice from the Scott’s game of Aggravation that he happened to have stowed away in his pocket.

The gnome’s eyes glitter at the sight of Stiles’ offering. “Dose are some lovely lookin’ dice you’ve got dere, you sure you wanna part with such a lovely item?”

Stiles falters, but quickly nods, “Oh I know, I will miss them so much. They’re really so lovely, aren’t they, Derek?” Derek nods dumbly, “Now then, if I give you these beloved dice, and my golden coin here, will that be enough for the ruby beetle?”

The main gnome turns back to the other three and they snicker conspiratorially. “Ye, take the damned beetle. Gimme dose dice already!”

Stiles gives the gnomes a withering smile as they trade. The gnomes cackle with glee as the main gnome returns to the table with his spoils.

“Let’s get outta here, Derek…” Stiles leads the two of them back into the library basement, the echoes of the gnomes cackling and the clattering of sound of the dice upon the table follows them.

Derek steps out of the bathroom sheepishly holding the plastic bag of clothes out to Stiles. “I think my shoes should be around the back of the building still…”

“Dude, why didn’t you tell me to go grab them while you were doing your beetle mumbo jumbo, presto change-o?”

Derek reflexively responds with a “Don’t call me dude.” But then he coughs awkwardly, “I… I didn’t want you too far away.”

“Aww… you’re such a sap.” Stiles takes the plastic bag from Derek’s outstretched hand, and takes the now empty hand into his opposite one.

“Let’s go get your shoes. I’m pretty sure the cafe has a no shoes, no shirt, no service policy.”

“Cafe?”

“Well, yeah. I’m not waiting a moment longer to take you out on a date. If you’ll have me of course.” Stiles hesitates for a split second as Derek’s silence draws out. “Der?”

Derek blinks, but a gentle, sincere smile works its way across his face. “Of course.”

Stiles returns the smile with a sincere one of his own. A mischievous glint enters his eyes, “By the way… did I mention what an adorable kid you made?”

“ Stiles …”

“ So cute. I should’ve taken pictures when I had the chance!”

“Nevermind, this was a terrible idea. I’m going home.”

“Wait, Derek!”

“This is a library, Stiles. Please keep your voice down.”

“ Derek… ”

“Nope. Stop following me.”

“C’mon, lemme treat you.”

“ No .”

“But baby it’s cold outside!”

“I’m done here.”

#Michicant123 #stereksanta19 #*fics19 #*art19 #*gifts19

[iron-fam]

"My Son Isn't Dying Yet,"

Prompt from @slytheringirl1307

Prompt: Peter staggers into Avengers Tower, mortally wounded. Tony pays for several professional doctors to keep him alive. The news reporters ask him why he did it, and he always brushes them off. Finally, one day, he turns straight to a reporter and says, "my son isn't dying yet."

Social media goes crazy.

TW: graphic descriptions of injuries, blood

*****

Surprisingly, Tony is asleep when it happens.

He is blissfully floating in a dreamless sleep, with Pepper curled up beside him.

His head immediately splits when F.R.I.D.A.Y. wakes him.

"Boss,"

"What!?" Tony snaps impatiently. The first night in weeks that he was able to fall asleep peacefully.

I never get what I want, do I?

"Peter Parker has entered through the west balcony. His injuries are rather strange and appear to be life threatening. I have already contacted emergency services."

Tony's body goes cold.

"Oh, fuck." He whispers.

Pepper is barely stirring as Tony launches himself out of the bed.

The corners of his vision are turning black. His heart is a frigid steel ball sinking down, down, down until it reaches the pit of his stomach.

He's running. Still running. Peter could be dead before Tony even makes it to the west balcony.

Just a little more.

West balcony.

Just around the corner.

He'll be okay.

He turns the corner too sharp. His shoulder slams into the wall and Tony tumbles to the floor.

Shit.

Shakily, he pushes himself back on his feet.

West balcony.

...

There.

...

Oh, God.

...

The barely recognizable form of a teenage boy lays crumpled in a heap. Red and blue spandex. Matted brown hair. Deep maroon blood.

Tony's legs fail him the moment he reaches the boy's side.

"What-what are," Tony tries to speak, but short and sharp breaths interrupt him. "Are yo-?"

Tony puts his hands on both sides of the boy's face, trying to keep him conscious and focused.

His mask is gone, making this so much fucking worse. Tony needs stay focused. He can't stay calm, collected, and contributive with the kid's terrified eyes boring into his.

Peter's breaths are deep and laborious. He's trying so hard to breathe.

"Tonytonytonytony I can't," Peter sputters. "Didn't kn-kn-know where else-" he swallows hard. "-to go."

"Oh no, it's fine." Tony grumbles sarcastically, scanning Peter's torso for injuries. "This is a great time, really. I was so bored. This is great. Shit."

Peter's entire body is soaked in blood. His bones are crushed. His stomach is littered with gashes and tears. His chest looks like an animal tried to burrow through him.

"Th-th-they weren't human." Peter whispers. "C-couldn't beat them." His eyes squeeze shut, and he groans in agony. "Ran."

"It's okay," Tony gulps. This is bad. This is really fucking bad. How is the kid even talking? "Can't win ev-everytime."

"F-" Peter's breath staggers, like a sputtering engine. "Fell."

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.?" Tony growls with appetent irritation.

"Emergency services arriving in three minutes."

Peter shrieks. His eyes are shut tight again, as if he's trying to wake himself up. His lips are parted, showing his teeth gritted together.

"I'm going to die!!" Peter wheezes, voice breaking. Tears begin freely racing down his cheeks, washing away some of the blood splattered on his face.

"No. No, no, no, you're not!" Tony laughs. "I've seen worse." Lies. "It'll be fine."

Peter is crying. That's bad. He needs to stay still. He needs to save his breath. He needs to..

He needs to stay with him.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey." Tony soothes. He tries to ignore the rivers of panic and utter terror that pervade his bloodstream.

Peter's gasping breaths grow shallower. "Going to die. Going to die. G'ng t' die." His words meld together and his words are barely understandable.

As Peter's inhales and exhales weaken, Tony's seem to grow faster and stronger.

"Kid, please."

Black spots bloom across his field of vision. God, he can't feel his hands.

The boy's chest is lurching now. His breaths go back to resembling a sputtering car engine; quick, forced, weak, spastic.

"PETER, STOP!" Tony's hands are still holding the boy's head. "STOP IT! FUCK-"

Peter's eyes cant focus. They dance around, never landing on the older man. His irises are frantically bouncing back and forth.

Then, suddenly, they stop.

His eyelids fall.

And his muscles relax.

Tony pulls Peter into his lap.

"No." Shaking. "No, no, no, no, no, no. Peter." He combs the boy's sticky hair back. "Bud, wake up. Please. I need you to wake up. I-I-I can't-"

"Boss, emergency services are here."

*****

"He's sustained injuries far worse than anything we've ever handled."

"There's only so much we can do."

"Our knowledge of these kind of injuries is limited."

"Our technology is limited."

*****

"Mr. Stark, we're doing all we can."

"Do more." The billionaire grumbles hoarsely. "Or I'll find someone else."

"He's been in a comatose state for nine days. We barely have any information about the incident and his injuries are unlike anything we've ever seen."

"And?"

The doctor bites her lip. She's nervous. "We don't know what to do, sir."

Tony laughs. "Well, I dont know what I expected. Community hospital. You're practically a kid and hardly capable of being a doctor."

The woman shrinks, her gaze falling to her shoes. Tony would almost feel bad if he had the will to feel anything.

Tony leaves her and crouches in front of a messy brunette woman sitting with her face in her hands.

"May," Tony hums. "Let me. This place is a shithole. These doctors don't know shit and they can't help him."

May stays silent.

Tony is persistent. "I doubt blondie back there could even put a bandaid on a papercut. Please. I'm hiring professionals. Specialists. The best of the best. I won't let him die here... Fuck, I won't let him die, period. I can save him."

May sniffs, and lifts her head to look at Tony.

"Let me." He whispers.

The heartbroken woman nods.

*****

Bright flashes.

Camera shutters.

Microphones.

The same old shit. He's used to it by now.

Swarms of people and flashing lights, suffocating him.

"Stark! Over here!"

A microphone is shoved into his face.

Happy silently shoves the reporter away from Tony. However, the douchebag is persistent.

"Stark! Is it true you spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on medical personnel to help one of your interns?"

This shit again.

For weeks now, that's all anyone can ever seem to ask him about.

Another dick with a microphone pipes up, "Why would you spend so much money on a kid that only has a minimal professional relationship to you?"

"What is the boy's name?"

"Is there any personal relation between you and this intern?"

Ignore. Just ignore them.

Over the years, Tony got pretty good at ignoring shitheads who can't mind their own business.

"Rumor has it that the boy's condition continues to worsen!"

"Do you truly believe he will live?"

"Considering your financial history and what you usually spend your money on, don't you think you're wasting your money?"

Someone shouts. "Have you considered pulling the plug, Stark?"

Ignore. Ignore. Ignore.

God, just ignore it.

"The kid's dying," the man continues. "Is there any use in continuing to fund his care?"

Tony whips around, finding the man the voice belongs to.

He takes a fistful of the mans shirt and pulls him close.

The crowd goes silent. Someone should intervene. Tony can feel Happy's hand gently placed on his back, trying to ease him away.

Tony's grip on the man's shirt remains firm.

He remembers that he's surrounded. Surrounded by hundreds of cameras, microphones, and pairs of ears. Listening.

He growls, "My son isn't dying yet,"

And with that, he releases the man, who is gasping and brushing off his panic.

The billionaire briskly walks to his car, and Happy drives him away.

They leave a hoarde of stunned paparazzi behind.

*****

@ironfan_12

IRON MAN HAS A SON!

@newyork_dawG

wow stark has a kid?? pretty shitty life that kid has. i feel bad for him.

@superheroconspiracies

Does Tony stark really have a biological teenage son? Michael and I explore this intriguing story on today's episode of Superhero Conspiracies!

@nytimes

Superhero billionaire Tony Stark (Iron Man) accidentally reveals to press that the injured boy he's been paying for treatment for is actually his son.

@spidey_gal_numba1

@Real_TonyStark sending all of my thoughts and prayers to you and your son!! He'll pull through!

*****

@Real_TonyStark

Very relieved to say that my intern is going to pull through

@cl_barton

Man, cut the bullshit. We know he ain't no "intern."

#peter parker #spiderman #irondad fic #fanfiction #mcu #ironman #prompts #writing prompt #send me prompts #tony stark #tony stark and peter parker #tw: violence #marvel fic

[crooked-sleep]

Day 6 - NYE [Pt. 1]

hello and happy new year!!! sorry this is late, i’m a dumbass who went camping in a desert and then spent all of today sick ;-;

you mentioned you like pining, and first times, so i hope you enjoy this!

—

Dean’s found some campsite in the middle of nowhere, and according to the bartender’s sister three towns over it has a wonderful view of the fireworks. Sam’s not so sure about this whole plan, considering that they’re in the midwest and it’s really fucking cold, but they don’t have any cases, and he kind of misses spending time with Dean doing nothing, so he agrees to go along with it.

They arrive early in the afternoon and find a nice spot by a tree. It’s not so much a campsite as it is just an empty field, but there are already other people there with tents and lights. Dean picks a spot a good few yards away from the nearest tent, and parks.

It doesn’t take them long to set up. They don’t have a tent, so all they do is spread a couple blankets on the ground in front of the Impala and place their cooler in the center. It’s too cold for beer, so Sam’s stocked it with vacuum flasks of coffee and hot chocolate instead. Dean’s contribution is his little hip flask, which Sam rolls his eyes at and declares, “That’s not going anywhere near my drinks.”

“Wet blanket,” Dean accuses him, but it’s all in good fun.

They play poker for a while, sitting cross-legged on the blanket across from each other, and it catches the attention of a couple parked nearby. Sam’s not too happy about it considering the whole point had been to spend time with Dean alone, but Dean looks more than delighted to have more people join in, and so Sam keeps his mouth shut. They go a few rounds, and by the end of it Dean has acquired a sweet pocketknife, a cell phone charm shaped like a gun, and a half-full bottle of whiskey in winnings. The couple are pretty good-natured about it, but they don’t play any more rounds against Dean, and presently, much to Sam’s relief, they wander off again.

“Want some?” Dean asks Sam, holding out the bottle of whiskey.

“No, thanks,” Sam answers, and Dean shrugs before taking a swig directly from the bottle.

“This is nice,” he says after a few moments. “Haven’t really done this in a while.”

Sam hums in agreement. “Yeah,” is all he says, eyes focused on the sky. It’s steadily getting darker, and soon enough there won’t be any light. “Can’t remember the last time I saw a sunset,” he says quietly to Dean.

“Me neither,” Dean says after a moment of surprised contemplation. He takes another swig from the bottle. “Man, we miss a lot, don’t we?”

“Can’t help it, I guess,” Sam says. He reaches into the cooler and withdraws the flask of coffee. “Probably not a bad thing, though,” he adds, offering the flask to Dean. “Means we appreciate it when we do get to see it.”

“I guess,” Dean answers. He takes the flask, pours some coffee in an old, chipped mug Sam hands him, and adds whiskey to it before handing Sam the flask back. “So. Any resolutions?”

That makes Sam laugh, though he’s not sure why. “I don’t know,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee. “Um… try not to get hit in the head too much?”

Dean laughs too. “Good luck with that,” he says, eyes crinkling as he smiles at Sam over his mug. 

“What about you?” Sam asks, resolutely ignoring the butterflies in his belly.

Dean shrugs. “Ah, I dunno, get laid more often, I guess?”

The butterflies turn to lead. Sam tries not to let his smile fade as he says, “Even more than you already do? Your dick is gonna fall off.”

“Then it will have died a noble death,” jokes Dean, but his expression is off, too. 

There’s silence, but of the awkward kind, and Sam curses himself for it. They’d been having a good time, and he’d gone and let his stupid feelings ruin it. And it sucks, because for the past few weeks he’d been letting himself think that maybe Dean felt the same way that he does, that there’s actually a chance for the two of them. And he’d thought that maybe, just maybe, if this whole evening went well, he’d man up, and tell Dean how he felt, and see how that went– except there’s no point now, because it’s clear Dean doesn’t feel the same way.

It’s getting sort of painful to just sit there and keep his eyes away from Dean’s, so in the end Sam just checks his watch, and says, “Okay, I’m gonna, uh, I’m gonna nap in the car for a while, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says, too quickly. He looks grateful for the change in subject. “I’ll wake you up at half an hour to midnight, okay?”

“Sure,” says Sam, and gets up.

It takes him a while to get to sleep, though, despite being bundled up in four layers of clothes and a thick quilt in the backseat. It’s not even that he’s cold. He just feels vaguely nauseous every time he thinks of what Dean said, and then even more nauseous whenever he tries to rationalize it. And it’s not even that Dean did something wrong. He didn’t. If anything, Sam’s the one in the wrong here, he’s the one with weird fucked up feelings for his own brother.

With that not very comforting thought, Sam finally manages to doze off.

True to his word, Dean wakes him up at 11:30 by knocking on the car window. It takes Sam a few moments to return to full consciousness, and he emerges from the car with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The temperature has dropped in the time he’s spent sleeping, and Sam shivers a little as he makes his way to the front of the Impala, where Dean’s sitting on the hood with his feet resting on the bumper.

“Here,” Dean says, handing Sam a mug of hot chocolate when Sam joins him. Sam takes an experimental sniff, which makes Dean roll his eyes and add, “No alcohol in it.”

