#apollo has a higher chance of biting you than the others too

[attorneys-against-court-violence]

Random Thought

I could not take any of the Wright Anything Agency in a fight.

Phoenix? Sure, he'd probably go down like a bitch, but you won't leave any long-term effect on him - he's walked off being gut-punched, tazed, whipped, falling off a bridge into a river, coffee, eating a glass necklace and getting hit by a car. He'll just dust himself off and sue your ass for assault & battery. And win.

Apollo? He is the only one who actively chose violence with malicious intent (uppercutting Phoenix in AJ/AA4). Not to mention he has angry short-lad vibes about him. Taking him on would probably be like starting a fight with a small dog - win or lose, you will leave with less fingers than you entered with.

Trucy? Actually a child. You'd be a monster for trying.

Athena? Well...

You tell me how you'd fair against that. The good news is that she probably wouldn't want to hurt you at all. The bad news is she'd make you feel real bad for trying in the first place. Psychological damage hurts more than it gets credit for.

#ace attorney #phoenix wright #apollo justice #athena cykes #trucy wright #shitpost #apollo has a higher chance of biting you than the others too #i'm like 80% sure #vicious little man he is

[thiswasinevitableid]

The Bachelor

A birthday gift for @bellafarallones. Part 3 of the TAZ Amnesty Bachelor AU (sternclay and indruck were the first two) AKA what Vincent was up to. Apollo is from my Amnesty Super Hero fic

The entire United States to choose from and this is the best the producers could find? He’s going to win this thing with his eyes closed. Then it’s a hop, skip, and jump to some endorsement deals, his own spin-off, and then a prime time hosting slot. 

Oh, and a marriage. But that should be easy; any guy would count themselves lucky to have him.

God, that pool will be great for Instagram shots. Luckily the producers knew their biggest draw when they saw him and agreed to let Indrid continue his work as Apollo’s personal photographer and assistant. He may be a disappointment to the Cold name, but he’s good with a camera and has no interest in being recorded for the show. And if, god forbid, Apollo comes down with a cold during filming, someone will be there to bring him Day-Quil. After all, if he lets anyone see Apollo in a vulnerable state, Apollo will just have to send their father an email about Indrid’s latest failure. 

“It’s times like this we should be grateful for our genes. I know I am.” He glances at his twin, pausing his gaze on his silver hair and tattoos.

“You dye yours too. And I think there are more than a few handsome men here, so don’t get cocky.” His attention shifts for a moment as a man dressed like Smokey the Bear passes them.

“Oh come on, even with those pretentious glasses you can see I’m a cut above.”

“If you say so. And if you want to do shots of you in your suit, we need to start soon, so kindly find your room so we can get on with it.”

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

Not only is this easy, it’s fun. The cameras love him, and most of his fellow contestants yield to him after one remark. He’s been watching Vincent, the bachelor for this season, closely during group interactions, and it’s clear he’s already developing favorites. Annoyingly, two in particular--Joseph and Duck--are more inclined to push back at him. But it doesn’t matter; everyone has weaknesses. He’ll find theirs soon. 

Tonight is his first formal date with Vincent. They’re at an Italian place with good lighting, and Vincent is perfectly nice to look at in his lavender dress shirt and silver tie. Apollo’s done his research; Vincent is ten years his senior, took an early retirement from a position in the department of defense and now runs two consulting businesses; one for banks and museums and one for domestic violence shelters, health clinics, and other places where doing good draws enemies. The first business subsidizes the second. Vincent enjoys tennis and running, has no Instagram presence, and is an only child. 

Apollo has his plan of attack; the trouble is, Vincent isn’t interested in sitting there and being flattered (though he does blush when Apollo says the tie makes the grey in his hair look all the more distinguished). He wants to know about Apollo. 

“When you’re not taking photos, what do you like to do?”

He doesn’t correct him about who takes the pictures, smiles, “I, ah, I go to the gym.”

“I have to say it shows.” Vincent winks. It’s so corny, but Apollo can’t find it in him to hate it, “any sports, or just things like weights and cardio?”

‘

“No, but I played football in high school. I was star running back.”

“I played my freshman year, but baseball suited me better. So when you're not ‘pumping iron’, what do you do for fun?”

There is no answer that won’t make him look too shallow or too...no, he can’t even think about that option. Damn it, he must have a normal hobby. He hedges with the truth and hopes the editors cut it for time. 

“I like movies. I, ah, I’ve been working my way through the Criterion Collection of the birth of cinema  and it’s fascinating. Did you know there was a silent film heartthrob who predates Valentino?”

“Sessue Hayakawa?” 

“You know about him?” He leans forward.

“I read a biography of him last year that was riveting. I still have it if you’d like to borrow it.”

“Yes, yes absolutely. We, we could even watch some of his films together, and the ones they inspired, you know they, they…” 

Fuck, he’s acting like Indrid, bumping the table and yammering about things that will get him nowhere. He sits back, grabs his wine and sips to cover his error. 

“I’d like that.” Is all Vincent says as they’re entrees arrive. 

“Enough about me. I was reading about your business and, ah, well, how do you even do something like that?”

Vincent describes his process, how he picks clients and what he considers when evaluating a space. Apollo fully intends to zone out with a smile. 

He hangs on every word. All too soon, Vincent is asking for dessert. 

“Is your meal okay?”

Apollo looks at the plate of spaghetti carbonara he’s been poking at, not wanting to be caught in an ugly expression while eating, “Yes, it’s delicious.”

Dessert arrives in the shape of a chocolate lava cake with sparklers, a detail which delights Vincent. It’s such a ridiculous thing to smile over. Apollo smiles back, and let’s his date feed him a bite of cake. 

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

Was the beach trip self-serving on Vincent’s part? Indeed. Has it also given him valuable intel? Yes, yes it has.

He now knows who’s going home next; Nico is such a fraternity-bred asshole that he should have sent him packing weeks ago. Honestly, all his comments about Barclay this morning were awful. Barclay is masculine and sweet in a way Vincent adores. He even helped Joseph during the cliff dive, which bumps him even higher in Vincent’s eyes. 

Joseph stealthily knocking Nico’s hat from his head with a frisbee was also a high point; goodness, Joseph reminds him of men he used to work with who he never, ever, admitted his feelings for (they were often his subordinates, and he prided himself on keeping a safe department). 

Then there’s Duck. Vincent would like an award for not spending the morning asking to rub sunblock on those arms. He’s been treated to a closer view of them the last half-hour, Duck sitting next to him in a Hawaiin shirt that shows off his biceps. The ranger just now excused himself (“gotta give the other fellas a chance to impress”) to go keep Indrid company during dinner. Polite and friendly to the core, that’s his favorite bear. 

And then there’s-

“Hiiii Vincent.” Apollo slides into the spot closest to him on the restaurant deck. 

Were Vincent choosing for an evening, Apollo would edge out even Duck. He suspects getting the younger man under some comfortable sheets to praise and fuss over him would be very nice indeed. Apollo may posture and insist to the others that he’s the dominant one in the bedroom, but this isn’t Vincent’s first go around; he knows someone who longs to be spoiled and submissive when he sees one.

But he’s here to choose his husband, not a hook-up. 

He initially assumed he’d send Apollo home after their first formal date. He knows these shows sometimes attract people who want their fifteen minutes of fame, and Apollo is one of them. But then his meticulously built image cracked, just a little, as they talked, and Vincent is so taken by what he saw that he can’t bring himself to send him home yet.

The older man slides the younger one an oyster, “try one, they’re local.”

There’s no appealing way to eat an oyster on camera, but Apollo lifts a shell and downs one. He does an excellent job masking his grimace.

“Another? Or would you like one of the grilled scallops instead?”

He watches him run a calculus. Then he slides his sunglasses down, “Scallop, please.”

Maybe there’s hope for him yet.

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

“Indrid, Vincent hates me!”

Indrid blinks at him.