“Okay,” says Sam, and takes a sip. It’s not as hot as he’d like it to be, but that’s to be expected considering it’s spent hours in a flask. “Thanks,” he says quietly, knocking his shoulder against Dean’s.

Dean smiles softly. “It’s nothing,” he says. “You, uh, you sleep well?”

Sam nods. “Yeah. What did you do?”

“Just talked to a few people, played a few games,” Dean answers vaguely, looking straight ahead.

“Had fun?”

“Nah,” Dean tells him. “Got kinda boring after a while. I thought about waking you up, but then I figured you need your beauty sleep.”

“Well, why didn’t you?” Sam asks.

“I almost did,” Dean says. “But you looked so damn adorable, wrapped up in like twelve blankets. Didn’t wanna ruin that.”

“I’m not adorable,” Sam mumbles, ducking his head a little.

“Yeah, you are,” Dean retorts, grinning. “You’re being adorable right now.”

“No,” protests Sam.

Dean laughs, and wraps an arm around Sam’s shoulders. “If you say so,” he says, amused, and it’s obvious he’s only saying it to end the argument. 

Sam leans into his side, grateful – Dean is exuding warmth, and the weight of his arm on Sam’s shoulders is comforting in its familiarity, something he’s always associated with home and safety. Dean leans back into him too, and the two of them watch the dark night sky for a few minutes, occasionally taking sips of coffee from their mugs. There are still a few minutes to midnight.

“You warm?” Dean asks eventually, his voice low.

“Mm,” Sam answers. He’s still got the blanket about his shoulders, and he’s appropriated Dean’s scarf and paired it with some mitts he’d found in the Impala earlier. All of that combined with Dean’s body heat next to his is serving to make him quite comfortably warm.

“Good,” says Dean. His arm is still around Sam’s shoulders.

Sam leans further into him, letting his head rest against Dean’s shoulders. Dean shifts to accommodate him, and the two of them sit there in comfortable silence. If Sam keeps his eyes on the sky, he can pretend it’s just him and Dean here, and no one else.

Midnight arrives with a bang, and the first firework explodes in the sky in a shower of magnesium-white. Sam sits up straight at that, coffee mug forgotten on his hands, his face turned up towards the sky. Besides him, Dean is doing the same, both of them watching the display of fireworks in awe. Around them Sam can hear people wishing each other, interjected with the occasional shout and whoop.

He turns his head to look at Dean, and is surprised to find Dean looking back at him. Dean’s eyes look golden in the light from the fireworks, and his lips are slightly parted, almost as if he wants to say something but isn’t quite sure he should.

“Dean?” Sam asks when this goes on for over a few seconds too long.

Instead of replying, Dean moves forward and kisses Sam. His lips are dry from the cold, and he seems unsure of himself, a little bit hesitant. It takes a few seconds for Sam’s brain to come back online, and he tries to kiss back, to let Dean know that he’s more than okay with it.

That helps; the hesitance vanishes, and Dean presses into him, nipping lightly at his lower lip until Sam opens up. The fireworks overhead fade, but they don’t stop kissing, and the butterflies in Sam’s belly are performing some sort of strange victory dance, making him feel all weird and light-headed and dreamy.

“Happy new year, Sammy,” Dean whispers when they part.

Sam laughs, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Dean’s. “Happy new year, Dean.”

—

there’s a part two coming up soon! i’m sorry this is late, i’ve been super sick today thanks to my allergies acting up. i’ll try to have part 2 up soon!

i hope you have a lovely year <3

–wincestmas anon

____

Santa - OMG! This hits all my buttons. No lie - I love, love, love pining and first times. Also, Sam saying he’d try not to get hit in the head as much that year was hysterical. At least that boy is self-aware. (I swear Sam would have some kind of awful TBI if not for Cas constantly healing him.) I’m as warm as Sam’s hot chocolate before he took his nap now. And I’m so giddy that there’s a part 2.

Thank you for this! <3 <3 <3 

P. S. You feel better! Don’t forget your allergy pills!

#wincestmas #12daysofwincestmas #wincest fic #oh my heart #pining sam #wincest first time #aaaaaahhhhhh #submission

[maxattack-powell]

17: A love bite - Chris x MC pls?

Hey Nonny! Sorry it took a while to get this out here… I try to use the asks/prompts as bonus posts in between long chapter updates…

But this week, all my Chris asks will be used for #CaptainPowellWeek hosted by our joint blog, @chrispowellappreciation!

This is my first contribution to Captain Chris Powell Appreciation Week! With The Senior ending this Friday we thought it would be a nice way to celebrate our favorite Hartfeld Quarterback. 💗

If you would like to join in, please check out the blog/hashtag above for more info! Every tagged post counts as an entry for a prize drawing after the week is over.

Here we go!

Flushed

It was the warmest day of the year so far and the entire Hartfeld campus was alive with activity, arguably the most it had seen in months. Chris and MC were not immune to the power the change in weather clearly held over everyone, both beyond tired of being stuck inside for so many days thanks to the cold northern weather. Sure, they have been having their share of fun, often entertaining one another under warm covers and behind locked doors, but after a while a everyone needs to breathe fresh air.

Today was that day, the newfound warmth pulling people out into the common spaces throughout campus grounds, creating heavily populated waves of like minded people everywhere they looked. Chris was especially enjoying the effects of the weather change, often glancing over at MC’s bare shoulders provided by one of his favorite sporty tank tops.Of course he had seen every inch of her body over the winter months, but there was something about her glowing skin in the bright sunlight that keeps drawing him back in.

“What?” Her question interrupts his thoughts, causing his eyes to flick up and find hers locked on his with a curious expression.

He shrugs, turning his gaze forward as he forces his increasingly dirty thoughts to evaporate. “N-nothing.”

MC’s eyes narrow and she stops walking, causing him to halt his forward movements as well seeing how his arm was hooked around her waist. “Uh huh… spill Powell.”

Chris shakes his head and starts moving again, tugging her until she falls in step next to him as they make their way to the campus cafe. “I’m just glad to be outside… in the sun… again.”

She doesn’t say anything and he shifts his gaze from the path back to her face, finding that smirk he loves so much across her features before she speaks. “And…”

He sniffs dismissively as they take the next right, now within a block of the popular cafe. “And… nothing.”

“Don’t make me poke you.” She says with a humorous tone.

Chris shakes his head and closes his eyes with a sigh, knowing he only has seconds before she follows through and goes right for the one spot that will make him cringe. “Okay. I like being outside.”

“Uh huh.” He can still hear the smirk in her tone.

“In the… warm weather.”

“Uh huuuuh.” A small smile appears on his lips as he can tell her smirk is clearly still in place.

“With you.” He says in a lower voice, glancing around to see if their conversation might be overheard.

“Okay…” She arches a brow as he turns to look at her, their united pace slowing together.

His eyes slip down from hers, first to her neck, then her shoulders, before gliding across her upper chest. He takes his time to admire the perfect amount of cleavage peeking out of the snug tank top as his right hand slides up from her lower back to splay across her bare shoulder blades. Her muscles flex under his touch as they continue to walk slowly, making him hum as he feels her sun warmed skin.

He turns his face slightly towards hers as he leans over, knowing she wasn’t yet satisfied with his answer and brushes his lips against her ear. “Because all I want to do… is see every inch of you…”

MC swallows hard as he continues, “…bare…”

She glances around, hoping no one can hear their suddenly very private conversation. “…fully exposed. In this light.”

“Umm…”

He cuts her off before she can formulate an actual response. “Because all I can think about is putting my lips on every square inch of your flushed skin.”

Chris smirks when he sees the effect his words are having on her. “It’s like you’re my own brand of MC muffins… warm and ready for me to devour you.”

MC can feel herself reacting to his words, her body beginning to tingle as she imagines it becoming true. She licks her lips and takes a deep breath, trying to come up with some type of verbal response, but her mind is completely foggy. So much so, that she doesn’t notice when Chris shifts, lowering his head more to drag his lips down her neck until she shudders from the ticklish feeling. Her body snaps, now more alert and focused than before. It’s when he pulls his lips back, baring his perfectly straight teeth and bites the sensitive spot where her long neck meets the left shoulder that she jumps with a gasp.

He chuckles and does it again. “Someone was deep in thought.”

She squirms, doing her best to get away from his persistent assault on one of her most ticklish spots. “Chris!”

He laughs harder, tightening his grip on her, circling her with both hands so she can’t escape him as he continues to playfully nip at the areas around her shoulder, neck and ear.

“Ayuh, beautiful?” His warm words slides across her skin and she sucks in a sharp breath through clenched teeth.

MC gives up trying to form words, crushing her eyes closed as she does her best to not outright scream when he adds his fingers to the attack, moving them nimbly up and down her sides as his lips find an even more sensitive spot near her throat.

What should be words yelling for him to stop, are now peals of laughter that only break for a moment when she gasps for air. Chris can tell she’s trying to break free but he doesn’t give in, increasing the energy behind his surprise attack instead. MC focuses for a second and actually manages to open her eyes, but not much.

Glancing around through narrow slits, she finds many pairs of eyes unexpectedly watching the two of them as Chris holds her hostage. She continues to struggle to no avail. Her face begins to heat up as a few faculty members look at them both with concern, but only for a moment before they join the clumps of grinning students, laughing with amusement once they realize what’s happening.

Embarrassment begins to fully take over now, her face flushing even more as she somehow manages to squeal even louder when all she wants to do is hide. “Chriiiissss…. stoooop!”

She swats at his massive shoulder, earning a chuckle from her wide bodied boyfriend as he finally pulls his lips from her ambushed skin. MC pants as she tries to catch her breath from the non stop laughing Chris managed to drag from her lips in between the shrieks and gasps. When their eyes meet once more she sees the mischievous glint in his bright blues, but only for a second before he also looks around, finally noticing the audience he created.

MC shakes her head before hiding her face in the crook of his neck as he grins bashfully, clutching her to his chest with one arm as he holds the other up and waves apologetically for disturbing the peace. “Hey… uh, sorry. My fault. As you were.”

Finally catching her breath, MC does her best to seem angry, biting him on the collarbone so he can feel her disapproval.

Chris lets out a startled noise before tilting his head enough to brush his lips over her ear again and speak quietly, this time clearly just for her. “Just. You. Wait.”

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[vagrantblvrd]

A Place So Dark (2/?)

Summary: Gavin died on a Thursday.

                 That’s what the official records say, anyway. 

                 They also say he died in an accident.

Notes: This is loosely (very much so) based on the movie The Wraith and inspired by Michael and Gavin messing around in the GTA V Jetpack Joyrides video. (Look, I don’t know what happened either. Also, let’s pretend Tron isn’t a thing in this AU, because reasons.)

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 ||

(Read on AO3)

When Michael turns, Gavin has the helmet in his hands and this small, awkward smile on his face.

He looks...uncertain.

That hesitant little smile Michael knows so well. The one he’d get when he’d done something stupid or messed up and fucking well knew it, couldn’t apologize like a normal person, no.

Just.

A mess of issues and stupid about it all, and hoping Michael would somehow be able to read his mind. Understand that whatever had happened wasn’t his intent. That there really was a reason the toaster was suddenly in pieces, or the plumbing was fucked up.

A whole slew of things gone wrong that shouldn’t have, really, Michael, he didn’t expect it to happen.

After a moment Gavin’s eyes slide away from Michael’s, shoulders hunching because Michael cannot stop scowling at him.

Anger burning hot in his chest because this stupid bastard. This stupid motherfucker who got himself in trouble, got in so deep someone wanted him dead.

Fucking Gavin who made Michael promise him months and months and months ago. Goddamn years, that if he was ever in trouble he’d go to Gavin.

Ask for help and Gavin would give it, no questions asked because it was just that simple. They’d figure it together, no reason to go it alone when it was the two of them against the world.

Partners in crime, the two of them, and this stupid little giggle from Gavin because they’d both had a little too much to drink. Gotten the kind of serious you do sometimes when you’re like that.

Dumb jokes and stories, this sideways slide into the heart of things without a by your leave. Gavin worrying about Michael and the bruises and worse he’d come back to their shitty apartment with sometimes.

“Your arm,” Gavin says suddenly, frowning slightly as he sets his helmet down on the table and moves over to Michael.

Gavin moves slow, careful as he reaches out and pulls Michael’s arm toward him. Looking to him as though he’s asking permission as he examines a cut on Michael’s arm visible through the ripped sleeve of his jacket.

Michael fights the urge to yank his arm back, annoyance rising because now that Gavin’s called attention to the injury he can feel the damn thing. Feel a myriad of small injuries he must have gotten earlier and hadn’t paid attention to with his focus on getting them out of there. Quashes the feeling as he watches Gavin.

Concerned frown on his face so damn familiar it hurts. Sharp ache in his chest that’s almost a physical pain, because he never thought he’d get to see it again.

“I don’t think you’ll need stitches for it,” Gavin says, and looks up to meet Michael's eyes. “But you should put a bandage on it at least.”

He glances at the abandoned bag with the medical supplies and cocks his head just so, a gesture Michael knows so fucking well because he’s seen it so many times before.

Just another one of the things he should have picked up on earlier. Another one of Gavin’s quirks and ticks Michael had seen the biker use and never thought to connect to Gavin.

So much evidence in front of him leading to the biker’s identity and Michael just never seeing any of it because why the fuck would he expect to when Gavin was dead?

The Gavin he’d known was an awkward, clumsy dork who was good with computers and loved playing with his cameras. An idiot who never let on he wasn’t quite who Michael thought he was, but then again the reverse is true because Michael did the same, didn’t he?

Lies upon lies, and all of them mean to protect each other because it was dangerous not to.

This fucking city.

And maybe it’s not just Los Santos to blame for all of this. The secrets they both hid from each other, thinking they were protecting each other and doing more harm than good in the end, but it’s easier to cast blame than it is to face up to how stupid they've both been about this.

The fact that somehow Gavin’s here, looking at Michael with those eyes of his. Big and worried and holding himself like he thinks -

“I can’t do this on my own,” Michael hears himself say as he stares at Gavin’s hands. Fingers curled around his wrist, thumb resting over his pulse point.

Gavin blinks, mouth opening to ask why – always with he questions because he has a curious fucking mind doesn’t he. Never satisfied until he’s picked something apart, gotten a good look at what makes it tick and finds a way to put it back together again. (Not always right, but he tries.)

“I’m right handed, idiot.”

The cut’s on his right arm, and Michael could manage to slap a rough bandage on it, keep from making things worse, but it won’t be pretty. Might as well not even bother for all the good it will do him.

“I’ll fuck it up,” Michael says, and shrugs at the look Gavin gives him.

Michael doesn’t know how any of this is possible. How Gavin is standing in front him, solid and real and so goddamned familiar.

Watching Michael with that worried look he used to get when Michael would come home after a rough job and lie to him about it. Tell him some idiot at work had run into him, or that he’d hit his head on something. Nothing important, serious, so no need to worry about it.

Nothing but lies mixed tied up with the truth like that was just the way things had to be and why change things if it worked?

Gavin patching him up with this little frown between his eyes and so, so careful no to ask even though Michael could tell he wanted to more than anything.

Gavin starts to let go.

“Gavin.”

Gavin freezes, eyes skittering away from Michael’s.

He still looks the same.

Dumb hair that looks like it never met a comb it liked and that fucking nose of his. Laugh lines around his eyes that Michael always hoped he’d contributed to. The mole under his eye, so many other things Michael was worried he’d forgotten, and it’s killing him a little.

This whole mess is killing him because he can’t do this alone the way he was so convinced he could.

Just him against Carmine’s organization like one of those godawful movies Michael loved as a kid.

Good triumphing over evil, white hats against black hats. Scenarios where good always won because that’s how the stories were supposed to go.

Somewhere along the way he forgot on of the hardest lessons he ever learned, forgot that life isn’t like that. Realized just how fine the line between good and evil is, and which side he landed on as he grew up, made the kinds of choices he did.

The way people like Carmine with money and power behind them win out more often than not. That people like him and Gavin get trampled underfoot and forgotten, because they were just a statistic in the end.

Michael’s been lucky so far. Luckier than anyone has a right to be, but that same luck is bound to run out on him sooner rather than later with his hard he’s been pushing things.

And for whatever reason Gavin’s here, he’s back.

He’s the asshole half the city’s talking about.

This incredible force – anger and fury and something else to him Michael can’t explain, doesn’t have the words for - going after Carmine and his organization with equally single-minded determination.

He’s done more to hurt Carmine in these past few weeks than Michael has in the entire time he found out about his involvement in Gavin’s death. Cracked the foundations under Carmine’s feet, but it’s still not enough.

Worse, after tonight they know Gavin’s not invincible. They managed to make him bleed, proved they can hurt him. Kill him, and they’re not about to forget that after what he’s done to them, cost them.

“I can’t do this on my own,” Michael says again, and he sounds like he picked smoking back up. Voice fucked up because he’s not just talking about Carmine and his hired guns, doesn’t think he could take losing Gavin again. “I’ll fuck it up if I try.”

He’s been driven by anger and grief, this need to make whoever was responsible pay and no real plan behind any of it. Belated realization that he never expected to make it as far as he has. Expected Carmine or Rat-face to sniff him out, realize what he was up to and make an example out of him the way they did with Gavin.

He’d only gotten as close as he has through sheer luck, and doesn’t know where to go from here.  

Gavin stares at him for a long moment, and Michael can’t read him. Can’t tell what he’s thinking, or even if he knows him as well as he thought he did to be able to read him.

“Let’s look at your arm first,” Gavin says, eyes dropping away from Michael’s as he goes to get the medical supplies. “Wouldn’t want it to get infected.”

Michael watches him walk away and wonders what the hell he as expecting. For Gavin to jump at the chance to team up with him like this is some kind of stupid superhero movie?

“Yeah, alright,” Michael sighs, and follows Gavin to the cramped bathroom where the lighting is better.

Gavin gives him a small smile as Michael sits on the edge of the tub. Helps him peel off his jacket, managing to reopen the wound a little in the process. Dried blood gluing it to his skin and it's not pretty, hurts like hell as Gavin cleans the wound up best he can with their available supplies.

His hands are cool, which isn’t a surprise because Gavin always runs cold, but there’s a different quality now that makes Michael uneasy.

“I’d hate to be the one to find that,” Gavin says, seeming to pick up on his mood and  trying for a bit of levity as he tips his head towards the pile of bloodstained washcloths he tossed into the bathtub.

Michael snorts.

“I’d hate to be the one to find anything in this dump,” Michael shoots back because there’s not enough money in the world for that.

Gavin makes a face, gagging as his mind pulls up likely scenarios, and Michael’s chest aches because it’s such a familiar sight. Michael fucking with Gavin because it was always so easy, and cackling about it because he’s that kind of asshole.

“You’re a bloody bully Michael,” Gavin says, wounded note to his voice like he hasn't learned better by now.

And Michael -

“Literally,” he says, unable to stop himself as Gavin spreads ointment over the cut and tapes a gauze pad over it.

Gavin sighs, world-weary and such a brave little toaster for putting up with the terrible shit Michael puts him through, and it hurts how normal this feels.

Gavin leaves his hands on Michael's arm, frown on his face as he traces the edges of old scars from Michael’s line of work.

A few are from knives, but there’s a bullet graze near his elbow. Road rash that never healed quite right from a spill off a bike running from the cops once. More scars and marks left from countless fights, scrapes, he’s been in hidden by his clothes.

Souvenirs of a life that’s probably going kill him before long.

“Gav?”

Gavin reluctantly pulls his hands away and looks at Michael.

“You’re not going to stop even if I say no, are you.”

That.

“No,” Michael says, calm, even.

It would be better if they worked together on taking Carmine down because Gavin’s the one with all the cards here. Found something that spooked Carmine enough to have him killed, and Michael’s just been fumbling in the dark.

But if Gavin says no, chooses not to work together with him Michael’s just going to keep going until he succeeds or gets himself killed, whichever comes first. Can’t just let it go, even with Gavin here in front of him now.

The worst part about is that Michael’s still a coward, isn’t he. Can’t tell Gavin why he’s so determined to do this. All those words he had time to figure out after Gavin died, things he swore to himself he’d tell him if he ever got the chance to seem to have dried up and crumbled to dust on the back of his tongue.

Gavin huffs a laugh, and sits back to look at Michael.

“I can’t stay,” Gavin says, and waves a hand toward the window they can just see through the open door of the bathroom, sunlight breaking through the curtains. “There are rules, limits, to this. To whatever I am.”

Michael feels that uneasiness from earlier rear its head.

“What, are you a fucking vampire now? Do you burn in the sunlight?”

Gavin gives Michael this look, like maybe Michael’s parents dropped him on his head as a kid one time too many.

“What? No. You’ve seen me in the daylight before, haven’t you?” he says, and his tone of voice backs up the look on his face perfectly. “But I used a lot of energy tonight, didn’t I, and I have to go back.”

There’s something about the way Gavin says it that sends a chill down his spine.

“Go back?” he asks, trying to hold Gavin’s gaze but the fucker is a champ at avoidance.

Motherfucking gold medalist.

“For a little bit,” Gavin clarifies, still not meeting his eyes. “Just to rest.”

“Gav - “

“Give it a day or two, yeah?” Gavin pulls the latex gloves he was using off and slings them into the trash can under the bathroom sink. Gets to his feet. “Try not to do anything stupid before then, and we’ll talk about things. Get everything sorted.”

Like they’re talking about whose turn it is to do the dishes or why the fuck Gavin can’t remember not to throw a half empty cup of coffee in the trash from across the room. Like it’s something simple, stupid, small.

Like Michael isn’t terrified that Gavin won’t come back. Will just be gone, or that Michael hallucinated all of this. Hit his head and ended up in some stupid movie coma only to wake up and find out it was a dream all along.

Gavin finally looks at him, bright smile on his face like this whole situation isn’t fucked.

“No promises,” Michael says, hands clenching where they rest on his lap, grasping on to the sting, burn, that runs through his injured arm. “Don’t fucking stop for coffee on your back, you fuck.”

There’s a mirror over the sink facing the tub Michael’s sitting on. Dirty and cracked, and Michael stares at his reflection in it as Gavin pauses to squeeze his shoulder as he walks past, hand burning cold where it touches him.

Michael doesn’t hear the outer door when Gavin leaves, and it’s a long, long time before he can make himself get up.

========

Jeremy knows something is up when Michael slinks back in later that morning.

Would have to be blind not to given the state Michael’s in even after he made an effort to clean up. His clothes are still fucked and there’s no adrenaline to allow him to ignore the fact he’s hurting.

Still, Jeremy doesn’t say a damn thing.

Michael gets this look from him. The kind of worry Jeremy shouldn’t waste on a shitty friend like him, but that’s just like him, isn’t it.

The same way it’s just like him when Jeremy sits down next to Michael on the couch and pushes a cup of coffee into his hands to help warm him up. Sets a plate down with one of the donuts he picked up a few days ago.

Pretends like he’s not keeping an eye on Michael to make sure he’s not about to keel over on him right there and then. Force Jeremy to drag him down to a clinic or the emergency room.

Turns on the television so they can listen to the news, hear all about the commotion the night before in the industrial district. Fire fighters still on site, and various news crews vying for the best  shots. Solemn faced reporters going over what they know so far, batting theories and rumors back and forth with their counterparts behind the anchor desk back at the news station.

“Looks like a mess,” Jeremy notes, taking a sip of his coffee and carefully not looking at Michael.

Michael sighs, slumping a little into the soft cushions of the couch.

It’s so goddamn tempting to just tell Jeremy everything. What’s been going on to make him worry about Michael so much when he doesn’t deserve it, but Michael wouldn’t even know where to start without sounding like  damned lunatic.

Weird shit happens in Los Santos all the time, but this?

Got to be enough to get him locked away, and he’s not sure it wouldn’t be warranted at this point.

“Yeah,” Michael says, and splits the doughnut between them as a peace offering.

He can’t tell Jeremy what’s going on, but he sure as fuck appreciates that he wants to help.

Jeremy snorts, flipping through stations until he lands on an early morning cartoon.

Bright colors and weird animal characters with no real plot to speak of. Simple cartoonish bullshit accompanied by whimsical music that is clearly meant to be a punishment of some sort because it’s all so bad.

Which is fair, really.

Better than what Michael deserves, that’s for damn certain.

========

Rat-face calls Michael and tells him to lie low for now. That Carmine and his top people are coming up with a plan to deal with Gavin once and for all and they’ll contact him when they need him.

Michael plays his part, gives him yes sir, and no sir, and I understand, sir, and feels this thread of fear wrap tight around his heart because he still hasn’t heard from Gavin.

Doesn’t know where he is, if he’s okay. Doesn’t know a goddamned thing, and the  not knowing is killing him, but there’s not a lot Michael can about it until Gavin decides to show his face again. (Michael’s half afraid he won’t, that he just imagined the whole thing and Jeremy’s not wrong about Michael losing his damn mind.)

He makes a few half-hearted attempts to crack Gavin’s password, and watches daytime dramas that he doesn’t pay attention to. Too worried about Gavin and what Carmine and his flunkies are up to to focus long enough to understand the plot.

Pretends like he doesn’t see the worried looks Jeremy keeps tossing his way and does his best to act like he’s not slowly going out of his mind.

After the fifth day it gets old, and something drags Michael back to the apartment building he and Gavin lived in.

There’s not much left to it anymore. It’s been hollowed out by the fire, scavengers and worse in and out picking over the bones, looking for anything of value and coming up empty-handed.

Michael kicks aside a piece of charred wood and carefully makes his way through the rubble left behind from the fire. The place smells faintly of rot and decay over the lingering stench of smoke, or maybe that last is his mind overlaying memories with what his eyes are seeing, who the fuck knows.

“Christ,” he mutters, walking into what used to be the his – their -old living room.

Barely big enough for that stupid couch Gavin made him haul up several flights of stairs so long ago.

Stupid heavy and ugly as all hell, but something about it had caught Gavin’s eye and he’d spent money they couldn’t really afford on it. Big, stupid grin on his face and cajoling note to his voice, and Michael?

He always did have a hard time saying no to Gavin, even when he knew better.

So he lugged the fucking hideous thing upstairs while Gavin fretted and fussed. Offered up completely useless advice as he “helped”. Dropped his end of the couch more times than Michael cares to remember, mumbling sheepish apologies and laughing about it.

The damn couch is a pile of blackened wood now, melted bits of metal.

So much of their lives here gone up in fire and nothing but rubble and ash under his feet and if that isn’t some kind of shitty metaphor, Michael doesn’t know what is.

Michael lifts his head when he hears footsteps behind him, hands curling into loose fists at his side because he knows who it is.

Heard that fucking bike earlier, the low purr of its engine as it pulled up.

“Fire department said it was faulty wiring.”

Bad wiring in an old building, and shit like that happens all the in a city like this where code enforcement is so lax. No one gives much of a damn unless it makes the news, and even then it barely makes a ripple in the news cycle.

Why would it, when this is the kind of place where the police look the other way when it comes to crime all the fucking time? When people tsk over a murder and shake their heads before moving on because it’s just another statistic?

Always such a shame, and so convenient that it happens to someone else.

Gavin doesn’t say anything, but Michael can hear him sifting through the mess, looking for something.

Michael finally turns around, almost expecting Gavin to disappear the moment he does like that fucked up Greek myth about the asshole who went to the underworld in search of his wife after she died.

But this is reality, for whatever that’s worth, and Gavin doesn’t fade away when Michael looks at him.

Seems solid and real as he sweeps a pile of debris aside with his foot, glancing around with this odd frown on his face.

“Michael,” Gavin says, frustrated note to his voice. “Where was the bedroom?”

Of all the things he was expecting to hear from Gavin, that wasn’t anywhere on the list.

“What?”

Gavin looks frustrated, annoyed.

“Well it’s not like I had the floor plans memorized, now is it?” Gavin asks, turning his head away when Michael keeps staring.

They lived in that shitty apartment of theirs for years. Tiny and cramped, hardly enough room in it for the two of them and their shit. The kind of place you learn where everything is real quick or otherwise end up with stubbed toes and bumps on the back of your head moving around in the dark.

Th single bedroom they shared because they were adults who could handle sharing a bed with their couch being uncomfortable as hell. Always a bout of insomnia or work project that couldn’t wait for a reasonable hour, some other excuse that would keep one of them awake and trying to be considerate of each other.

Gavin had been prone to those kind of nights more often than Michael, ended up knowing it better than he did.

Gavin still won’t meet his eyes and Michael lets it drop because looking around now, he can see how it  would be hard to pinpoint where the hallway ends and the bedroom begins. Where everything should have been.

“Over here, I think,” Michael says, and moves past Gavin to gesture towards a pile of debris where the doorway to the bedroom door used to be. “What are you looking for?”

Gavin twitches a shoulder in a shrug as he maps out where the boundaries of the room would have been.

“Of course,” he mumbles to himself, and sets to clearing away what looks like part of the ceiling and half of the wall.

“Don’t just stand there, give me a hand, you bastard,” Gavin calls over his shoulder in a fit of pique, and Michael snorts as he goes over to help.

Follows Gavin’s orders as they dig out a small area roughly where the bed used to be. Stands back when Gavin drives the heel of his foot down on a section of floor to reveal a hidden compartment containing a fire safe.

“Maybe it was worth what I paid for it after all,” Gavin muses as he crouches down to examine it for damage, eyes meeting Michael’s over it. “Did you get the package?”

Nice and casual, like Gavin’s asking about the weather or something equally normal.

As if Gavin hadn’t planned ahead, expected for something to go wrong with whatever he’d been doing.

For someone to kill him.

Like he hadn’t taken the necessary precautions to ensure that whatever he’d found made it to Michael, that he’d gotten him everything he’d need to start up a new life somewhere, like that something people just fucking did.

Goddamn, it makes Michael angry all over again just thinking about it. About Gavin realizing how much trouble he was in and taking all these steps to protect Michael without giving a fucking thought to how he’d feel about things in the aftermath of his death.

As though Michael wouldn’t lose sleep wondering what he could have done differently to get Gavin to trust him enough to ask for help. What he’d done to make him think he wouldn’t drop everything if Gavin had just fucking asked.

“Yeah,” Michael says. “About that.”

Gavin looks up, frown on his face like he doesn’t know what the fucking problem is.

“Why didn’t you come to me with this?” Michael asks, hating the way his voice sounds rough, cracks showing through because Gavin’s secrets got him killed and Michael was too stupid to ask. “I could have fucking helped.”

Gavin stares at Michael like he’s trying to think up a lie, some excuse or reason that he thinks Michael’s just going to buy and that’ll be the end of that. No reason to get bothered over any of it.

“I don’t care if you didn’t know I was involved in this shit,” Michael says, before Gavin can interrupt him, say something that will just make him angrier. “I would have fucking helped you, Gavin. Jesus fuck, you know I would have.”