“One of the other contestants got them to show him a bunch of footage of me putting the other men in their place and now he hates me.” Genuine panic rises in his chest as Indrid gives him absolutely no expression to work from. 

“What do you want me to do?”

“Talk to him, tell him that I’m not-”

“What you actually are? Vincent is here to choose a spouse; he has a right to not choose you.”

“Fix. It.” Apollo snarls.

His twin stands, regarding him from across the rug, “I will speak to Vincent, on one condition; you do not go after Duck ever again.”

“Traitor, you should be on my side, not his.��

Indrid shrugs, sits back down and picks up his book. 

“I’ll, I’ll tell father you’re sabotaging me.”

“You think he’ll like to hear you’re being out done by his inferior son?”

“....Damn it. Fine, fine. I’ll leave Newton alone. Now go.”

His brother has the audacity to grin at him, “I will, right after I finish this chapter.”

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

He’s sitting with Duck and Joseph, asking their opinion, when Indrid enters the living room.

“Did Apollo send you?” Vincent picks lint from his cardigan. 

“Yes. He’s asking me to intercede on his behalf since he thinks you hate him.”

“Oh dear, I don’t hate him. I just said I was disappointed in him.”

“Ah” Indrid perches on the arm of Duck’s chair, “That’s our father’s code for ‘I hate you.”

“Jesus.” Duck mutters.

“I suspected he was exaggerating. That’s why I agreed to talk to you; I’ve learned it’s best to verify anything  he tells me. In truth, I can’t do much for him.  If it’s not obvious, he takes after our father and our father is...not a good man. We each survive him in our own way; Apollo chose to mold himself into what he demanded we be. That does not excuse him. But perhaps it puts him into perspective.”

Vincent knows he’s not sending Apollo home this week; it’s still Nico’s turn. And his heart that taps his chest to ask, “Do you think he could change?”

Indrid says nothing. Duck is keeping his mouth shut, but his frown suggests his answer.

“This is not to defend him but” Joseph looks at Indrid, “you grew up under the same conditions and chose not to replicate them. That suggests it’s possible.”

“I just didn’t want to end up like him.” Indrid murmurs.

“And ‘possible’ don’t mean probable.” Duck adds.

Vincent rubs his temples, “You’re right. All of you. I...I think I need some time to decide how many chances to be the person I think he can be I ought to give him.”

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

Apollo isn’t sure what to expect. The last time Vincent asked to see him, it was to scold him. Three guys have gone home since then, and he’s been fighting back his impulses to torment and gloat, focusing instead on  making Vincent like him instead of undermining the competition. 

The door opens on a room with a bed, lots of candles, and…

“Is that whale song?”

“Yes. I picked a ‘soothing’ playlist to fit the mood.” Vincent is in linen pants and a button up short sleeve, pats the bed with a smile, “I thought a nice massage might do you good. Non-sexual, of course” he tips his head at the camera.

Apollo isn’t shy. His thirst traps are legendary. But he lays on his stomach the instant he’s down to his underwear. Vincent hums as he starts on his shoulders, checking in now and then about pressure. It would be nice if Apollo’s skin weren’t starving for gentle touches. He keeps letting out pathetic sounds, almost like chirps, as Vincent rubs him down. 

Then the worst thing happens; he gets hard. At first he tries just keeping his hips still but no, just Vincent’s touch is enough. So he tenses in hopes of not giving it away.

“Is it too hard?”

“No, I’m fine.”

The hands leave his skin and he whines like a kicked dog. 

“Would you gentlemen let us do the rest in private? I’m sure the viewers get the point.”

There’s shuffling feet and shutting doors, and then a gentle hand rolling him onto his back.

“Apollo, what’s really--oh. That explains it.” 

He scrambles to sit up, tucking his knees to his chest, “I’m sorry, you said you didn’t want it to be sexual, I didn’t do this on purpose, I swear-”

The bed squeaks along with him as Vincent sits, “Sweetheart, I’m not going to get angry with you for this. If, um, if it helps to know, the feeling is very much mutual.”

It should feel like a triumph, but his cheeks burn and he hides his face against his knees. 

“Does that bother you?”

“No! No, not at all. I wouldn’t be wooing you on T.V if I didn’t think you were attractive. Blech, I sound like one of Indrid’s romance novels. Not, not that there’s anything wrong with Indrid...liking...silly things.”

Vincent cups his face and he leans into it, wants to glue his cheek there, “Apollo, I’ve noticed you’re trying to be less...unkind since our little talk.”

“I’m trying. It’s just so very, very hard.”

“I’ve also noticed you’re letting your persona go now and then. That means a lot to me. I’m not interested in the man you think you should be; I’m interested in the man you might become, the man you are when you stop trying to be better than everyone. I like that man, I’d like to get to know him more.”

Apollo shivers as Vincent kisses his forehead, “I’ll do my best.”

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

“The nerve of Joseph to say things like that to me!”

Indrid doesn’t look up, “It’s a genuine concern; Vincent is older, there will likely come a time when you’ll be the one caring for him. Are you certain you’ll have the patience for that? Be willing to put your needs and wants on hold for the sake of someone else?”

That’s really what would happen? He, he could do it for Vincent, he’s certain. But could he? What if it’s hard, without glory or gain, does that make it foolish?

He chases those thoughts in dizzying circles for fifteen minutes until they crash into the solution.

“I solved it! I don't have to worry about taking care of Vincent as he ages because he'll divorce me once I reach thirty-two.”

“That is the bleakest possible conclusion.” Indrid flips his sketchbook closed. 

“Just let me have this!”

“I hate that I even have to say this but Vincent is not our father.”

“Father said he was doing what any sensible man would do.”

Indrid levels him with an unusually firm stare, “Do you not want Vincent just because he’s over thirty-two?”

“Of course not! He’s great! I, brother for goodness sake just tell me how to care for him.”

“I literally cannot do that. You have to figure it out for yourself what care looks like for you.”

He’s about to repeat his demand when his phone rings. 

“Hi, Vincent.”

“I'm so sorry, but I have to break our date tonight. I was out for a run and twisted my ankle. I just got back from the doctor; he says I sprained it, so I might be on bed rest a few days.”

Perfect. 

“Oh no, I’m glad it’s not too serious. Would, ah, would it be alright if I came to see you?”

They agree on a time. Then he remembers the problem that preceded the phone call.

“What do I do?”

“What do you want to do for him? Or, if your positions were reversed, him to do for you?” Indrid asks flatly. 

“Call you so he doesn’t see me looking frail.”

“assume I am dead and thus no longer dealing with your nonsense”

“That’s not fair.”

Indrid flops on the bed, “I'm dead, Vincent is the only one who is coming to take care of you, what do you want him to do?”

“Tell me it’s okay and spend time with me and…”

Indrid grins, “And?”

“And watch PBS in bed.”

“It’s a start. Now please get out of my room.”

An hour later he pokes his head into Vincent’s bedroom; the older man is reclining, reading a John Grisham paperback in a robe that makes him look very suave

“How are you feeling?” He sits next to him, rubs his knee. .

 “Oh, I'm fine, just feel a little silly. It used to be I could twist an ankle and come up fine. Aging is quite the adventure.”

“I, um, I'm glad it wasn't too bad. I, I don't like the thought of you getting hurt. Bot that you'd be bad if you did! I accept that we are all very fragile beings trying not to die.

(Too dark, Cold,  pull it back).

“I mean, um, is there anything I can do to help?”

“I'd be happy to have you stay awhile.” Vincent takes his hand, let’s him lean on his shoulder as they talk. They’re midway through a discussion of famous film disasters when a small burst of black and red lands on the windowsill. He doesn’t catch his excitement in time and Vincent asks him what made him perk up. 

With a courage he did not know he possessed, he points to the bird.

“Oh! How beautiful. What kind is it?”

“Scarlet Tanager” he mumbles, “they’re not common here.”

“Do you know a lot about birds?”

He nods. 

“There are some feeders just on that balcony. And I think the binoculars a friend gave me last Christmas are still in the closet, if you’d like to use them.”