If nothing else, they were friends and Michael thought Gavin had known that. Known Michael would have done anything for him if he asked.

But he hadn’t, had he.

Had just dug himself deeper into whatever trouble he’d found that it had gotten him killed, and Michael left behind to pick up the pieces of his life. Move on, like it ever would have been so simple.

“Carmine’s a monster,” Gavin says, low and quiet. This fierceness to his voice Michael's never heard. His hand is splayed over the top of the fire safe like he’s keeping whatever secrets are inside from spilling out like Pandora’s box for better or worse. “You have no idea what he’s capable of, Michael.”

Michael can guess, given what happened to Gavin. The things he picked up when he was trying to find a way into Carmine’s organization. Bits and pieces he overheard from the others once he did.

The way Jeremy and others Michael’s come into contact with on his search for answers have warned him away from the fucker. Want nothing to do with him, which says so goddamned much in a city like this.

“By the time I knew what kind of monster he was, it was too late to back out of things, and I wanted to keep you out of it,” Gavin says, gaze focused on the damn fire safe under his hand. “I thought if he didn’t know about you, you’d be safe. That he couldn’t use you against me if he found out what I was doing.”

Oh, Christ.

“He was toying with me the whole time,” Gavin says, and his laugh sounds all broken and wrong, jagged little pieces to it. “Let me think I was getting away with things, that everything was going to turn out okay. That I didn’t manage bollocks everything up.”

“Gav - “

“I had a plan, Michael,” Gavin says. “I had a plan.”

But life – especially here in Los Santos – has a way of fucking you over if you’re not careful. (Sometimes even when you are.)

Michael stares at Gavin.

At this fucking idiot who tried so hard to keep Michael safe with no one there to watch his back, no one to keep him safe. Lying like his life depended on to keep Michael in the dark, and managing it all right up until the end.

Goddamn.

“You fucking idiot,” Michael snarls, and drags Gavin into a hug. Closes his eyes at Gavin’s startled intake of breath, like he was expecting Michael to hit him instead, like he would have deserved it, and holds on tighter.

There’s no way to change what happened, no point in second-guessing Gavin’s choices when it would be nothing but cruelty now. Salt in fresh wounds, but maybe, maybe, they can find a way to make things right now if Gavin will let him.

“I have to go,” Gavin says, some time later, even though he makes no move to let go of Michael. “Michael, I have to go.”

Michael wants to ask him why. Plead with him to stay, maybe, because he knows Gavin’s not going to give up on Carmine. Knows he’s still going to after him even though it almost got him killed (again, a part of Michael’s mind points out, again) last time.

“Be careful, asshole,” he says, because he knows he can’t stop Gavin even if he tries. Might drive him away altogether if he does. “They’re planning something.”

Gavin laughs, like this is all a fucking joke.

“Of course they are,” he says, and then he’s untangling himself from Michael's hold, this sad smile on his face that’s breaking Michael’s heart. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Like he has any fucking right to say something like that after everything that’s happened.

Still.

“Same goes for you, asshole,” he says, and watches Gavin walk away.

========

Gavin goes on his hit and runs, and Michael hears about it on the news afterwards.

Watches the so-called experts attempt to analyze what little data about him they have. Pinpoint his methodology, reason for his attacks, with little success.

Gavin’s smart about things, switches up his plan of attack even as he focuses on Carmine’s allies with his organization laying low after the ambush.

Chipping away at his support, whittling away his options one by one by one.

In the midst of all this, Jeremy’s crew has him running around doing damage control. He’s out at all hours and starting to look like shit warmed over.

According to him Gavin hasn’t gone after them, shouldn’t have reason to, but they’re understandably concerned. Their allies are understandably concerned, and there’s not much Michael can do to help him without revealing too much.

Feels like an asshole as he watches as Jeremy spends less and less time at the apartment until he might as well not be there at all.

So of course, of course, that’s when Gavin comes to visit.

Picks a day when Jeremy’s out, or maybe he’s been watching them the whole time and waiting for just the right moment.

Either way, there’s no mistaking the sound his bike makes when it pulls up outside.

When Michael opens the door, Gavin has his bike helmet tucked under one arm and he looks -

He looks tired.

Exhausted.

Like someone at the end of their rope and barely hanging on, and he asks  after the package he sent to Michael.

“Why do you want it?”

Gavin opens his mouth to speak, and stops.

Eyes narrowing as he looks at Michael.

“You don’t know.”

Michael doesn’t bother denying it. Not when he’s been trying to crack Gavin’s fucking password for so long, been tempted to drag Jeremy and Matt into this whole mess when he couldn’t.

“No,” Michael says, and decides to try on some honesty between them for size. “But I sure as hell want to.”

He wants to know what Gavin found that was so important, so fucking terrible that he couldn’t tell Michael about. What Carmine wanted him dead for.

Gavin stares at him for a long, long moment. Long enough that Michael thinks he’s going to pull another one of his disappearing tricks. Claim he can’t stay, that he has to leave and then fuck off the was he’s been doing for one reason or another, but he doesn’t.

“If I show you,” Gavin says, like he’s still not convinced Michael's serious about this, or maybe just doesn’t want to pull him in any deeper than he already is, “there’s no going back.”

Christ, be more melodramatic.

“Really?” Michael asks. “Really?”

Gavin makes a face, looks away because even he knows that was a little over the top, even with everything else about this clusterfuck.

“It’s...complicated,” Gavin hedges, not quite making eye contact. “And it’s dangerous.”

No shit.

The fact Gavin’s still trying to protect him is as sweet as it is heartbreaking, but it’s a little too late for that now. Michael’s not giving up until Carmine’s dead, and while he’d be thrilled to work with Gavin on that, he’s not going to be deterred if he has to do it on his own.

“Alright,” Gavin says, because he must see all of that in Michael’s expression, or maybe he’s just tired of going it alone. “Alright. Bring the package along because we’re going to need it.”

========

Gavin takes them to several stops around the city. Has this cagey look to him as they pick up packages and other shit he’d stashed, all of them under different names and aliases.

Sends Michael on ahead with combinations or passwords. Shuffles his feet when he hands over a key and runs a hand through his hair when he tells Michael they’re almost done.

Avoids Michael’s eyes when he looks up from studying the scorched key chain singed tag attached to it like he wouldn’t recognize it as one of Gavin’s. (The way the metal of the key itself feels hot to the touch. Hot enough to burn.)

“There are only three people authorized to access it, and it would be awkward if I went in to collect it,” Gavin says, and flips the visor of his helmet down to end the conversation, a new habit of his that’s already gotten old.

It’s another storage facility. The kind of place that has the kind of security that requires ID to get past the main desk. Only one like it of all the places they’ve been to, and it has him paying even closer attention to things once he goes inside.

Unlike the others, this one is under Gavin’s real name. Paid for in cash with no paper trail to lead back to it and a certain air to the whole thing that feels borderline legal. Very discreet and hush-hush. Guards with weapons showing under their jackets and this veneer of civility that does nothing to hide how dangerous they are under it all.

The woman behind the counter gives Michael a cursory glance when he walks in, finishes up what she’s working on before turning to him with a polite smile.

“I’m here about locker 339?” he says, holding up the key Gavin handed off to him.

Her eyes narrow, but apparently she’s seen worse because she just asks for his driver license to verify he is who he claims to be. Spends a moment to make sure everything is in order before she buzzes him through the security door.

There's an attendant on the other side of the security door to escort him to the lockers, standing just inside the door while Michael checks the contents to Gavin’s.

There’s an external hard drive instead of the USB drives they’ve collected today, as well as several envelopes with Gavin’s handwriting on them.

Feeling oddly guilty, Michael flips through them. There’s one for the dead reporter Gavin wanted Michael to go to, and another addressed to Michael.

It looks older than the others, including to the one he had sent to Michael.

Battered, worn, almost as though Gavin kept it with him for a while before deciding to put it here.

“We have secure rooms,” the attendant says, because Michael's just standing there like an idiot staring down at it. “If you’d like to view your items privately?”

Michael blinks, realizes he’s taken longer than he should have. Was supposed to collect the locker’s contents. Gather up whatever Gavin had squirreled away here and close out his account, not whatever the hell he thinks he’s doing wasting precious time like this.

“No,” Michael says, sliding the letters into the interior pocket of his jacket along with the external hard drive and shuts the locker. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

He gets an odd look for that, but the attendant lets it slide. Probably attributes it to grief – their records are up to date, after all – and quietly leads the way back to the front desk.

Michael settles things with the woman there, something final about it that has him hurrying back out to Gavin. As though sighing his name on the dotted line is what’s going to be what sends him back to wherever he keeps disappearing off to, ridiculous as it sounds.

It’s raining outside the way it had been threatening to all afternoon and Michael instinctively pulls his jacket around him tighter to protect the external hard drive and letters.

There are dark gray clouds overhead, flashes of lightning in in the distance and the faint sound of thunder rolling in off the hills around Los Santos. Heavy downpour that cutting down on visibility, and the world around them muted.

Gavin, thank God, is still out there on that bike of his. Head tipped up to stare at the sky, rain trailing down the smooth face of his helmet.

“You got it, then?”

Gavin turns to look at him, and something about it – his posture, the slow movement – looks tired.

Far more so than when he appeared at the apartment earlier, like the weather is sapping his energy away.

“I – Yeah,” Michael says, nervous and unsettled for no reason he can name. “What - “

“One last stop,” Gavin says, and starts his bike, low growl almost drowned out by the rain, something almost like laughter in his voice. “Try to keep up, Michael.”

And then the damn cheater peels off, tires squealing as he gets one hell of a head start. Manages to weave through lanes of traffic the way he damn well knows Michael can’t in his car, the fucking asshole.

========

Michael catches up to Gavin at a red light a few streets over.

Glares when the asshole looks straight back at him and revs his bike’s engine. This full-throated growl he can feel through the floorboards of his car. It rises in pitch to a scream when the light turns green and Gavin speeds off, just missing the asshole who thought he could beat the yellow coming the opposite direction through the intersection.

Michael leans on the horn, flips the fucker off and races after Gavin who, terrifyingly enough, has gotten even more reckless now than he was before if that’s even possible.

Maybe it has something to do with what he is now, whatever that is. Doesn’t think anything can hurt him now, or maybe he just doesn’t care. (Michael isn’t sure which possibility scares him more.)

Gavin takes them through back streets to a quiet little neighborhood in just one more rundown part of the city. It’s late enough by now that most of its residents are either asleep or working the night shift.

A handful few people are outside smoking or talking bullshit, bursts of noise every so often, laughter echoing off the brick and stone walls of the buildings around them. Shady figures lurking just out of range of the streetlights.

“Safe house for when I’m...here,” Gavin says, entirely too cryptically as he gestures at himself when Michael gives him a questioning look. “No one else knows about it.”

That’s -

“Huh,” Michael says, adding it to the things he never knew about Gavin and wondering how many more there are left to discover.

Gavin lets them inside an apartment on the third floor. Shabby little place a few steps down from their old one. Decked out with tacky furniture and terrible carpeting. Has one hell of a lived-in look to it.

There’s a goddamned murder board up on one wall. Maps of Los Santos and the neighboring areas with what seems to be color-coded pins. News articles and other shit hanging up alongside the maps, and a laptop on the coffee table.

Goddamned plethora of old mugs of coffee and empty energy drink cans next to it. A medical kit or two, rust brown splotches and smears on the lid, the latches.

Michael looks up, catches Gavin watching him taking all of it in.

“You - “

Gavin smiles, this twisted thing, and gestures for Michael to set the boxes and packages on the coffee table as he shoves things aside to make room for them.

“I’m not invincible, Michael,” he murmurs, and leaves it at that as he starts his laptop up.

Like that’s not a fucking kick to the chest, hearing Gavin admit to it even after seeing the proof for himself. Imagining Gavin retreating here to lick his wounds alone, even with that healing factor he seems to have. (Knowing how fucking much Carmine and Rat-face want him dead, how hard they’ve tried to make it happen.)

Michael watches him for a long moment, feeling too wrung out to argue.

Much.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, looking around at the mess.

Gavin winces, slides him a look. A Little defensive, a little annoyed. Dumbass all the way.

“I’ve been busy Michael,” he grumbles, because they lived together too long for him not to know what Michael’s thinking. About all yelling that isn’t happening because what even is this situation right now? “Haven’t had the time to tidy.”

It doesn’t hold the usual bite it would because Gavin’s distracted. Rooting through the pile in front of him to organize the drives and memory cards according to some bizarre system of his. Doing his damnedest to ignore Michael as he works.

That’s so much like him that Michael can’t help but laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face as he gets up to collect empty cans and dirty mugs to put in the sink. Give them both a little time to gather themselves for what’s ahead.

Shakes his head at how familiar this much is in spite of the circumstances, following along to clean up after Gavin. Oddly soothing as Michael finds an old grocery bag for the cans and shoves as many of them in there as he can.

Opens the fridge to find more energy drinks and – of all things – a box of baking soda. Containers of take-out shoved to the back that are well past being remotely edible that immediately go in the trash.

Apparently still human enough to eat and drink, or as capable of it as still being the same fucking slob he always has been, whatever that means.

Christ.

Michael’s contemplating the task of cleaning out the cheap little coffee maker when Gavin calls him back into the living room.

“Michael,” he says. Stops. Fidgets. “Michael, you don’t have to – You can still leave.”

Michael stares at him.

“Take the money and leave, go back to Jersey if you want,” Gavin says, flicking a hand at the packages they recovered earlier, more than just USB drives and memory cards.

Enough money to get both them far, far away from Los Santos. False identities and all the paperwork to go along with them to go somewhere Carmine can never find them and disappear, if such a place exists.

No.

Where Michael can disappear while Gavin stays in Los Santos to finish what he started, make sure Carmine won’t find Michael.

Lie to him, claim he’ll be right behind him and Michael waiting for a day that won’t come, because he knows this little idiot, doesn’t he.

All the lies between them and some things that never changed because they’re such an intrinsic part of the people they are under it all.

Gavin’s looking at him like he wants Michael to just give in. Take the easy way out even thought they both know it’s too late for that. That Michael was fucking clear about things from the outset, and still.

He’s still trying to get Michael to see sense, to do the smart thing. Give up on his stupid quest for vengeance like it doesn’t mean anything. Like Gavin was never worth it.

“No.”

Soft and even, every last bit of Michael’s conviction behind it, because he’ll be damned if he walks away now. Turns his back on Gavin when he can help him this time, do something worthwhile.

“Fuck you, no,” he says, anger starting to bleed into it when Gavin looks like he’s going to try another tack. Come at Michael sideways like he won’t see it coming. “Stop trying of get rid of me and just let me fucking help.”

If his voice breaks a little on that last, neither of them mention it.

Gavin’s hands clench into fists before he lets out his breath on a long exhale that goes a little ragged at the end.

“Okay,” he says as he reaches for his laptop. “Okay, then."

Michael eyes him warily because Gavin folded too easily, backed down way too fast for him to believe this is the last time they’re going to do this.

“I had a system,” Gavin says, darting a look at Michael when he sits next to him. “Didn’t want Carmine or any of his people to figure out what I was doing, so I was careful about it.”

Gavin clicks on a file, smile on his face that says he was too naive about just how careful he was.

“Thought I was, anyway,” he admits with a humorless laugh as the file opens.

At first it’s meaningless to Michael, letters and numbers laid out in some kind of code.

Before he can ask about it Gavin plugs one of the USB drives they recovered into the laptop. A prompt pops up and Gavin enters a password and drums his fingers nervously as he waits for it password to be accepted.

“Shipment schedules here,” he says, gesturing to the spreadsheet while they wait for the USB drive to load, taps the screen as a new window for the drive opens. “Codes here.”

It’s empty.

Gavin flashes Michael a cheeky little grin and plays around with file options until hidden folders appear, and opens one showing several files that he clicks on.

More gibberish once they open, but Gavin resizes the windows and places them side by side with the spreadsheet open behind them.

“What the hell am I looking at?” Michael asks, even though he thinks he knows, focus flicking between the windows.

Gavin laughs, tapping the laptop screen again.

“A cipher key,” he says, and highlights a row on the spreadsheet. “Broken up a bit, but you see it, yeah?”

Michael looks at the spreadsheet, and down at the open windows. The cipher key isn’t complete with just the two files he has open to work off, but he can see what Gavin’s talking about. See how it lines up with the spreadsheet, able to figure out just what kind of information he’s looking at.

“This is all outdated,” Gavin says. “Old files I got my hands on in the beginning. Waters – the reporter I told you about in the letter – got a little too close around that time. Spooked Carmine into upping his security around his files. Made getting my hands on them harder.”

Gavin falters there, smile fading.

“Guess I should have known Carmine would know about him,” he says with a tired little laugh. “Bastard was always three steps ahead the whole time.”

Michael watches helplessly as Gavin goes through the files on the other USB drives, the memory cards. Connects them together like a fucking puzzle, shows him more shipping manifests and other incriminating evidence that could put Carmine and his people away for life.

Hesitates before the connects the external hard drive to the laptop and brings up a media player.

“I planted bugs, listening devices where I could,” Gavin says, palms flat on the coffee table as he plays goddamned audio clips of Carmine ordering hits against his enemies. “It was too risky to try to sneak a camera in, but even this is more than enough to incriminate him.”

Rival crews, gangs that didn’t bow and scrape fast enough for his liking. The rare few willing to cross him, testify against him for protection. Politicians and public figures in Los Santos and beyond who ended up dying in unfortunate accidents here and there.

The ones he wanted to serve as messages to anyone getting ideas about bringing him down.

Michael’s blood goes cold when he realizes there are several folders listed on the external, and they’re just listening to the first one.

Wonders distantly if there’s a recording out there Gavin wasn’t able to retrieve in time ordering his own fucking death. (Given the way Gavin’s hands shake a little when he stops the playback on the final recording, he’s had the same thought.)

Carmine’s a bigger deal than anyone realized. His influence is spreading through Los Santos like a disease, creating what threatens to be a vast criminal empire for him and he’s still not satisfied.

“Gavin - “

Gavin shakes his head, and holds up the package he had sent to Michael, pushing on because he promised he’d explain everything, didn’t he. Let Michael know what he’d been doing, what got him killed.

“I put copies of the most recent files I’d gotten on here,” he says. “Along with instructions on how to find the rest.”

All of it neatly packaged up for Waters, items he’d entrusted to Michael. Knew he would have gotten it to Waters because Gavin asked him to in that letter of his, told him it was important and to leave Los Santos when he’d done that and stay the fuck away from it afterwards.

Christ.

Michael stares at the USB drives and memory cards, the contents of Gavin’s stashes spread over the coffee table and can’t help but wonder would have happened if he’d just been able to figure out his fucking password.

Wonders if this could have been over by now, all this damning evidence in the right hands and Los Santos turned upside down to rip Carmine from its underbelly like cancerous growth. If Michael would have found a way to fuck everything up, gone to the wrong person without realizing it, and all of this buried with Michael the way Carmine had tried to bury it with Gavin.

Wonders where they hell they can even go now.

“Christ,” Michael says, mind reeling.

Gavin laughs again, the one that’s all wrong on him. So full of bitterness, angry at the edges.

“Carmine knew,” Gavin says, staring blankly at his laptop screen. “He knew I had...I had someone I was protecting. The whole time I worked for him, I thought I was being so goddamned careful. Never let anyone know about you, but he knew there was someone.”

Gavin looks up at him, crooked smile on his face.

“I guess he thought it was Waters. Must have had someone follow me, or someone told him about the two of us when we’d meet. I don’t know.”

And then Carmine had had Waters killed after he’d dealt with Gavin, leaving Michael to fumble in the dark on his own once he got his head out of his ass.

“It was a bit of a shock,” Gavin says, and there’s something to his voice that has Michael worried. Has him watch the way Gavin’s picking at his thumbnail, worrying the skin there. “When I saw you at the compound, I mean. Wasn’t expecting that.”

Oh, fuck.

Gavin laughs, mouth twitching like he’s trying to remember how to smile, make it convincing.

“I thought - “ Gavin shakes his head, frowns. “I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me back then, kind of new to everything and all. Not being dead, you know. Thought I was seeing things.”

There’s a stinging sensation at the back of Michael’s eyes, this ache in his chest he’s grown used to since Gavin died as Michael listens to him talk. Explain how he thought Michael had betrayed him, gone from being the one thing he’d been certain of all this time to -

“I wanted to be sure,” Gavin says, more to himself than to Michael. “I needed to be sure.”

Wanted to be sure Michael wasn’t involved with Carmine, Michael knows. That he hadn’t been working with him all along, or just sold him out for the right price, Jesus fuck.

“Gavin - “

Gavin keeps talking, like if he stops now he won’t be able to get the words out later.

“I followed you for a bit after that, figured you wouldn’t be doing all this if you had been working with Carmine the whole time, it just didn’t add up,” he says, like it’s not a fucking knife in Michael’s chest digging deep. “And you were so stupid about it, Michael!”

Gavin’s glaring at him now, all hurt and anger and fear under it all, because he’s already died because of goddamned Carmine. Somehow came back – and fuck if Michael isn’t going to get that story out of him – and here idiot Michael is trying to do the same fucking thing.

Only stupider.

“What the fuck do you want me to say?” Michael asks, so fucking tired. Feels cracked open and bled dry because he hadn’t stopped to think what he was doing might have looked like to Gavin. “The bastard killed you, what did you want me to do? Was I supposed to just walk away? Let him get away with it?”

It sounds so stupid out loud, like a kid angry at the world for not being fair, because this is Los Santos and so much worse goes on here every fucking day.

No one cares in this city.

People like Gavin, like Michael, they don’t matter here.

Go missing every fucking day, and no one thinks twice about it.

“Yes!” Gavin yells, getting up in Michael’s face. So fucking furious, and this light flaring in the back of his eyes.

The same blue-white of that fucking bike of his that gives Michael pause almost as much as the fact Gavin’s angry enough to yell, to mean it.

“He’s dangerous, you idiot! You should have taken everything I left you and gotten out of the damn city! Started a new life somewhere, been happy!”

Gavin’s breathing like he’s run a goddamned marathon, chest heaving and so damn scared under that anger he's wearing like armor.

“But you didn’t, did you. Just marched right on into the lion’s den like you had a bloody playdate scheduled!”

“Oh my God, no,” Michael says, even though Gavin’s uncomfortably close to the truth with that. “I had a plan too, asshole.”

Gavin’s still so fucking smart, though. Knows Michael well enough to know the kind of plan he’d come up with.

The stupidly suicidal kind, because he’s an idiot. Blunt fucking weapon compared to Gavin.

“What was your plan then, Michael?” he asks, so very quiet. “Tell me, Michael. What was your plan?”

It feels like Michael’s chest is caught in a vise, no way to shake it loose with Gavin this close after losing him the way he had. Everything Gavin showed him, told him, tonight and stupid, stupid Michael trying to play catch-up the way he always has when Gavin’s involved.

“He took the most important person in my life away,” Michael says, because that’s always been at the heart of this for him, this one simple truth. “And I’m going to kill him for that.”

Whatever it takes.

Gavin freezes.

Goes so still Michael doesn’t think he’s even breathing, and Michael lets him see everything. No point in hiding anything anymore when all their secrets haven’t done them any goddamned good.

Knows he’s probably fucking things up here. That there has to be a better way of doing this, damn sure there’s a better time and place for it, but he’s just so fucking tired of waiting on them to come around. (Already wasted too much time before, and  Gavin had died without knowing what he means to Michael, and goddamn but this is selfish of him.)

“You stupid bastard,” Gavin hisses, pulling away from him as he stumbles to his feet.

Michael reaches for him, but Gavin ducks away. Expression shuttered as he grabs his helmet he carelessly dropped onto a side table earlier, makes his way to the front door.

“Gavin!”

Michael follows, but stops just short of arm’s length when he sees the way Gavin’s holding himself. (Fragile in a way he’s never been, like the slightest breeze might be enough to shatter him and send the pieces flying.)

Gavin stops, ducks his head as he pulls the helmet on and glances back at him.

“I need to think,” he says, and then he’s gone.

========

Michael doesn’t know what to do after Gavin leaves, suddenly terrified that he’s pushed him too far too fast this time. That this is the thing that makes him leave.

Go back to where he goes when he’s not here, wherever that is, and Jesus Christ there’s still so much he still doesn’t know. (Might never know now because he just had to lay his cards on the table like that, think doing so would make things better sometime.

Jesus Christ, but Michael’s an idiot.

As much as he wants to go after Gavin, he knows he can’t. Has already pushed him hard enough as it is, doesn’t want to risk making things worse.

And he doesn’t want to leave the evidence Gavin worked so hard to gather, sacrificed his fucking life for just sitting here without anyone watching over it, so he waits.

He waits and hopes like hell Gavin’s going to come back at some point and feels useless and stupid as he does.

Picks his phone up off the coffee table where he left it before his cleaning spree and Gavin’s reveal, and fucks around with it. Deletes old apps and other shit he doesn’t need anymore and ends up scrolling through his contacts.

Stops he lands on Gavin’s, and wonders what would happen if he called him now.

Gavin’s phone was lost in the “crash”, but his account is still active. Bullshit clerical errors and something having to do with company policy because his name is the only one connected to his account and they won’t give Michael the time of day.

He doubts Gavin would pick up now, would probably just let it go to voicemail and delete whatever message he’d leave.

And honestly, Michael can’t find it in him to blame him if he did after that little shitshow, so.

“Idiot,” Michael mutters, and keeps scrolling.

Stops again when Jeremy’s name pops up, and almost calls him before he thinks better of it. Jeremy’s with his crew handling the city-wide crisis Gavin’s caused, managing to put the scare into anyone with criminal leanings.

All the crews and petty little gangs in a panic over what his next move is going to be, like they haven’t figured out that he only goes after very specific targets.

And even though Jeremy reassured Michael that his crew is sure to be safe from Gain, they’re smart enough to be concerned.

It’s still tempting to call him though, because Jeremy is a hell of a lot smarter than Michael. Solid and steady and has more common sense to him than you’d expect given his life choices. A voice of reason when it’s needed, and goddamn is it needed now.

Michael fucked up tonight, and he knows it. Spooked Gavin because he was an idiot and now -

“Fuck,” Michael sighs, gaze drifting back to Gavin’s laptop and the files still open on it.

Flips his phone back onto the coffee table as he slides over see if he can make better sense of them.

He spends a few hours slogging through the sheer amount of information Gavin’s put together, learning more about Carmine’s operations than he honestly ever wanted to.

Michael knew the fucker was involved with just about everything you’d expect to find in a place like Los Santos, but never suspected the extent of his involvement.

Traffics drugs, weapons. People, and Michael wants a shower just reading the damn files. Can’t imagine how Gavin must have felt being involved in it, taking the risks he had.

Listens to the recordings again, struck by how cold, indifferent Gavin sounds in the ones he must have been wired up to get. Like he’s not affected at all by what Carmine’s doing. That it’s all just business to him, another callous bastard in a city full of them, when he used to think Gavin was a shit liar.

Used to think Gavin couldn’t bluff his way through a game of cards for anything, and yet -

And yet, it makes a surprising amount of sense with how much time they spent lying to each other about what they did. Lies come so goddamned easily to them about it in order to protect one another from the truth that Michael hadn’t suspected a damn thing until the end.

When Gavin must have been under so much stress from dealing with Carmine he didn’t have anything left to lie convincingly to Michael.

And why should he, when Michael was so fucking clueless about it, caught up in his own lies? All Gavin had to do was offer up what scraps he had left and let Michael do the rest, so fucking simple.

Michael gives up then, puts his phone back in his pocket and freezes when his fingers brush up against paper.

Gavin’s letters, forgotten in the face of everything that happened. That odd reaction of his when Michael met up with him outside the storage company, like he’d known Michael would find it, but he’d never actually said anything, had he.

Michael feels strangely guilty, like a damn snoop going behind Gavin’s back as he takes the letters out of his pocket. Part of him so damn scared about what Gavin would have put in it after everything that had been in the letter he’d meant for Michael to have.

Why he locked this one away like this, kept it somewhere only Waters should have had access to if something happened to him. Where it would have been his choice whether or not Michael ever saw it.

“You idiot,” he mutters, not sure who he’s talking to, and takes care not to tear the envelope or the letter itself as he opens it.

The letter spans several pages, folded and folded again, uneven creases that Gavin bothered to go back to fix, which is telling in itself.

It’s clear he struggled with this one, Michael able to see the starts and stops in the flow of words. Dark blots where the ink from the pen bled into the paper, realizes Gavin must have used that old fountain pen his father gave him to write it.

The ink’s a certain kind of blue Michael remembers seeing staining Gavin’s fingers in the past. His bright laughter as he threatened to smear blobs of it on Michael before they dried. Use it’s refill cartridges as weapons when Michael bitched about what a mess he was making, papers everywhere and goddammit you asshole.

Michael’s chest aches because the pen was lost in the fire, just one more thing among many but so important to Gavin even if he always tried to play it off like it wasn’t. (Another thing for Carmine to answer for.)

He stares at the letter in his hands, and starts reading.

========

Gavin comes back a few hours later, moves with a  stealth and grace Michael’s never noticed before. Never bothered to look for, when Gavin’s always been his own best distraction, noise and flash and an uncanny ability to piss Michael off with a single word.

“Bloody hell,” Gavin says, when he turns around and finally notices he’s not alone in the living room.

Skirts around Michael warily after flipping the lights on, head cocked when Michael just watches him.

“Michael?”

Gavin seems...tired still. Slump to his shoulders like he’s carrying the weight of the world on them.

“I read your letter,” Michael says, glances at it sitting innocently in its envelope beside Gavin’s laptop. “The one you put into storage at that last place.”

Gavin sighs, moves to sit in one of the chairs across from the coffee table, picking the letter up as he does.

Michael watches him playing with a bent corner on the envelope like it’s something he’s done countless times before. Is the reason the damn thing’s bent to start with, and avoids meeting his eyes.

Has to be a goddamned pro at avoiding eye contact at this point, which is funny in all the ways it isn’t.

“We’re both idiots,” Michael says, another one of those simple little truths.

A couple of idiots who’ve been too afraid of risking ruining one of the best things in their lives. Always though they’d have time to do it one day, and ran out of time when they weren’t looking.

Gavin tenses slightly before forcing himself to relax, make it look like he’s calm and relaxed. Absolutely nothing to worry about here, really.

Worries the corner of the envelope over and over, nervous energy and this deep-rooted fear.

Michael doesn’t ask why Gavin never told him how he felt in all the time they’ve known each other because it would be insulting to them both, not to mention hypocritical as fuck.

Gavin laughs, turning the envelope over in his hands, seems to find it so damn fascinating.

“Always had a problem with terrible timing too,” he murmurs, one part truth, one apart deflection.