“I would” he stands, heart bubbling with terrifying warmth, “thank you, da--ah, dear.”

Mischief sweeps across Vincent’s face, “Is this where you tell me you’ve had lots of older boyfriends?”

“No. I, ah, I’ve made out some but I never dated.”

“Not even a highschool sweetheart?”

“My father made it so no teenager wanted to go near our house. Or us.” The binoculars are magnificent, the best money can buy, “I always wished I had a date to homecoming. It looked so fun, asking someone or getting asked and then having matching outfits and going out to dinner and taking pictures together. I even picked out an outfit just in case someone asked.  I think Indrid snuck out to meet his burnout--, um, meet his friends. I just sat in my room.”

“You could have asked someone yourself, couldn’t you?” Vincent makes room for him on the bed once more. 

 “And risk getting rejected in front of the whole school? No thank you.” He stares at the binoculars, afraid of what he might see if he turns, “I'm sorry, you don't need to hear all this. I’m supposed to be here taking care of you.”

Vincent opens his arms, pulling Apollo into a hug, “You know care can go two ways at once, right?”

“Not really” he mumbles into silver silk.

“Oh, sweetheart.” A kiss on his cheek, hands running soothingly up his sides, and those weak, silly noises slipping from his mouth. 

“I want it to be, I’ll be so good, I’ll take care of you, just please...please say you’d do the same?”

“Of course. That’s what love is.”

He tucks his face against Vincent’s neck, “Will you make fun of me if I say I’m frightened?”

“Never.”

“I don’t know how to do so much of this. I don’t know how much of me can change.”

“Are you willing to try?” Vincent kisses the shell of his ear.

“For you? Yes.”

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

“I choose…” Vincent looks between Apollo and Jonathan. Apollo cannot wait to spring into his arms. 

“I choose neither.”

“What!” Ned yells off camera.

“I’m sorry to both of you but I simply can’t. Jonathan, you’re a very nice man, but our connection is ultimately lacking. Apollo” Vincent meets his eyes and he forces his gaze to stay placid, “I care for you more than words can say. I know you’ve worked so very hard to change. I also know that people can easily revert to their old, cruel ways under pressure or difficulty. Marriage often involves those things, and I’m not sure you can be the man I need you to be. With those misgivings,  it wouldn’t be fair to propose to either of you. I hope you understand.”

They both say the do, shake hands, give hugs. And he does, he truly does understand. He understands that Vincent made the choice he had to, that even though he got better he is still a rotten, cruel creature who doesn’t deserve him. He was taught he deserved the world; some good that did him. It lost him the only person who might make the world a less miserable place. 

“Apollo!” Vincent jogs after him, catches up to him in an empty hall, “Apollo I-”

His heart is breaking; his old ways twine like vipers around it, “I, I’m glad you didn’t choose me you, you boring, pathetic man. No wonder you have to pay people to go on dates with you! I don’t need anyone, least of all you!”

Vincent steps back, face falling as Apollo storms off. The last thing he hears is, “And here I thought I made the wrong choice.”

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

He deletes his Instagram. Gets a job as a personal shopper. Goes to therapy because he will not let Indrid outshine him when it comes to unlearning how they were raised. 

It helps. Three months after the disastrous finale (for him, not for the network) he’s feeling, if not better, like he might actually try dating someone soon. He also writes two apology letters; one to Indrid and one to Vincent. Then he tears them both up and just tells Indrid that he’s trying to be less of an asshole and that he’s sorry for all the time he was one. He leaves Vincent alone; if he doesn’t want to see him, the least he can do is respect that.

It’s migration season, so he’s hiding in his favorite, super-secret birdwatching spot. It’s near a pond, so lots of birds come to drink and bathe, and he’s seen several on his list. 

Branches crack, sending nearby jays into a flap. Damn it, he’s never seen someone else here; the only person he ever told about it was-

“Hi, Apollo.”

“Vincent!” He almost falls off his stump, “how, why?”

“I’d been meaning to explore this spot ever since you spoke about it. But I, um, was also hoping I might see you in the process. Pathetic, as you might say.”

“I did, didn’t I.” Apollo stares up at him, clutching his binoculars so hard they might become disparate spyglasses, “Vincent, I am so, so, so very sorry for how I acted when we last saw each other. I was hurt, all I want is to make someone else hurt more so I stop feeling so vulnerable and powerless. I, I’ve been working on it in, in” he winces “therapy. You said once that you wanted to meet the man I might be. I realized I wanted to meet him to, to be him, not to win some show or even to get you to like me but just because I don’t want to be the other Apollo anymore.”

Vincent sits next to him, “You don’t give up, do you?”

“I, I just want to un-fuck what I can. I, how have you been?”

“Doing lots of thinking. I still know I made the right call not proposing during the finale. And that I’m ready to start dating again.”

“I hope whoever you go out with knows how lucky they are.” He says without any motive but the truth.

Vincent plucks a late-blooming wildflower and offers it to him, “It’s not a rose, but then again, this isn’t a proposal. It’s just a date, if you still want one.”

“So badly.” 

The older man leans in, kissing him softly as his spine turns to soup, “I’m looking forward to meeting the, um, latest version of you.” He snickers at his own phrasing.

Apollo pulls him into a second kiss, “Me too.”

#bachelor au

[xtolovers]

The Best of Us

The Last of Us Joel/OC Rating:M

AO3

Joel and Ellie nearly die on their way back to Jackson,  Wyoming. Traumatized, tired and with a tentative new bond between  them, they move forward into a new, very different life. Luckily there  are new friends to be found that are not easily deterred by their wounds  and flaws. And there is a woman who likes to laugh, to get into other people’s business and help and heal were she can. Maybe she can help heal their bond. Maybe she can move more. It has been long since either of them had a home.    

Diligently she blocked the doors by hooking a chair through the handles. Liv tied Apollo up in the entryway where he couldn't make as big of a mess. The added benefit was that he'd hear anyone approaching outside and warn her, and this way he was close enough to the door should they need to make a hasty escape. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. It was unlikely that something was going to happen, but they were in a pretty exposed position, and she the only healthy person. It made her feel uneasy.

No helping it. Gotta get us through this. You got this.

And she really wasn't alone . Liv knew that most of Tommy's skills, he'd learned from Joel. As long as she could keep him conscious, he'd be able to fend off attackers. She wasn't really worried that he was going to attack her himself— she was his only chance of saving the girl, and getting them to Tommy. Besides, while she wasn't the best fighter in Jackson, she could handle herself. Maybe she couldn't win against him in his prime, but he was weak, tired, starving, and his ankle was cut open pretty badly. She'd be able to take him, if necessary.

Joel was still working on the first sandwich when she returned to him, and Liv was pleased to see he'd listened to her.

"How are you feeling?", she asked as she handed him Jesse's bedroll and blanket. He cleared his throat, trying to get his voice back.

"Better."

Not a man of many words, huh.

" That's what I like to hear." She grabbed two cups from the bar, filled them with hot water and put some mint in. She was glad she'd taken her stash of herbs with her. Sure, it was the beginning of May, and if it came down to it, she'd be able to find most she'd need outside, but she had learned the hard way that it was better to be prepared. "Here. Drink that; it'll help settle your stomach."

"Thank you." He accepted the cup before he looked at the girl, brow furrowed. " How's it looking? And no sugarcoating, please."

Liv followed his gaze and ran her hands through her hair with a sigh, tightening her ponytail.

"Well, there is no pus visible on the outside, which means at least outwardly, it's healing well. But you see that swelling around it? Means it's infected and filled inside. Not uncommon if there's dirt in the wound."

"I tried cleanin' it with our last water, but it kept raining." Joel's voice was raspy, but no longer from disuse. The guilt was plain on his face.

Liv shook her head slowly, her voice sympathetic. "Not much you could've done about it given the circumstances. Honestly, considering, this really is the best case scenario," she sighed and rolled up her sleeves. "I'll still have to cut it open to get the pus out and clean it, otherwise she might get really sick. But once it's clean, I've got iodine here and we have some antibiotics back in Jackson… I won't make promises, but I think she'll be fine."

"Can I help?"

Liv shook her head with a smile." You just keep eating. I should be fine. Honestly, you probably shouldn't even watch. Maybe even move away a foot or so, this'll reek." She looked over to him, and almost laughed as a stubborn look crossed his face, almost a little insulted.

Just like Tommy. Stubborn fools.

"I'll be fine."

"Suit yourself," she answered with a shrug. " But please try and keep the food down, for you sake and mine. We don't have much to spare and I have neither time nor the will to clean up right now."

Joel only scoffed as an answer, so Liv let him be and got up to ready everything. She took the mixture with the bandages off of the fire so they could cool down, then she poured some hot water into the basin Eugene had readied and washed her hands in it once it was sufficiently warm. She soaked the rag in it and wrung it out, before turning to Ellie. By force of habit she started talking to her, even though she was unconscious, as she deftly ripped off the already cut sleeve.

"Alright, let's get you cleaned up."

Next to her she felt Joel stiffen as she grabbed Ellie's wrist and lifted her arm to clean it.

"Sorry, the shirt was already ruined, we'll get her something— What…?" Her fingers had caught on ridges on Ellie's inner arm, and she'd turned it to inspect them. Liv froze, her question caught in her throat. She stared down at the upturned arm, her thoughts racing as her stomach dropped. Immediately she saw in her mind the half-submerged corpse of a runner she'd spotted in the ditch.

It was days old. It's too long. She'd have turned by now. But that's a bite.

Joel rose along with the hairs on her neck. " She's not infected, I swear." His voice was hard and choked, and the way he said it, the tone of defense and wariness, didn't help at all.

She didn't look at him, instead Liv kept her eyes on the crescent shaped scar. Her eyes wandered over the silvery-white ridges and knots, the discoloration and cysts, the teeth marks clearly visible. She took a deep breath to calm herself, as Joel gave voice to her thoughts.

"Look at the scar: it's old. She ain't infected, I swear. If the runner had bitten her, she'd've turned by now, and you know it." He swallowed hard and leaned forward slowly, placing his hand gently and slowly on her arm. "Careful." Liv looked down to see that her fingers were digging into Ellie's skin, her knuckles as white as his on her arm. For the fraction of a second they met eyes, and what Liv saw equally calmed and worried her. He was right; Ellie was not infected, her gut had told her so after the first shock, too. But she knew that she was right too: He wouldn't stop at anything to protect this girl. With a swallow, she nodded and let go of her arm.

"Yeah, I can see that. I'm sorry."

Joel released her arm and leaned back, nodding. "I get it." He cleared his throat, occupying himself with his cup. "She uh— Apparently she was bitten back two years ago or so in a struggle— bitten by a human, I mean. Got infected and all, that's why it looks like that. Snuck out of the QZ and crossed some wrong people."

Liv studied him for a moment, then the scar. As far as she could see there was no fungal growth anywhere, so his story might check out as well, and to contemplate the other option was too much for her right now. She decided to do what had always served her best; focus on the problem before her that she could solve. For anything else, she was too tired, to terrified, too needed right now. Ellie showed no signs of turning, so the most important part was true. She nodded, more to herself then to him, and set to work with the cloth, cleaning the arm of dirt.

"So you haven't been together that long?"

"Uh, no. I was… tasked to get her somewhere, as a favor to someone. Took us damn near a year. When we got there, nobody was left there… so we came back here together." She felt him look at her, but she kept to her task. " Tommy didn't tell you?", he asked, his voice a little higher than she'd felt was natural.

"No, he just told me that his brother came through a couple months back. I didn't ask."

"You guys close?"

She smiled a little as she got up to wash out the cloth and wash her hands. " Somewhat, yes. I've known him a long time." Liv stood and dried her hands, then grabbed her knife and stuck it in the boiling water. " So she was an errand. But not anymore." When he looked at her with raised eyebrows, she shrugged. "It's not hard to see that you care about her."

"It's hard to travel the country with someone and not grow close." He sounded defensive, almost a little embarrassed.

Liv nodded. "Especially with a kid." She plucked the knife out of the water and laid it on the clean table, before she grabbed the bottle of alcohol to clean her hands. "What's she like? I need to concentrate for a moment, so I can't talk, and it'll keep you occupied and conscious," she told him with a grin.

Joel snorted. He watched her clean her hands and ready everything to cut into Ellie's arm. He was pretty sure he wouldn't pass out again. The food, water and rest had already done wonders, but the knot in his stomach had returned full force.

She'd seen the bite. Again, someone was readying knives next to an unconscious Ellie. He tried to stay grounded, but his nose was filled with the scent of copper and his heart was hammering away.

This is different. Tommy is on his way. She knows Tommy. She doesn't have it in her eyes. This is different.

He repeated the thoughts over and over, but he couldn't help being forcefully aware of every weapon, every asset, every exit. And Joel knew that she was aware of it too. When they'd looked at each other briefly over the scar on Ellie's arm, while Joel was cursing himself for his recklessness, he'd seen it in her eyes. She wasn't harmless, but she was no danger to them. Most importantly, she was smart. Silently he cursed himself for his fumbling attempt at diversion. She'd accepted it wordlessly, to his relief, but it made him realize that he— that they needed a story. Ellie couldn't run around with a bite mark on her arm, making people have questions, or worse, telling people she was immune. He'd screwed up with his story to her already, and now he needed to rectify that. Protect her. He figured that this was his best choice. Liv didn't seem like a gossip, but as a nurse and with connections to Tommy, whatever they may be, she probably took a central role in the community. Having her as an ally was valuable.

Joel watched her grip Ellie's arm and quickly, efficiently cut the wound open. He gagged as the scent hit his nose, and he turned his face away, jaw clenched. Behind him, he heard Liv scoff.

"Told you so."

"Fine, you win." He pushed himself further down the couch, away from the stench.

"So, you were gonna tell me what she's like."

Joel studied his thumb tracing the rim of his cup, and couldn't help but smile. "Disrespectful and a smart-ass. Stubborn as hell, and reckless. A real troublemaker. Haven't met anyone so prone to get herself in a bad situation. Doesn't listen to a word I say. She's a decent shot. Obsessed with comics and cursing and the worst puns you'll ever hear. Overflowing fantasy. Cares more than is good for her. Heavy, in a ways. Her mother died at birth, she's grown up in the Boston QZ as an orphan. But it made her tough, having no one to rely on. She's a fighter."

"But now she has you." Liv said it as a fact, not looking up, still focused on her work. The way she said it made it sound so simple. It was a million ways more complicated than that. But true nonetheless.

"I guess."

"No?"

He sighed. The old instinct to lock up, to hide and defend reared in him, but Joel was tired, and he felt no judgment from her. And a little vulnerability would go a long way for helping his plan. Only now, here in the calm of the lodge, he realized what it would mean to return to a form of society that was secure and had room for anything else than survival. Even if it went against his instincts, he'd have to get used to it anyhow. Especially if he wanted to keep Ellie around.

"She does… If she wants to."

He saw Liv's eyebrow lift, her hands unfaltering. "Why wouldn't she?"

"She no longer needs me to survive now. She's free to choose now."

Liv seemed to contemplate that. Instead of encouragement, she simply said: "I see."

His stomach dropped at her admission, even if it gave him the slightest hope that he was at least doing the right thing. Ellie would get to choose. Tommy's accusation still rang in his head.

I still have nightmares from the shit you did to protect us!

Joel swallowed and stared down into his cooling tea. " It was… hard for us. We're both stubborn— that probably ain't a surprise to you, if you know my brother," he said with a slight smile, and he heard her snort, " and it took a while for us to get used to each other. There were a lot of close calls… After we left here, we ran into a hunter encampment down in Colorado. I nearly died. She saved my life, but was caught." He swallowed against the lump in his throat. His dreams were either filled with the hospital or filled with smoke, fire, blood, a sobbing Ellie cradling a machete. "She wasn't harmed. Physically. But the things she saw… They had no food, so they… made it."