Michael smiles, stupid little thing.

Thinks about Gavin’s letter, all the excuses and rationalizations he gave himself that he explains to Michael. Lays out so plainly in a way he’d never been able to say out loud. So much easier to spill everything into a letter, leave it behind for Michael to find one day and read the truth of them. Where Gavin wouldn’t have to sit there waiting for the rejection he was so sure he’d get if he told Michael how he felt.

All of it so close to everything Michael’s told himself that it would be funny if it didn’t mean so fucking much, and his heart hurts at the thought of all the time they’ve wasted.

“I love you,” he says, words he’s choked back so many times before coming so easily now.

Gavin looks at him helplessly, so Michael pushes on.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” he says, holding Gavin's gaze because this is important, something he doesn’t want to fuck up. “I’m sorry I didn’t see what was going on until it was too late. I’m sorry you had to do that alone. I’m sorry - “

Gavin’s face twists, strangled noise caught in his throat as he pushes himself out of his chair, closing the distance between them until he’s looking down at Michael.

“You stupid bastard,” Gavin says, nothing like anger to it this time as he searches Michael's face for something he must find because then he’s bending down to kiss him.

Awkward angle and graceless as hell, simple stupid human want, need.

Something heartbreakingly desperate to it, hands shaking where they cradle Michael's face, and so fucking sweet because of it. Pulls back to rest his forehead against Michael's, breathes out a little sigh.

“You stupid bastard.”

Far from being a confession of undying love except for all the ways it is, and Michael refuses to let it slip through his fingers this time as he pulls Gavin down for another kiss.

========

Waking up in a strange place is never a great experience.

That initial moment of disorientation where you try to remember how you even got there, and why.

If you should be worried, or just deeply disappointed. (In yourself, the universe at large, it all works out to be the same in the end.)

This time is no different as Michael closes his eyes. Hand coming up to massage his temples because of the steady, low-grade headache that’s taken up residency there.

Not enough sleep, or water. Too much stress, maybe all of the above, who fucking knows.

He bites back a groan when it spikes right behind his eyes, painful enough to make him grasp at any distraction at hand. His idiot brain deciding now would be a good time to retrace his steps to answer the questions of where the hell he is, and how the fuck he got here.

Flips back through flashes and glimpses of moments, remembers Gavin showing up at Jeremy’s apartment. The jumbled series of events that followed falling into some kind of order as his mind sorts itself out bit by agonizing bit.

Running all over the city to pick Gavin’s stashes clean, the drive back here. Gavin finally showing him why Carmine wanted him dead, what got him killed. The relentless soap opera level drama that followed, and -

“Oh, fuck.”

Jesus.

The two of them with their emotionally stunted confessions. The kisses that had lead to the bedroom because hell if they were both going to fit on that damned couch. Both of them too tired after the day they’d had to do much of anything pass trading kisses and giving voice to the things they couldn’t before. Things too fragile for the light of day, protected in the bubble around them under the overs with the lights out, whispered to one another in confidence.

Falling asleep, only for Michael to wake up alone and the other side of the bed long gone cold. (Waking up alone if never a great experience, but it’s so much worse after something like that.)

Michael looks toward the direction of the living room when he hears noises coming from there.

Footsteps and something heavy hitting the floor, the low murmur of someone’s voice pitched towards annoyance that follows not long after.

Gavin.

Michael breathes out a sigh of relief that he hasn’t managed to spook him again. Chased him away again, but trepidation comes creeping in soon afterwards because he doesn’t know what to expect now.

He listens to Gavin moving around in the other room until the ridiculousness of the situation forces him into action. He’s still dressed, jacket dropped by the side of the bed and his shoes kicked off by the doorway.

Michael feels more rested than he has in a long time even with that bitch of a headache, and remembers Gavin’s medical kits. Probably aspirin to be found in one of them he could take to get rid of it.

Nothing to be gained hiding in the bedroom anyway, so Michael shuffles out to the living room.

Gavin’s pacing restlessly in front of the wall he's turned into a murder board, arms crossed and a frown on his face.

He turns when Michael somehow manages to find the one goddamned squeaky board in the whole damned place. Just plants his fat fucking foot right in the middle of it to alert the goddamned world to his presence.

Michael almost misses the guilty look that flashes across Gavin’s face. Chases the frown away only to be replaced in turn by a small, hesitant smile.

“Good morning, Michael,” Gavin says, even though it has to be closing in on noon with the way sunlight is slanting through the spotty curtains on the windows.

Still, he Michael will give him an A for effort and all that bullshit as his attempt at normalcy, strained as it is.

The laptop is humming away on the coffee table, files from the previous night pulled up.

Gavin must have gone out, because there’s a new batch of empty energy drink cans that weren’t there the night before littered around the room, which might explain the pacing.

“Morning,” Michael greets cautiously. “What are you doing?”

Gavin tips his head as he considers Michael, and turns to look at the murder board like he’d forgotten it was there. Licks his lips nervously when he looks back at Michael.

Comes to some sort of decision and holds his hand out to him in silent invitation.

Michael goes, easy as anything. Lets Gavin pull him in close, feels the vise around his  chest loosen at the soft sigh from Gavin as he does, tension bleeding out of him.

Smiles at Gavin, small and shaky and closes his eyes when Gavin kisses him, slow and sweet.

Laughs a little when Gavin makes  a noise in his throat, muttering about morning breath when they break away for air, cheeks tinged red as he feigns annoyance to avoid meeting Michael’s eyes.

“Gav?”

Gavin elbows him for the teasing note in his voice. Turns his focus back to the damn murder board and Michael does the same, his smile fading as he takes it in.

Gavin’s been busy, it seems.

There are more pins in it this morning, overwhelmingly red with a few other colors scattered across it.

A healthy amount of black pins, along with a thin band of yellow and a broad swatch of green.

“I started this using locations of Carmine’s operations I knew about, remembered,” Gavin says, gesturing at the main map. “I needed the files on the drives and memory cards for the rest.”

Michael studies the map, eyes narrowing when he sees where they’ve been placed.

Matches it against the dodgy mental map he has of Los Santos and territories claimed by various crews and gangs.

“The black pins are for places I’ve hit. Yellow ones are for Carmine’s allies, and the red ones mark the rest of Carmine’s operations,” Gavin says, and shrugs. “The ones I’m still sure about, anyway. He’s probably moved some of them by now, or will before too long.”

There’s still a hell of a lot of red up, outer edges starting to bleed into the green.

“What the hell is the green for?” Michael asks, even though he’s pretty goddamned sure he knows what Gavin’s answer is going to be.

There are only a handful of crews in Los Santos that would have that large of a presence, that kind of reach. Really only one that might pose any sort of threat to Carmine and what he’s attempting to do, even without outside backing. One with more than enough reason to want to push back with him encroaching on their territory.

Gavin hesitates, arm around Michael tightening briefly because he has to know this has a significant chance of backfiring on them if they’re wrong about this.

“People we might be able to go to for help,” he says, and gestures to the side of his damned murder board covered in photographs and stills he must have taken from security cameras and God only knows what else. “The Fake AH Crew.”s

#mavin #ragehappy #vagrant fic #A Place So Dark #supernatural elements #reference to major character death #(temporary!major character death) #lololol of jfc it only took X amount of months to get this part out #XD #/o\

[fire-emblem-heroes-supports]

Henry/FH!M!Robin C-S Support

Written by @notquitedeadringer

C SUPPORT

[A crow lands on Henry’s shoulder.]

Henry: Oh, hi, Marlene! How are the chicks?

Marlene: *caws*

Henry: Hm, that won’t do. Tell you what, I could probably get you some corn from the castle stock if you’d like. 

Marlene: *happy caws*

Henry: Sure! Anything to help the fledgelings!

Grima: What folly.

[Marlene tilts her head, shudders, and flies off.]

Henry: Hey! You scared Marlene!

Grima: That was a crow, you idiot.

Henry: Actually, she’s named Marlene and you’re being very rude.

Grima: Rudeness…pah. Human ettiquette is beneath me.

Henry: Wait…you’re Grima, right?

Grima: Yes. The fell dragon, wings of despair, breath of ruin, and the one who wields the power of destruction. And judging by your ridiculous getup, you must be a Grimleal.

Henry: Actually, nope! This is just a sort of uniform the military made me wear. I get to kill in it, so I wear it.

Grima: So you’re one of the many who pretends to serve me, only for their own selfish reasons. (One of the many who bring my great mark disgrace.)

Henry: So, if you’re really the Fell Dragon–

Grima: I am.

Henry: –how come you’re so teeny? 

Grima: Rrn…

[Henry walks close to Grima and measures with his hand.]

Henry: Hey, I’m taller than you, nya-ha!

Grima:…You have breathed your last.

[He pins Henry up against a tree, holding him by the throat.]

Henry: *breathless* H…Hey…that"s not nice!

Grima: Goodbye, worm.

Henry: You…can’t…

Grima: *tightens fist* And why not?

Henry: The contract. *gasps for air* You have to do what the Summoner wants.

[Grima frowns.]

Grima: As if some feeble contract could bind a god of destruction. You will perish. Now.

[Violet bolts of energy materialize and race towards Henry, only to stop just before hitting him.]

Grima: What the…

[Henry is released. He falls to the ground, coughing.]

Henry: Told you so! You can’t hurt any of our allies on purpose–heck, you can’t even hurt yourself! *laughs*

[Grima stares at his hands.]

Grima: This isn’t over. I will punish you for your presumptuousness. Henry: Nya ha! No, you won’t! I’m going to go and find Marlene.

[Henry leaves.]

Grima: Hmph. What a fool.

[Henry and FH!Robin have reached support rank C.]

B SUPPORT

Henry: Here. This ought to sustain you guys for a bit.

Marlene: *happy caws*

Henry: Nyaha! It’s no trouble. I can’t just leave a friend up in the air!

[Grima approaches.]

Grima: Fraternizing with scavengers again, I see.

[Henry doesn’t look up.]

Henry: Marlene, I’m sorry. I think you should go.

[Marlene grabs corn in her beak and flies away. Henry stands and brushes the dust from his legs.]

Henry: Hiya, Grima!

Grima: Why do you persist in associating with that foul bird? 

Henry: She’s nice. You could learn a bit from her.

Grima: Grr…How dare you insult me by placing me lower than a mere beast!

Henry: Look, wings-of-despair-and-breath-of-ruin, she’s more trustworthy than you. And she’s not dumb. You just don’t understand her because you don’t take the time.

Grima: I have no need to. It recognises and fears me, as it should. You should as well. What pitiful house raised you that you give a god no respect?

Henry: None.

Grima: …What?

Henry: Nobody. My parents didn’t care about little old me. Heck, none of the people in my village did! Instead, I had a wolf for a mom. She was a lot better, anyways. Nobody cared about me like she did. We were outcasts together. [Henry tries to smile wider, but it looks more like a grimace.] Then hunters…killed her. [His grin returns, wider.] And I killed them, too. There was so much blood and screaming…it felt good.

Grima: …

Henry: And then they sent me to a school. It was really…interesting. Lots of hard teachers, strict rules. A few torture chambers for when ya broke ‘em. I learned to do super powerful spells, ones that could turn people inside out. And I got a really high pain tolerance! Once they were done, I got shipped off to the military to “contribute to society” or whatever.

Grima: …

Henry: Whoa, did that actually scare you? You look kinda sick, but I don’t think that’s my fault. You’re just as murdery as I am, if not more so!

Grima: I…this feeling…

Henry: That feeling?

Grima: …Puny worm. I shall waste no more time in your presence.

[Henry and FH!Robin have reached support rank B.]

A SUPPORT

Grima: You. Mage.

Henry: Oh! Hi, Grima! Coulda sworn that you weren’t gonna waste any more time on me, or something.

Grima: I wasn’t. I didn’t want to, but…

Henry: Is it the feeling you were talking about? I didn’t hex you, I promise!

Grima: I felt that…we are the same. As much as it pains me to admit it.

Henry: Huuuh? How so? Is it the white hair? The cool robes? What about–

Grima: Hush, fool. It’s nothing so superficial as that. No…I, too was cast aside from humans. They cared not for me until it was beneficial for them. I loathe them. 

Grima: When I saw that you wore my mark, I wondered for a moment if you were one of the few of those worms that knew my power, saw my destruction as it was, and worshipped it. I wondered if, perhaps, there was one of my followers here. And then it seemed you were just as selfish as the rest, only using my name to hold yourself up.

Henry: You’re kinda right, ya know.

Grima: But it’s not your fault. You only became what they made you. And I only became cruel because humanity turned their back on me when I couldn’t be what they wanted. Couldn’t give them what they wanted. Your kind didn’t want me…or you.

Henry: Hm. I guess that is right. Say, if that’s true, how come you’re not as smiley as I am?

Grima: Likely because I wasn’t traumatized into it the way you were.

[Henry’s smile falters for a moment.]

Henry: I dunno what you mean by that.

Grima: *sarcastically* Of course not.

Henry: Well, you’re not mad at me anymore, right? Because we’re the same or…whatever?

[Henry’s smile cracks again before falling apart completely. Tears gather at the corners of his eyes.]

Henry: Y-you…and me…

Grima: Eugh…

[Grima moves closer to Henry. He reaches out with a trembling hand and clutches Henry’s in a surprisingly gentle grip.]

Grima: I don’t know why you’ve made me weak like this…but seeing you hurt makes me hurt as well.

Henry: *sniff* I think it’s empathy.

Grima: Empathy…

[Henry and FH!Robin have reached support rank A.]

S SUPPORT

Henry: Hey, Grima! Guess what I’ve got!

Grima: Hm. Hello…Henry.

Henry: Hey, you’ve been using my name! And not “worm” or “puny human”!

Grima: Yes. And you’ve stopped using that terribly fake smile, at least for now. What is it you have? Tribute to a superior being, perhaps?

Henry: Kinda. It’s a ring.

Grima: Hm. Unusual as tribute goes, but far more appreciated than those “virgins” my followers kill. This seems to be unique. Perhaps it may be worthy of me.

Henry: I made it myself. With magic! Usually I just blast stuff with my magic to kill it, but this needed a lot more detail work. See the snakes? They took forever to get right.

Grima: You made it?

Henry: Yessir!

Grima: I never thought you had an eye for arts. While not extravagant, the effort put into it is pleasing. But you said you didn’t worship me.

Henry: I don’t. That’s an engagement ring.

Grima: What?!

Henry: Oh, c'mon, you know what marriage is, right? 

Grima: Of course I know! I have seen every human custom made and performed for thousands of years!

Henry: Good! I thought so, but still glad I don’t have to explain what the whole thing is.

Grima: You wish to wed me? To become the consort of the Fell Dragon?

Henry: If it means being with you, then of course!

Grima: Hm. You are not worthy of the honor by any means. But this human heart…these feelings of mine…I can’t remember what this is called. It’s warm.

Henry: Happiness?

Grima: Perhaps. Whatever it may be, it feels stronger with you. And as twisted as it is, as weak as it makes me, I somehow want it. I want to have that warmth in me. How pathetic…

Henry: It’s not pathetic to feel. It’s just natural.

Grima: Perhaps. I…accept your offer.

Henry: Really?

Grima: Yes. Do not make me regret taking it.

Henry: I promise I won’t!

[Henry and FH!Robin have reached support rank S.]