For the first time, Liv stilled her work and turned to him, eyes wide and face pale as she understood his meaning. " Jesus, " she whispered. She shook her head to clear it, and he saw blood drop to the floor next to the couch, turning his stomach. Liv followed his gaze, and returned to her work. "Don't worry, it's clean now. She'll survive the blood loss. It's good that it flows, it helps me clean the wound." At that, she pulled the basin filled with herbs closer, and started preparing bandages. He saw her clench her jaw as she grabbed the small bottle of iodine. "These fucking hunters. They're worse monsters than the infected. At least they have no choice. It's a fucking farce..." Joel watched her wrap Ellie's wound carefully, all the while shaking her head incredulously, and it almost made him smile how outraged she was, as if that wasn't the world they had all been living in for the last fifteen years.

Liv sighed and stretched her neck and shoulders. Silently he watched her grab needle and thread, focusing himself on watching her work, watching Ellie's face twitch in her sleep, to ward off the images in his head. Liv worked quickly, clearly having done this a hundred times. She was silent, probably occupied with thoughts of killing as well, as she wrapped the bandages around Ellie's arm and secured them. When she was done, she pulled the blanket over Ellie and touched her forehead to check her temperature.

"Alright, we'll leave it for now. I'll change bandages again later, unless the bleeding doesn't stop, but it's looking good. Right now she needs rest, water, and later, food."

He watched her wipe the blood from her hands and picked up bandages soiled with blood and pus, throwing them into the dirty water. " And now, to you." She came over to him and knelt down in front of him, and at his puzzled look, she laughed. "Your leg?"

"Oh." Honestly, he'd forgotten. There were few parts of his body that didn't hurt and throb.

Joel watched Liv kneel down and gently grab his foot. "I'll take off your shoe, and then you'll put your foot against my shoulder."

He wanted to argue that he was reeking and she certainly didn't want his shoes off, but quickly realized that there was no use for vanity. She hadn't flinched over Ellie's wound, and he doubted that she'd be doing her job if she was that sensitive. It wasn't a luxury she could afford.

As if that isn't the world we've been living in for fifteen years.

At his nod she made short work of his laces and pulled his boot of, and even though she tried to be gentle, at her yank, he was painfully aware of his leg again. Grinding his teeth, he lifted it up to her shoulder with her help, were it fit surprisingly comfortably.

"I'll have to cut open the jeans, I'm afraid. You could take it off, but this'll be easier, especially for checking on the bandages later. Too complicated to get you in an out of it with the wet bandages, to cold to keep it off altogether. I can sow the cut back together when we get to Jackson."

There was no teasing to her voice, but Joel felt the slightest blush anyhow, much to his annoyance. "Just do what you have to."

Gracefully, she ignored his blush and slid her knife beneath the seam of his jeans. For the moment, she seemed satisfied to work, no questions shooting his way. As he watched her wrap the cut fabric up and grabbing a clean rag to wipe the mud from his leg and wound, Joel took his time to study her. He realized he hadn't really looked at her the whole time, too wound up in the anxiety to survive and Ellie's injury.

Sure, his brain had scanned her briefly, the way he was used to: she was a head smaller than him, neither skinny nor particular muscular, probably around Tommy's age. His brain had categorized that physically, she wasn't much of a challenge, then moved on to study the men. It wasn't that he thought women were no threat— he'd lived and fought with Tess long enough, god knew. His brain was just used to getting the necessary information and moving on.

Now that the immediate danger was over, his brain moved further. Up close, he was sure she was younger than Tommy, at least by a couple of years. Joel guessed she was in her mid thirties, even if her face looked younger. No lines around her eyes, no grey or white in her dirty blonde hair, that was longer than he was used to seeing. Joel assumed that was due to her living in a secure settlement, in the outside world, no one bothered with long hair or risked giving the world and others one more opportunity of getting caught or grabbed. Her face wasn't as gaunt as he was used to, helping her look younger, he assumed. She looked… healthy.

But Joel noticed the other signs too, the look in her eyes, the worried wrinkles on her forehead, the scars she carried that he could see. A cut at her throat, left by a knife pressed there. The edge of a ridged scar that peeked out above the collar of her shirt, looking like she'd been stabbed. Cuts on her arms and hands, a sizable silvery line running along the left edge of her jaw, a newer, red scar on her right temple that broke her hairline, no hair growing where the injury had left a small breach between the strands. She had seen violence.

The hands that were currently finishing wiping down his leg felt soft but calloused, obviously used to hard work, and despite their small size, they were strong.

This world had made him good at judging people out of necessity, and he wasn't surprised that she was a friend of his brothers. He wondered if there had ever been more between them. He knew his brother, and she seemed to be a good, sturdy person.

Liv poured alcohol over her hands and wiped them down, before she tilted the bottle above his leg. It stung, but Joel bit down the grunt as she cleaned the cut. As she readied himself to sew his wound, his curiosity won out.

"So, how long have you known my brother?"

She briefly glanced up at him, a small smile appearing on her lips. "Uh… We're going on seven years now."

Joel lifted his eyebrows. Tommy had told him he'd been in Jackson for four years, so that meant she'd met him before. Again, she seemed to guess his thoughts.

"I met him and Eugene in the Denver QZ, back when they were with the Fireflies."

He felt the hairs on his neck rise. "You a Firefly?"

Liv shook her head. "Nah. I've served with them for about eight months, because the only alternative was joining the military, but I never considered myself part of them." She was silent for a moment, lost in thought. " I did go to Denver to join them, but I was young and stupid and had only heard the good stories. Reality caught up fast, and I disagreed with their methods. " A grin broke across her face. " In the end, it turned out well though, because I found Tommy and Eugene, and brought them both back here."

That surprised him. "So you were livin' in Jackson before, but left? I thought this was one of the places that was more or less secure from the start?"

A sigh escaped her. "Yes, to both. I lived here with Maria— Tommy's wife— and her father. We built this place up. I was only twenty on outbreak day, and my … temper is very different from theirs, so we disagreed over the years. I was young, and thrilled by the idea of saving the world. I thought we ought to share our resources with the Fireflies, make Jackson a base. We disagreed, had a horrible fight, and I stubbornly left for Denver. Luckily, I was smart enough to first get my opinion on them before I told them about Jackson. I was disillusioned pretty fast. Denver was horrible. Violent. There was no hope in that place." She grew silent for a moment. With a sigh, she dipped her head toward his leg and bit off the thread, tying it off neatly. Joel hadn't even felt the stitches. "I befriended Tommy and Eugene though, and since they weren't happy either, we escaped a few months later when we had the chance, and came to Jackson."

He studied her and tried to draw comparisons, but he truthfully couldn't for life of him recall Maria's face. Joel was fairly sure she was blonde, too.

"So Maria is your sister."

A small smile as she pushed herself up after dressing his wound. "In all ways that matter, yes."

Joel scoffed. " You always this vague?"

Liv grinned. "Keeps you on your toes. Have to make sure you're awake. Oath and all that jazz." As he rolled his eyes, she laughed openly. " We're not sisters by blood, but she is my sister. Don't worry, there is no great mystery, there are just more pressing matters right now."

She picked up the remaining basin and placed it next to him, pushing a piece of cloth and small slip of soap into his hand afterwards. "Get yourself cleaned up. I'll go out to the stream and get some fresh water— I'll leave the door open so you can hear me. I'd rather get enough water for the rest of the night in while it's still light outside."

At his nod, she turned and carried the basin soaked with Ellie's blood outside. Joel took the cloth to the warm water and rubbed the soap into it. Now that the option to clean himself was there, he noticed how much he reeked after their days in the pit. He felt the dried mud crack on his skin whenever he moved.

The relief he felt upon rubbing his face with warm water never failed to catch him by surprise, no matter how often he was caught in the wilderness, unable to clean himself properly. Joel wiped his face, his hands, eventually surrendering, unbuttoned his shirt and dipped his head into the basin. As he started working on his chest, he heard Liv return, and murmuring to her horse in the entryway, followed by the sounds of greedy drinking.

A minute later she returned with another basin, after having secured the door again, and filled the pots on the fire. They payed each other no mind, her feeding the fire and busying herself, and him, battling the dirt on his skin. Joel thought that maybe he ought to feel embarrassed at sitting half-naked, but Liv seemed unbothered and paid him no mind, and he was too tired to care.

That was until he winced while trying to reach past his shoulder and a hand appeared next to him, softly withdrawing the cloth from his hand.

"Let me help."

Efficiently but gently Liv took the cloth to his back, wiping away the dirt. He'd had no doubt about her skill, having seen her patch them up, but the way she washed and gently massaged his sore muscles showed a skill beyond the simple stitching of a wound. Joel bit the insides of his cheeks, stifling groans of pain and the pleasure of its relief. A shiver and violent goosebumps broke across his skin, both from the icy air against his now wet skin, and the simple, almost entirely alien pleasure of being touched without the intention of harm. It shook him more than he would've expected. It was too easy forget that care was part of being human, too, when you were surrounded by nothing but violence. The things he had seen. Joel fought down the urge to run, to fight, to protect himself. He had made a choice when he had turned them back to Jackson. Ellie needed them. He couldn't be afraid, even if this all went against his instincts.

"There you go." Joel could hear the smile in her voice as she took a small dry towel and dried his back. Once she was done, she handed it to him and grabbed his shirt, caked with dirt, and studied it with a frown. "I'm afraid if I wash this, you'll freeze to death. Better to get you a bit dirty again. I'm almost sure that shouldn't kill you." With a grin, she went to one of the vacant tables and started beating his shirt against it, the dry mud cracking and bursting into clouds of dust, before returning it to him again.

"Thank you."

Cleaner, dry and warm, he already felt a lot better, and now that the most pressing matters were taken care of Joel felt heaviness settle into his bones. The muscles Liv had just cleaned and massaged felt like lead, and a yawn broke its way out of him.

A second later, a blanket hit him in the face.

"Get some sleep." It was a command, but she was smiling. "I'll make us some food and you need rest. I'll wake you once it's done. You need it… and honestly," she said, glancing about and across the huge windowed front, "I'd rather have you sleep now while it's light outside and be awake with me once it's dark. Better safe than sorry."

"Any reason to worry?" Joel thought about the ambush on the plant the last time he'd been at Jackson, and her reaction to the Hunters.

Liv hesitated. "The last time we saw Hunters was two months ago. The last stragglers, five weeks ago. Some infected cross this valley now and then, but they aren't what's worrying me. … We'll probably be fine. "

"Still. Wake me when you're done." He nodded at her, understanding her worry. He spread the blanket above himself and lay back dutifully, sleep gripping him almost immediately.

#the last of us #Joel Miller #tlou fanfic #joel x oc #tlou1 #tlou2 #the best of us #fanfic

[artificialqueens]

Found Me Right Next to You (Branjie, oneshot) - Holtzmanns

AN: Back at it again with the oneshots! This one’s been sitting in my google docs unfinished for weeks, but blackhighheels challenged me to finish it if they published their most recent quarantine fic. So, here it is. Hope you enjoy it! Thank you for the continued love that you all continue to send my fics, it makes me so happy. And a huge thank you to Writ for betaing this and also being the best hypeman to ever exist. Title from ‘Ritual’ by Wrabel.

Maybe it’s the quarantine. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s only had his cats for company.

Not that Brock really minds it much. Henry and Apollo have been sticking to his side the entire time and it’s nice, having the chance to cuddle them for more than just an evening between connecting flights out of Nashville.

Brock isn’t a homebody, not really - he’s so used to utilizing all the resources he can to ensure that he’s maximizing his engagement with the public, taking every opportunity that is worthy while flying around the globe and making sure that everyone knows who Brooke Lynn Hytes is. He’s crafted a career that’s catered to him and will take him higher and higher - at least, that’s the plan.

Except now he’s at home because it makes the most sense and it’s the safest thing to do and there’s no way he can take a flight right now, anyway. Being in this apartment makes Brock feel like the present time could easily be the months after Continental instead, back when he’d moved to Nashville and had started working at Play. Waking up and going to sleep and doing it all over again while still being at his home base makes Brock realize how much has changed since then. Because even though this isn’t his regular routine, it’s nice to have the reminder that he’s actually done something with himself.

But such an extended period of time without the noise of his gigs, without the jam-packed schedule that keeps his brain in go mode has given him time to stop. Time to think. Along with more time to actually breathe for a second, and not having to worry about having to focus on where he has to go, what obligations there are for him to fulfil next.

It’s strange, not having to live thirty minutes ahead of schedule the way he normally does. Time almost feels unreal, unimportant - a sensation that Brock hasn’t experienced before.  

It means more time on his phone, more time going through his camera roll and passing selfies that Courtney has taken on his phone, pictures of Steve sleepily eating a breakfast burrito at the airport. Endless pictures of Henry and Apollo because he’ll never have enough. It also means more time scrolling through Instagram, catching up on his feed because he doesn’t really have anything of his own to post, unless it’s his cats.

Seth texts him and asks if he’s in Toronto and Brock doesn’t really feel a pang of regret in his stomach when he says no.

He passes ads from fellow queens about online streamed shows and some other videos of them going stir crazy at home, and bites his lip when he sees posts from the local queens who are struggling. He knows the feeling. He’s glad it’s not him, but he remembers it. Wants to make it better for them.

Brock scrolls past posts from Jose but they don’t stop his heart as much as he expects them to because everything is familiar - how can it not be, when they’ve started texting again?

Sure, it’s all cat related. Jose asks him questions related to Thackery and it makes sense, because Brooke has been a cat dad forever and of course Jose wants advice. Brock had helped to pick Thackery’s name, after all. And he loves all the pictures that Jose sends him of Thackery, the daily stories of all the funny things that he does because they’re all adorable, and because Brock tells Jose stories of Henry and Apollo, too. And now Jose gets it, understands him on a different level.

Jose interrupts Brock’s scrolling with a picture of Thackery perched on along his shoulder blades while he’s lying on his stomach, and he’s all soft with his hair growing out in curls and his eyes all kind, the way they always are when he’s not tired. Jose winks at the camera and the curl in Brock’s stomach doesn’t mean anything.

JC: he gets annoyed if I try and move him

JC: this wack ass cat

BH: you secretly love it, don’t lie

JC: maybe so

JC: he weighs nothing  

JC: my heels weigh more than him

BH: he’d be tiny next to Henry and Apollo

JC: bishhhh we gotta make them meet!!!!!  

JC: when we allowed out again  

JC: I’m going stir crazy lol

BH: maybe when I get to see the Vegas show I’ll bring them with me

JC: stop getting my hopes up like that dumbass  

BH: promise I’ll come watch and bring the cats

JC: you wouldn’t bring them travelling

BH: so you’ll have to bring Thackery here, then  

Jose’s typing for long enough that Brock puts his phone down, starts petting Henry and gives him a little kiss on the top of his head, but then Brock’s FaceTime starts to ring. Jose’s face pops up on screen and he’s looking at Brock with the eyebrow raise that’s reserved specifically for him.

“Nerve, is what your ass has.” Jose tuts, and the sound makes Thackery scamper closer to him, his grey fur blocking Jose’s camera.

“God, he’s so cute. I wanna meet him so bad.” Brock has a cat weakness, everyone knows that. But he can’t help it, not when Thackery’s squished little face is so adorable.

“Gotta pay for a meet and greet. He ain’t free.” Jose scoops Thackery up into his arms, snuggles him close and Brock wishes he had the ability to travel through the screen.