#fire emblem awakening #male heroes #submission #fallen hero robin #henry #henry x fallen hero robin #fallen hero robin x henry

[anyway-i-love-vanderwood]

I requested MC with selective mutism a while back but just for vanderwood and saeran, could I get that same prompt with the whole RFA + V? - Kas

✿ Oh wow you’ve stuck around for a long while! That was ages ago! Thanks for your support, and double thanks for contributing to my Ko-Fi!

Here’s the original!

Yoosung

He doesn’t care. Like he just - doesn’t care. Like he’s been forming these complex, indepth relationships on LOLOL and yeah, sometimes he voicechats, but half the people don’t so he’s completely comfortable with navigating a conversation where he speaks and the replies are all in text. It makes for some hilarious logs later, and sometimes you go back and laugh about them.

He gets you into LOLOL, and it’s freeing to be in this entirely text-based world where you don’t have to speak. It doesn’t matter. For once? Everyone is on your level!

When you join in on raids and people voice-chat to communicate, it’s easy enough to accommodate you and your particular needs. If you don’t have the time to type something you need to say, you macro it! Yoosung shows you how. It’s easy!

What a world of wish-fulfillment, far from the noisy and chaotic one where everyone just wants to hear your voice.

Your text communication with him is very nuanced. Sometimes, a picture is worth a thousand words, and a meme is worth a thousand more, and when he asks you what for dinner and all you send is shrug.jpg?

Well, he snorts and has his answer.

On the voice-chatting program, you become the “guild robot” who occasionally pipes up using text-to-speech. You often use the artificial voice to stay things that are absurd yet hilarious. There’s an entire five minute bit where you all die laughing over how it pronounces kumquat.

(Every time you think of it, you snicker.)

Zen

With Zen, it’s a lot of tugging on his jacket sleeve and pointing.

He’s shockingly good at silent communication; is it his skills as an actor? He’s used to projecting so many emotions that he’s amazing at interpreting them in others. To him - your face is an open book, and gosh, does that make things easier.

When you’re overwhelmed, he’ll take you on a motorcycle ride. He’ll order for you at the counter so as to not make a big deal of things, and he’s fine with the silence and with texting you under the table. It gives him a chance to look at your face, anyway, to star at you lovingly and watch you squirm as he calls you his cute babe♥.

It kinda... freaks everyone out, honestly? People ask him if he’s a mindreader, because half the time, you don’t even need to tell him what you’re thinking. Sometimes, he doesn’t even need gestures, he just looks at you and knows.

He says it’s because he knows you well; they say it’s some kind of advanced telepathy device.

it’s not ‘they’ it’s seven it’s seven who’s saying all this

Zen likes it when you rely on him, and he’s wholly and entirely supportive as you go to therapy and as you slowly, carefully start to come out of your shell.

He’ll be there, he says. You’re my precious angel; how could I do anything else?

Jaehee

Briefly, Jaehee is disappointed, and admittedly a little perplexed. You don’t talk? she thinks, her fantasies of sitting beside you in front of Zen’s musicals and singing along crushed with a single sentence. She tries not to be sad. She tries to understand. But -

She can’t help it. It’s there, it’s unavoidable, but she doesn’t blame you, and she reorganizes her fantasies and moves on.

Instead, it becomes the buzz of her phone when she’s stuck late at the office, a message from you or, perhaps, a picture. It becomes your smile on a moonlight night, or the way you giggle at one of Zen’s hammy lines. the milky white fuzz of a whipped-cream mustache on your upper lip and how she wants to reach out a thumb to wipe it awa- 

(Jaehee pauses then, adjusts her collar, and gets back to work.)

It doesn’t occur to her to ask why; she figures if you want her to know, she’ll know in time, and if you don’t - well. That’s alright too. Your history is your own to share as you please, and she certainly knows how painful it is to let others know about what’s happened to you. 

She becomes used to finding notes from you. Good luck, Jaehee! slipped into the tax forums. Today’s going to be great! lying on top of the coffee beans, and You look pretty today! taped on the mixer she uses to make her cakes. She smiles, and makes you a latte with a heart formed from the cream.

Jaehee learns the sound of your footsteps, the particular way your shirt rustles when you walk by her. Jaehee learns the difference between a sniff of amusement and a sniff of disapproval, and when it’s an alright time to hold your hand.

After what feels like no time at all, she’s forgotten even the possibility of her old wishes, like they’d become so unimportant she’d forgotten they’d ever existed in the first place. What remains isn’t silence - it’s filled with a million small things she might not have noticed otherwise.

Jaehee’s entire life has been about rushing and doing things as fast as possible, and now that she has a chance to slow down and listen...

It feels good.

Jumin

When he says that he wants to hear your voice, your heart shatters because you know you can’t speak, even for him. But when he says that just hearing you breathe is enough - just knowing you’re alive, knowing you’re listening - it’s put back together again, and you have to press your hand to your mouth to keep yourself from crying.

You’re an odd pair, the shiny, pristine businessman and his partner, the one that won’t talk. But you’re also a good pair, as what Jumin needs isn’t really validation... but to be understood. And you do. Sitting by his side, letting him pour out all of the feelings that no one else will listen to... you understand.

Exhausted, tired, worn down from trying to untangle the ugly knot that’s overcome his heart, Jumin feels a buzz in his hand, and he checks his phone to see a message from you.

‘I love you.’

He smiles because he knows you do.

Jumin doesn’t need you to speak. He doesn’t have any ‘romantic aspirations’ of how one day you’ll feel comfortable enough to vocalize your thoughts for him, nor does he particularly mind the silence as you walk by his side. All he needs is to look you in the eyes - those eyes filled with such compassion - and he knows, in his heart, everything that you want to tell him.

To him, your ‘voice’ is the click-click of your phone’s keyboard. To him, your ‘voice’ is the way you’ll tug on his sleeve and smile, and the sound of his phone binging softly during a meeting with a message of encouragement and support.

Sometimes, he thinks of the mindless way his stepmothers used to prattle on, and he thinks of you, quiet and sincere and afraid to assert your own presence, and he smiles. To know what you’re thinking, he has to slow down and look for it, and he likes it, being the person who can always understand you in return.

Jumin doesn’t worry. He doesn’t fret. He doesn’t feel insecure, because sitting next to you, the both of you on the messenger and occasionally looking at each other and smiling...

That’s perfect for him.

Seven

It both takes him forever and no time at all to notice. Or, rather, perhaps a better way of putting it is this - he snoops into your personal information and finds it pretty easily, but doesn’t really understand the ramifications of it until much later in your relationship.

You’re energetic in the chat-room. You have time to moderate everything you say, and you don’t have to hear your voice when you’re typing. You joke and laugh and spam memes at each other. Seven feels like he’s walking on air.

And in phone conversations...? Honestly, he’s noisy enough for the both of you.

He knows - like, it’s clear he knows. It’s hard not to, when you don’t say anything in response to him. He jokes that he knows your true heart, and therefore you don’t have to say a word! Which in a way is... a nice thought?

In a way it’s not, because you know it’s not true. You’re filled in a world inundated with conversations and you acknowledge that, you’ve been dealing with it for so long, but some part of you appreciates Seven saying so.

It’s a bit shallow, but it’s fun, so you don’t complain.

It hits him one night at around three a.m., while he’s thinking about you because he’s so disgustingly in love but doesn’t know how to say it. It’s just this profound, shocking moment of revelation that you are not the way you are because of some quirk.

You are the way you are because the world has silenced you.

And it just - tears him apart inside.

He gets a lot more sensitive after that. He asks you... what it’s like. If you need anything. Are you okay? And you’re surprised, because you didn’t really figure him for the kind of person who took things so seriously, but he does because it’s you and he can’t help it. he asks if it hurts. He asks if there’s anything he can do.

When you’re hanging out... should he talk to you? Or type to you?

It’s weird, being asked your preferences so forthrightly, and not being made to conform to a world that wasn’t made to fit you. But Seven is so sincere about it all, and you don’t forget about that, even when he goes right back to laughing afterwards. 

V

Being a man who communicates in photographs, it’s only natural that he would accept someone who doesn’t want to communicate with the spoken word.

Honestly, he gets a little - mmmn. How to put it. Romantic about it? V has problems, and one of his problems is idealizing people’s suffering to make it “beautiful”. When you first get to know him, he is a little weird about this in regards to the “you not talking thing”.

Like - like you’re some kind of “silent princess” or whatever.

Which is a bit... alienating? And pedestal-y? And while it’s nice to not be made fun of or to be pressured into speaking (it’ll be good for you!) it’s also strange for him to weave this elaborate emotional tale about your suffering.

no dude.

you just don’t talk due to your wide assortment of crippling anxieties. don’t get weird about it!

You’re not beautiful because you suffer; you’re just a person trying to get through life while carrying your own blend of burdens. And he starts to realize that once his own burdens really start impeding his communication with you. 

V... can’t see very well. It makes logging into the chat-room hard, along with reading messages from you. You both struggle with this, because you like each other, but it seems like you keep not being able to match up with your own problems. 

He feels guilty. If he’d gotten the eye surgery earlier, maybe his vision wouldn’t be this far gone. You feel guilty, because - well, because of everything, because if you just “got better” faster this wouldn’t be a problem, and it’s Seven that suggests you both try to bridge the gap through technology.

You learn to write in braille. He starts getting the courage to navigate resources for those who have difficulty seeing, and your relationship becomes one of mutually acknowledging and finding a way around your troubles.

It’s oddly empowering, in a way, as you both figure out new strategies to reach out to each other. You get how the world doesn’t really feel made for you, you get the feeling of struggling, and by the end of it, V has stopped seeing you as this delicate ice princess and he, the worthless, sad man who’s ruined his life.

In the end, you’re just two people trying to make things work... and it does.

#mysme #mysme headcanons #mystic messenger #mystic messenger headcanons #mysme reactions #mystic messenger reactions #mysme imagines #mystic messenger imagines #long post #mystic messenger spoilers #mysme spoilers #v #yoosung kim #zen #jaehee kang #jumin han #707 #luciel choi

[sandalwoodandjasmine]

True husband material

Ever since Antoni opened up to Iskandar about his abusive relationship with a guy from the gang he used to run with, the atmosphere between them has changed. Iskandar isn’t sure yet what to make of it. He breathes a little easier now that several things have clicked and he better understands some of his boyfriend’s reticence and tension. It’s not something Iskandar does – or doesn’t do – but memories from the past Antoni still struggles with. He also acts more playful now. He’s constantly cracking jokes, trying to get Iskandar to laugh using that foot-in-mouth humour that is so… well… Antoni.

If that was all, Iskandar couldn’t be happier. But it isn’t. He can see through the jokes, sometimes, see the wariness in Toni’s eyes. It’s as if he tells himself still to watch out. For what, Iskandar can’t fathom. Does he expect Iskandar to bail, to walk out on him, even after he took Antoni’s hands in his, pulled him close and swore that he couldn’t care less about that asshole from his past, that he’s going to protect him from now on? That he’s safe with Iskandar, that his heart is safe? He guesses it’s not that easy, considering that this abuse has haunted Antoni for so long and convinced him that he’s broken. Iskandar sighs. Good thing he can be a patient man; he’s more than willing to bring all his patience to bear on this. Their relationship is worth it.

“Antoni, have you dressed yet?” Iskandar calls out. “Breakfast is about to be ready. You could lay the table?”

“I… have a bit of a situation here…” Toni calls back from the bedroom.

Iskandar turns off the stove and flips the last aloo paratha onto the stack that’s already waiting on a plate. “You have a… a what? What situation are you talking about?” he asks, walking into the bedroom. “Is everything alright?” Iskandar frowns when his eyes take hold of a half-dressed Antoni, clutching a piece of scarlet fabric to his face. It takes Iskandar a moment to realise that piece of fabric is one of his kurtas.

“This… fabric… it’s so wonderful… and soft… I can’t put it down,” Antoni states, rubbing the kurta against his cheek.

“What are you doing with my kurta?”

Antoni closes his eyes and smells the fabric, sighing reverently. “That smell! Heavenly. I wonder what makes this fabric so irresistible…”

Iskandar crosses his arms in front of his chest and decides to just watch. There is the definite possibility that his boyfriend is gone bonkers, of course, but on the off chance that he’s not, he’s about to get at something. Iskandar knows there’s a punchline waiting.

“I would say.... it must be… true husband material!” Antoni exclaims joyfully, his eyes sparkling.

Was that a proposal?

One moment, Iskandar was still readying himself for a long, drawn out sigh, the next his mind has gone blank. As if someone had dunked him underwater, Toni’s voice only reaches him as tangle of blurry sounds, though Iskandar knows vaguely that his boyfriend is blabbering on.

So soon… I’m not ready… We’ve not been together that long… you are never going to be ready… abba would laugh at me for being so timid… he’s the one… you know he is…

“YES!” Iskandar blurts out, and stares.

A pair of very confused eyes stare back at him. It’s only slowly, oh so slowly, that Iskandar realizes… that was the punchline, you idiot! Not a proposal. Seething hot embarrassment runs down his neck and scalds his skin. He might die from it… he might… he can’t breathe… he…

Next thing he knows is that Antoni has grabbed him, has pulled him close. His mouth is opening and closing, but Iska can’t make out what he’s saying. Why is his red kurta lying on the ground, crumpled? He wonders. Toni shakes him, and its only now that Iska comes to.

“Will you marry me?” Toni repeats breathlessly.

“W-what?” Iskandar gasps. Nothing seems to make sense anymore.

Toni scrunches up his face. “Urgh, I’m doing this all wrong,” he mutters, shaking his head. “I need to do this properly!”

And suddenly, Toni is on his knees, holding Iskandar’s hands in his, saying: “Iskandar Shepard, will you marry me?” He bites his lower lip. “I don’t have a ring...” he admits bashfully. “But maybe… maybe my dog tags will do? A provisional ring, of sorts…” his voice cracks.

Iska tries to say something, but his voice won’t carry over his boyfriend’s frantic stream of words. Only when Toni fall silent does Iska’s small voice reach him. “Yes.”

“Is that… was that… is that… a… yes?”

Iskandar simply nods in reply. Antoni immediately pulls him into a hug that crushes the air out of Iskandar’s lungs.

“You said yes… you really…” Antoni mumbles in disbelief. After long moments, he pulls back. He quickly wipes the back of his hand over his eyes. “Will you accept my dog tag? I don’t have a ring… I wish I…”

“It’s ok,” Iskandar smiles. He softly squeezes the hand of Antoni which is still clasping his. “We can exchange tags. I’ll also give you one of mine?”

“That’s a good idea,” Antoni sniffs. He fumbles for his tags. As he pulls the chain from around his neck, his movements grow slower, halting. “Y-you know… this is all so sudden… I don’t want to rush you into things… Are you… are you sure?”

“Yes!” Iskandar replies. At last, his voice has the firmness he wishes it had had to begin with.

“Y-you… you can always reconsider, take your time…”

“I don’t need to reconsider, Antoni. I’m sure!”

“But… why would a guy like you… marry a guy like me?” Antoni asks, his voice shaking.

“This… this is about him, isn’t it?” Iskandar tries to search out Antoni’s eyes, but the other man has averted his gaze, dropped his head. Iskandar’s hand goes to Toni’s chin, lifts it up with soft force. “It is, isn’t it?”

A look of agony glimmers up in the other man’s face. His body has tensed up, ready to go into flight mode.

I will bring all my patience to bear on this man. He’s the one. I’m sure.

“You say you are broken,” Iskandar murmurs softly, caressing Toni’s arm with his fingers. “But I don’t see a broken human being in front of me. What I see is the most wonderful guy, the man…,” he smiles warmly, “The man I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

“You’re really sure, aren’t you?” Antoni croaks.

“I am.” In a swift movement, Iskandar pulls Antoni in so that their noses are touching, their lips only inches apart. “Antoni Valenza, will you marry me?”

“Yes…” Antoni squeaks.

Iskandar chuckles. Antoni sounds a lot like Iskandar himself did just moments ago. Then he crosses the last few inches between their lips, putting a seal on it with a kiss.

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

Toni holds Iska's hand. A small little smile curls his lips. He has every reason to feel content. Iskandar had said yes to being engaged and he, in turn, had also said yes when asked. The urge to ask had come barreling out of him before he realized exactly just how serious he was. The joke hadn't even been a joke. It had been a secret desire worming its way out of him in the only way he knew how to deal with immensity of his emotions. He'd forgotten how to turn that part of himself off. But the moment, Iskandar said yes, Toni couldn't deny his own feelings anymore and the dream he longed for his entire life to this point became a reality.

He could be fully with Iskandar now. Real. Unfiltered. No guards, no walls. Since they'd been in a relationship, he knew that was a possibility but it was always a matter of when. When could he talk about the pains? The dreams? The irrational fears? When would he be able to talk about those things? He constantly fought the urges to sweep it under the rug and pretend the whole mess didnt exist. And he knew that wasn't fair to Iska. Finally, the time to talk about it had neared and he found himself simmering at the seams, wanting to explain it all but still scared to what admitting the damage existed would incur. Having to admit that some asshole ex-boyfriend had contributed to an overwhelming sense of worthlessness in others eyes was the hardest thing he'd faced in himself. He had always feared what crumbling would mean, that he'd be a wreck for days, and no good for his partner. It wasn't Iska's burden to bear, after all, or even his fault. And Toni wanted things to be perfect with him, unmarred by his life in the past, where he's simple to read and understand, where he can be the true self he's always desired. He hadnt taken into account that Iska was asking to help him to bear it. But it's sinking in now. He can have a life where pains are shared, a real true connection with Iska that's rich in bond, trust, affection, compassion... In the end, he hadn't crumbled at all completely but instead found he wanted to build a life with Iska.

Iskandar’s tag hung from his chain, a simple but firm reminder he belonged to someone, with someone that wanted him and didn't see the shadows of his past but the light of a future.

Since the engagement, Toni hadn't wanted to relinquish Iska's hand; he kept rolling his thumb over the knuckles of the hand in his, thinking not so idly, musing over how lucky he is, how in love he is. He turns on his side to cradle Iskandar, gingerly touching the naked shoulder just beneath the edge of the blanket, and nuzzles thick dark hair with his nose and mouth to take in a healthy scent of sandalwood. Iskandar, in his drowsy state of sleep, only cuddles closer. Toni settles an arm around his ribs, runs his fingers against the curve of his spine, soaking in the warmth between them, the solid form of Iska's body against his own.

When morning comes, he promises to be more open about his feelings and thoughts, that he will explain everything he can explain. Iskandar deserves to know the Toni before Rees, the kid he was and still longs to be more like, without all the hiding behind the constant urge to joke and deflect. It's a new day and it's time to finally let his guard down. With Iska, he now knows this is possible. Love makes its possible.

#iskatoni

[destination-of-fate]

(English Subs + Text) Soraru and Mafumafu’s new Cooking Videos

”I tried making Sticky Ramen for my friend” I’ve subbed Soraru’s latest video on his official channel where he tries to cook a meal for Mafumafu! :O If the English subs don’t pop up immediately, click the gear icon and enable them~ Below the “read more” is the full transcript for Mafumafu’s video! Watch Mafumafu’s video here. I can’t subtitle it because his channel doesn’t have community contributions enabled, sorry! ;_; But feel free to share the link to this post if you see people wanting to know what’s happening in the video! This goes line by line and might be a bit hard to understand without the video side by side, so feel free to ask if you have any questions~ I hope you enjoy both videos! :) (Please do not use these translations to upload a subbed version of either video to Youtube or anywhere else)

Title: “I made Medicine Curry for my friend [I’m sorry]”

(Lines not spoken)

Mafumafu: My face looks so bad today… Hey there! Everyone! Hello~ I’m Mafumafu. Well, you see~ Soraru-san, who I work with for certain things He’s… So physically frail! So as for that- I can’t cook or anything at all, but there’s- Medicinal cooking!! That word means-

(Lines spoken) Mafumafu: Siri~ “What’s medicinal cooking?” How do you activate Siri? Siri: I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get that. Mafumafu: SILENCE! What’s “medicinal cooking?” Siri: I found some information about “incidental cooking” on the web. Mafumafu: “Medicinal cooking is a variety of Chinese cuisine.” Eh… it’s Chinese food…? But I wanted to make curry. So for today I want Soraru-san to feel a bit better That was our plan So here! Medicinal curry That’s what I want to make! I don’t actually know anything about medicinal cooking But basically I just need to make something that’s good for your body, right? Here are our ingredients. Meat!!! *sniff sniff* Ginger I really hate this stuff G-garlic Potatoes! And this… Can you see this? “Lily bulb…?”

(Caption)

“It’s said that lily bulbs have positive effects on the throat” Mafumafu: It’s like sawdust… Aah, something came out! And finally, the curry. These are the items I want to work with What should I do? For now I guess maybe I should put this in The directions are written here! Huh, I see... Okay~! Wash my hands thoroughly… with soap First of all, since I’m not very skilled I think I should start with chopping the ingredients Is this right…? Soraru: It’s right, it’s right. Peel it Mafumafu: Do I have to peel it? If it were you, do you think you could eat it if it wasn’t peeled? Soraru: We’re eating it together. Mafumafu: Eating what? Soraru: Huh? Don’t say that Mafumafu: Eh, I’m not eating it. I don’t eat curry. And I just ate before this. Soraru: The thing about curry It tastes good Because You eat it together

(Caption) “No more forced comments”

Mafumafu: I wonder how long it’s been since I last cooked Ah, but I did cook during our DVD project Is this right? Do you even wash the peel with water first? Do we even have a peely thing (*He means a peeler) A peely thing (*He means a peeler) Uwaaaaa~ Let’s peel this potato I’m a little scared What’s with this? OW! I hit… my fingernail… Eh, can I stop now? As for why we suddenly decided to do cooking videos The truth is that Soraru-san was in poor health at the start of the year Soraru: That’s true Mafumafu: He couldn’t even sing… That’s why… We wanted to upload videos that weren’t songs… And put at least some kind of work out there Or maybe rather than “work” This is “rehabilitation...” He can’t do livestreams either… He can’t talk much… So I said I’d make something and he could eat it… He said “Me too~ Me too!! I want to cook too!! I want to post videos too!!”

(Caption)

“*This is an impression”

Mafumafu: He said to me all of a sudden: “I want to move to the countryside, where no one knows me-” (Impression Fade-In) “Maybe I’ll start a second life as a farmer or something” When he said that, I was worried about how depressed he was Of course, I was worried So I quickly bought a video camera…. Like… I said “It might seem weird, but do you want to film some video and post it?” “Want to do something for fun?” It was funny to see Soraru-san unexpectedly get so excited while preparing for it. Soraru: There’s something on my mind right now, more than that potato… Mafumafu: Yes? Yes? Soraru: Why do you have Lipovitan D on the counter? (T/N: Energy Drink) Mafumafu: Oh, no no, that’s just there because I wanted to feel fired up as I cooked. Soraru: Ah, you’re drinking it yourself. Mafumafu: Right, right. Don’t worry. Please don’t worry about that at all. I would never! I would never! www Soraru: Yeah, I guess not (Confirming) Mafumafu: Right, I would never www You see, I just… Soraru: Even someone as ignorant about cooking as you… Mafumafu: It’s so I can wholeheartedly cook a meal. And I do want you to get your nutrients (?) Soraru: Aren’t you the one drinking it? Mafumafu: Ah, that’s right! I’m drinking it! Of course, of course! Well, you can supplement some vitamins and such too (?) Soraru: Ehh ww Aren’t you the one drinking it wwww Mafumafu: I’m drinking it! Of course, of course! Don’t worry about anything. In fact, you can sleep if you want. Since you’re not feeling well. One is plenty, right? (potatoes) It’s just for one person, after all. Time to cut? I’m used to using silverware. *bam!* I’m good, right? Time for ginger! How do you eat this? Do you shape it like this? Soraru: Chop it small, at least Mafumafu: Soraru-san, you can go away now Soraru: No I can’t Mafumafu: I’m making the ginger around the same size as the potato Can you even tell the difference between them? Soraru: Yes, yes, yes I can. Mafumafu: Eh, could this be… Could it be that if I use this trick, you won’t be able to figure out that it’s ginger? Soraru: Is this Russian Roulette… w Mafumafu: Mmm. Okay. I think I can get away with this? Look, you can’t tell! (Delighted) Soraru: What would happen if you ate that… Mafumafu: I don’t know Should I grate it and fry it? I’ll grate it into the pot Ehhh I hate garlic~ I don’t want to touch it... Soraru: Can you put garlic in curry? Mafumafu: Yeah you can! I wonder if this will be ok… I’m sorry, Soraru-san Soraru: Stop it. Don’t apologize before you make me eat it. Mafumafu: I’ve never had this before. Lily bulb? What does it look like? What part of a lily bulb do you even eat? How do you prepare it? Alright… (He googled it) I wonder if you can really eat this I’m so sorry Soraru: Don’t apologize before making me eat it. Mafumafu: Let’s do this- Soraru: All the stuff is white Mafumafu: Yeah… Ok, first! Let’s cook the meat and vegetables Maybe I’ll start with the meat? Let’s cook it! I wonder if I’m doing this right It’s already scary! It’s splattering! It’s splattering! I’m scared! I’m scared! HEY! AAAAAH Wait, wait, wait Eh? I’m scared! Am I doing this wrong? Eh, ah, wait www eh, hold on- AAAAAH You need high heat for Chinese food

(Caption) “*Curry is not Chinese food”

Mafumafu: Seriously, stop it! Hey! Seriously! STOPPPPP ITTT!!!

(Caption)

“*His highest voice of the day”

Mafumafu: Alright, I’ll add the vegetables now~ Here I go~ Yaay~! Soraru: I really can’t tell which pieces are ginger Mafumafu: It’s splattering. It’s splattering. (He’s a bit used to it now) Which is it!? Soraru: Eh, I can’t tell at all. Mafumafu: Doesn’t it smell good? I can measure the water by eye, right? I’m adding the water~ Is that enough? Ehh, should I open it? Oh! That looks good~! I’ll add the roux How much do you need? I guess I’ll add about half? wwwwww this is so rough www Even for me, this is really imprecise I want to put it in piece by piece while it gradually melts I should have brought some chocolate or something Soraru-san wouldn’t notice, I’m sure Soraru: Some people do add chocolate as a subtle seasoning Mafumafu: That’s not what I mean It would be completely chocolate… You probably wouldn’t notice it, right Soraru-san? “It’s sweeter than usual this time”

(Caption) “*This is an impression” Mafumafu: Like this? The work I’m doing here is quite tech-y

(Caption)

“Tech-y: To do something in a technical way. He’s using it to show off.”

Mafumafu: This is kind of a pain I’m sure this is fine ww Alright, it’s done~ Soraru: There’s definitely not enough roux in there Mafumafu: Eh, really!? I think it’s enough… This really doesn’t look appetizing at all I wonder if I’ll ever be able to get married Soraru: Definitely not at this rate Mafumafu: It’s bubbling now Ah, but doesn’t this look kinda good? Soraru: Has it thickened? Mafumafu: Yeah, it has! I think I want to use a bit more Hmmm~mmmmm Should I add the whole thing? I’ve been cooking properly up until now, so I want to be careful with this Little by little

(Caption)

“Putting in ⅓ of it at a time”

Soraru: No way wwwww You did it with so little hesitation I thought maybe my eyes were deceiving me... Mafumafu: Ah, look! It’s so thick! Yeah, it looks good! Soraru: Aren’t you playing this off a bit too much? w Mafumafu: You sure complain a lot… Such a pain… It’s a pain, but… There's no foam forming this time, huh Time for the secret ingredient! *clang* Soraru: He suddenly opens the fridge… Mafumafu: Honey~

(Caption) “He believes he is doing an impression. Please treat him kindly as you listen.”

Soraru: Oh, it’s honey The sweet curry is getting even sweeter *drip* *drip* *drip* *drip* Hey, hey, hey!! You added so much… Mafumafu: Eh? That’s normal I want to put more in Butter~ Soraru: Can you really put butter in curry… Mafumafu: Butter curry! Butter chicken curry! Soraru: Does that have butter in it? Mafumafu: Eh, it’s butter chicken, so wouldn’t it have butter in it? Soraru: I see… Mafumafu: But who knows What about Tabasco? Soraru: Wouldn’t that taste bad? Mafumafu: Maybe? Soraru: Ah, ah, ah, ah… Mafumafu: I tried my hardest to make this, so please eat it, ok? Ok, Soraru-san, you can leave the room now~ Soraru: Alright Mafumafu: The curry is almost done… But for the secret ingredient…

(Bottle Label) “Lipovitan D” (T/N: energy drink)

Mafumafu: Maybe that’s too mean? It might be a bit too mean It can’t be helped, then I’ll go with this

(Caption) “A meaner upgrade”

(Label)

“Yunker” (T/N: Nutrition drink to help with fatigue and illness) Mafumafu: He won’t figure it out, right? He’ll feel better, right? Healthy things + Healthy things = Healthy things This is fine, right? Soraru-san! I think it’s done~ It’s done now! Soraru: Yeah, that looks good Mafumafu: It’s still full! It’s still full! I didn’t drink any! Soraru: Huh, you really didn’t put any in. Huh??? Mafumafu: (Oh crap) I didn’t, I didn’t… Soraru: I thought so. Mafumafu: I just felt like I had a cold coming on… Soraru: I thought so. Mafumafu: Yeah~ (monotone) Although I don’t actually feel that way IT’S DONE!!

(Caption) “First taste” Mafumafu: I’m giving this the name “Mafumafu’s Medicine Curry” Soraru: But you didn’t put any medicine in, did you... Mafumafu: Of course not. Of course not w Soraru: Here I go Mafumafu: It’s curry that works like medicine H-How is it? The ingredients are: Meat Sliced garlic Ginger (chunks) Shredded ginger Soraru: Ah, the garlic… It’s so strong… Mafumafu: Really!? Soraru: But I actually like garlic quite a bit Mafumafu: There’s also~ (continuing) Lily bulb How’s the lily bulb!? Soraru: The lily bulb… Mafumafu: Did you eat it? Soraru: Is it… this thing…?? Mafumafu: The curved things Soraru: I can’t find any? Did they disappear...? They dissolved? Mafumafu: Eh, no way… Ah, that’s it Soraru: This? Mafumafu: Maybe that’s garlic Soraru: It’s garlic, it’s garlic www Mafumafu: Maybe they didn’t get added? Soraru: But you know~ It’s not bad Mafumafu: Ah, it’s like a gray area? It doesn’t taste good? Soraru: It’s like… Well, there’s garlic in the curry…. Mafumafu: Doesn’t it taste good? I thought it’d be pretty good

(Caption) “Ginger disguised as potato” Soraru: Want some? Want it? Here Mafumafu: Me? Sure, of course. Soraru: Want this bite? There, potato! (Huge lie)

(Caption)

“Agonizing”

Soraru: Isn’t that horrible? Mafumafu: The End

#utaite #after the rain #soraru #mafumafu #translations