“Yeah? What are you charging?” Henry climbs off of his lap and Brock feels the sudden chill, shuffles lower on his couch so he can grab the spare blanket.

Jose purses his lips. “I dunno if you can pay.” But his eyes are twinkling, a smile on his lips.

“Guess I’ll be missing out, then.” Brock’s own face pulls into the smile that is inevitable with Jose, his stomach lighter than it has been in awhile.

Brock doesn’t get it, but he supposes there’s no point in fighting it. He can just enjoy it, and talk to Jose because it’s nice, because it makes him feel happy and clearly Jose doesn’t mind, either.

It doesn’t have to mean anything.

Brock just likes it.

Jose picks his phone up with one hand, Thackery in the other and plops down on his bed, the room still so familiar to Brock despite the new painting on the wall, the sheets on the bed that he doesn’t remember. “How you keeping yourself occupied while we all in prison at home?”

Brock shrugs. “Mostly wading through my emails, they’re a mess. Trying to work out here and there, though that feels fruitless.”

“Gonna get all swole, Toes?”

Brock snorts. “As if. I’m not Kameron, I don’t have that level of dedication. I’m good with staying toned.”

“You used to look great to me.” Now Jose’s the one bringing them back there, that weird line that they both like to cross over, as if they don’t have boundaries between them.

“Used to, huh?”

Jose rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean. My ass is tryna compliment you and you’re mouthing off already.”

“Don’t act like you don’t like it.”

Brock knows that Jose does, because that’s why it’s so fun with him. That’s why they’ve started to FaceTime so much, because he’s missed the way he gets to wind Jose up a little.

And maybe he has a little smile on his face every time that he hangs up after a call from Jose, because even if they’re not physically in the same place, he always feels a little lighter, a little happier after time with him.

Brock’s kitchen looks like it’s been hit by some drag tornado, from the old shake and go wigs hanging off of the handles of his cupboards to his baby queen outfits that definitely don’t fit him anymore.

Quarantine brings out quite a few sides of Brock, including, apparently, a deep cleaner. Though now everything is beginning to look more chaotic than not, and Brock wonders how on earth he had gotten everything to fit inside the storage boxes in the first place.

His phone rings with Jose’s contact popping up on FaceTime, and he swipes to accept it without a second thought. Jose’s curls are hidden under a beanie and Brock wishes that he could reach through the camera, pull the hat off and ruffle his hair.

“Thackery missed you.” Jose holds his kitten up, who looks as if he’s already grown since their last call a few days ago.

Brock grins. “Thackery did, huh?”

“Mhm. Made me call you and everything.” Jose clicks his tongue, shrugs even as his eyes gleam.

Maybe, just maybe, Brock knows that it’s not just Thackery, not Thackery at all. Maybe it’s the little smile that Jose’s trying to keep back, the way Jose’s fingers are tapping on the table in front of him.

But then Jose’s brows knit, and he’s leaning closer in towards the screen and Brock can’t help but feel self conscious and want to pull back a little, because what’s Jose looking at?

“Why the hell are there shoes hanging from the handle of your fridge?”

Oh, yeah.

Brock has to stifle a laugh. “In the process of cleaning out all my old drag. Figured it would be best to get out everything and sort through it.”

“Chile…” Jose lets out a slow whistle. “You gone and messed up. That’s gonna take you years to clean up.”

“Good thing I have you for company while I do so then, huh?”

“Does this make me a judge on Project Runway or some shit? Do I get to judge your outfits?”

Brock holds up a rather unfortunate leopard print jumpsuit from his baby queen days, which wouldn’t be as appalling if it wasn’t green and purple. “Judge away.”

Jose physically recoils, pulling back from the screen. “You’re telling me you’ve worn that in public?”

“Shut up.” Brock snorts, placing it in his ‘toss’ pile. “It worked at the time.”

“I’m sure it did, what, in 2003?” Jose giggles the way he always does when he can’t hold himself back, when he’s excited by his roasts, and Brock makes a face.

“I’m not that much of a drag grandma!” But it’s no use, because Jose’s cracking up even harder, and so Brock sticks his tongue out at him like the twelve year old he is. “I got better outfits, I swear.”

“Pull ‘em out. Maybe model them too.”

“With no mug or any padding?” Brock raises an eyebrow.

Jose hides his laugh behind his hand. “Fashion.”

Brock can’t help but join in at that. “You’re so stupid.”

“And yet you love it.” It’s so natural, the way Jose says it, that Brock nods along, almost doesn’t realize the implications.

If there even are any implications.

With Jose, he just doesn’t know anymore.

“You find a place yet or what?” Jose’s question makes Brock wince, because it’s another reminder of the fact that he’s moving across the country without everything exactly in place like he needs it to be.

“Sort of.” Brock manages as he closes off yet another box with packing tape. “It’s not available ‘til April fifteenth, though.”

He’s going to have two weeks of managing his entire life in boxes, stacked in the corner of Bianca’s old apartment that she’s letting him stay in. He wants to get to his own apartment already, unpack everything and spread out the way that he deserves to, the way that Nashville doesn’t necessarily let him do so.

It had been a no brainer when Brock’s contract came up with his landlord, because signing his life away in Nashville for another year until next March is the last thing he wants to do. He’s been in Nashville for work, because it’s given a kickstart to his career but he’s already outgrown it. He wants more, he wants to be away from the south and closer to his friends and sunshine and beaches and-

“I know you. You’re freaking out about that, aren’t you? About the dates not lining up?”

Jose knows him too well.

“I’m not freaking out. Not really.” Okay, maybe Brock is, but he doesn’t need to show that. It’s just annoying when he can’t have everything under his control, with every last detail figured out to make sure that things happen as planned.

“Think of it this way. You’re not gonna be stuck in yeehaw-land anymore. That in itself? A cause for celebration.” Jose tips an imaginary cowboy hat and Brock’s not sure why it’s as funny as it is.

“Yeehaw-land? Nashville’s plenty progressive, y’know. All the gays live here.”

“All the yeehaw gays. Speaking of yeehaw gays, even Kameron’s left and come to LA. It’s about time your ass followed.”

“Why, you miss me?” Brock looks up at the camera, sees Jose’s indignant face but also the red on his cheeks.

“No. Only a little.” Jose’s lower lip is pushed out in the slightest pout but just enough for Brock to catch.

“Then I miss you only a little, too.” Brock waits for Jose’s telltale offended gasp, and it arrives right on cue as he stacks the boxes near his front door.

“Only a little? Bitch-”

“You said you miss me only a little, too!” Brock walks back to his phone and the crossed arms, the pout on Jose’s face makes him crack up. He’s so easy.

“You know what I meant.” Jose huffs, and Brock loves it, he really does. “So. Where you gonna stay ‘til the fifteenth, then?”

Brock doesn’t miss a beat. “What, are you inviting me to yours?”

“No-I wasn’t-I’m gonna whoop your ass.” Jose grumbles. “Just for that, you can’t stay here anyway.”

“No worries. Bianca’s got an empty pad. I’m crashing there.” If Brock hears a hmph from Jose, he ignores it. “Rooming with you would be fun, though.”

“Fun? You’re the messiest person to exist. My living room’s gonna be run over with your stuff the second you step in here.”

Brock can’t even deny it, because Jose is right. “I always cleaned up after myself though, didn’t I?”

“Only whenever you left.”

So maybe that stings more than Brock wants it to.

It’s easy to pretend like the last year has never happened, that they’re just friends and casual friends at that, that they get along easily and there’s no weird history behind the two of them at all. Except that there is, and no ignoring the elephant in the room is ever going to change it, not when neither of them can resist poking the elephant from time to time, just to see what will happen.

Brock wonders if things will change in LA. Because they’ll be within a drive of each other, not a plane ride away, because the excuse of distance won’t really apply anymore.

Well, once the pandemic is over.

The pandemic isn’t over, but Brock’s finally moved into his own place and begun to unpack his boxes and is already getting a bit of a tan from the California sun, and he feels better than he has in ages.

Henry and Apollo aren’t as traumatized by the move as Brock expected them to be, something he’s grateful for. They’re curling up on his sofa under a ray of sunlight as if they’re meant to be there and Brock supposes that maybe they are, that they all are.

He opens up FaceTime to call Jose as he finishes throwing the last of the empty boxes in his closet, because why wait to give Jose a tour of his new place when he has nothing else to do?

Jose picks up on the first ring as he always does, like Brock is used to him doing so. He’s holding up Thackery to the camera because he knows Brock’s weaknesses, and Brock can’t help the little aww that leaves his lips, not when Thackery’s sniffing the screen with interest.

“Officially moved in.” Brock grins as he says it, because he has his place, he’s home. His new home.

“That two weeks at Bianca’s wasn’t so bad, was it?” Jose lifts Thackery to sit up on his shoulder, and it amazes Brock how the cat doesn’t immediately fall off.

Brock falls onto his own couch with a sigh, squinting into the camera when the sunlight shines on his face. “Nah. But it’s nice to be done.”

“Now that you’re mostly unpacked and shit, it’s time.” Jose’s voice is suddenly all business and Brock raises an eyebrow.

“Time for what?”

“To steam clean my carpet. No, to meet Thackery, dumbass.” Jose reaches behind himself, scratches Thackery’s head, and Brock can’t resist the soft expression his face falls into.

But he can’t. “Did you forget the fact that we’re all supposed to be at home right now?”

Jose doesn’t miss a beat. “And? You just moved across the country, Miss Thing. That’s not staying home.”

“I mean, I’m technically home now.” Brock knows his argument is weak, and Jose does too, from the look that he throws at him on camera.

“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

“What if I accidentally give you the coronavirus or something? Maybe I’m carrying it from all the travelling. I don’t wanna be the reason you end up in the hospital.” Sure, it’s far fetched, but who knows, really? What if meeting up really is dangerous?

Except Jose pays no attention, letting out a snort. “Listen to yourself. Besides, if I get Miss Rona, I’m also gonna get you to nurse me back to health. So it’s a win-win.”

“You think I’m gonna play nurse for you?”

“I know you’re gonna play nurse for me.” Jose grabs Thackery, holds him up to the camera. “Look. Thackery’s even crying a little ‘cause you won’t visit him. You wanna make my cat all sad?”

Brock lets out a laugh. “Now you’re being ridiculous.”

“You’re making this newborn baby cry, that’s what’s ridiculous. Now come see him. When’s the last time you had some human contact in person, anyway?”

“I had movers help me yesterday.” Brock offers, but he knows it’s a weak defense.

It makes Brock weigh his options after he hangs up, ping pong them back and forth in his brain. He’s the kind of person who blooms in solitude, who finds the lack of interaction restful because his brain needs the time off. So quarantine has been helpful, really, in giving him that downtime, the opportunity to stop thinking every minute of the day and following his schedule down to the second. His biggest obligation has been feeding his cats and occasionally himself, too, a far cry from what he’d been doing a few months ago.

But as nice as it is, it has been a long time. Especially when the last ones to cuddle him were his own cats.

He’s only one person, so what harm could going to Jose’s do, anyway? Except that they’re not supposed to, they’re supposed to stay home, and what if Brock messes things up for everyone else by visiting Jose?

But he’s also now moved across the country, which definitely hasn’t helped by any means. So what will a measly visit to Jose’s house really do, anyway?

Besides, Brock misses him.

Brock’s phone buzzes, and it’s a picture of Jose with Thackery on his lap, mid meow. Brock wonders if he really has a choice in the matter.

He’ll stay in Jose’s front doorway, maybe, not come inside. He’ll keep a six feet distance. He’ll be socially conscious as he should be.

Jose’s bed is as comfy as Brock remembers it to be.

He’d been planning on staying in Jose’s entrance and keeping his jacket on and leaving after five minutes, really, he had. But then Jose had thrown himself onto Brock in a hug and buried his face against his chest and Brock couldn’t help but squeeze him tighter because he’d missed him.

And what’s the point of staying six feet apart now, anyway?

Brock’s back on his side of the bed and Jose isn’t beside him because he’s gone to make some popcorn in the microwave, so he’s scrolling through his Instagram. There’s a picture hanging on Jose’s wall that hadn’t been there before, and he’s changed the organization of his makeup on his vanity mirror. But everything else is the same - the drag tucked in Jose’s closet, the curtains along the window that always let the light in when the sun rises, the pictures on Jose’s dresser that he has of Alexis and his mom and his friends back in Tampa and-

Jose’s put a picture of the two of them up, too. The one where Jose’s resting his head on his lap and they’re in the backseat of an Uber enjoying Chicago together, alone for the first time in what back then had felt like months. It’s the same photo that Brock still has in his ‘favourites’ album on his phone, because he’s never gotten around to removing it. Not that he ever will.

The way his heart flips doesn’t mean anything, because it’s just normal with Jose, that’s all. Jose always makes Brock smile and makes him happy and maybe a little tentative but that’s their status quo, it’s what he expects with him.

It’s just nice to see that Brock’s up there for Jose with everyone else, too.

One of the younger local queens from Toronto is on Instagram Live, and Jose’s still in the kitchen, so Brock clicks on her profile because he wants to get to know the newer ones a little bit better. Miss Fiercalicious is exactly how Brock remembers her from whenever he’d gone back to visit last, and it’s fun, shooting the shit about straight celebrities that they’d like to put in drag, especially when Jose pops his head in the doorway.

“What about Troye Sivan? I’d wanna make him over.”

Brock’s not sure if Jose’s voice is loud enough to carry over the microphone, or if they should even show that they’re hanging out, but he can’t resist a snort. “Troye Sivan is not straight.”  

Jose’s walking over with Thackery after dropping the bowl of popcorn on his dresser and maybe things don’t matter anymore, maybe Brock doesn’t really care about the implications of what could happen because he turns the camera towards Jose, gives the phone to him.

Except it’s hard to talk when Brock’s brain is mush, when Jose’s grinning like that and dropping Thackery on his lap, when the queens on their screen are confused but excited as hell. What words matter, anyway, when Jose’s plopping himself down on the bed beside him as if no time has passed at all, curling into his side and fitting perfectly?

He ends the livestream and Jose is looking up at him with an eyebrow raised, a silent question that Brock doesn’t know how to answer. So he just shrugs, tugs his arm around Jose in a little bit tighter.

They don’t have to figure everything out now, not when they have seemingly endless time ahead of them. But somehow, this feeling of coming home is exactly what Brock has needed, and one that he doesn’t want to let go.

Tags: branjie, brooke lynn hytes, vanessa vanjie mateo, canon compliant, holtzmanns,

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #canon compliant #holtzmanns

[shanastoryteller]

Hey, I love your gods&monsters series, could you write something about Apollo? ^Preferably something with a positive vibe, something romantic... But that's totally up to you, anything about Apollo makes me happy

Apollohas many sons.

He onlyever has nine daughters.

~

He hashis first when he’s young, too young to know better.

Daphneis beautiful and coy, and leads him on a merry chase. He catches her, and finallysilences her laughing mouth with his own. They sleep together, and she leavesbite marks up his neck.

Herfather, the river god Peneus, finds out about them. Apollo had not known it wassecret. Peneus is a hard, selfish god, and he slits Daphne’s throat for herimpurity. Better a dead daughter then one who does not listen.

Apollofinds out too late. He arrives to Daphne dead on the side of her father’sriverbank, stomach swollen in a way Apollo doesn’t remember it being the lasttime he saw her, which was – which was – it couldn’t have been that long, couldit?

He cutsopen her stomach, throat too tight to call for his sister’s help, heart tootight to bear anyone else looking at Daphne’s slack, bloody face.

Thechild is still warm.

Thechild is still alive.

Hecannot bring himself to bury Daphne, to sentence her to an afterlife beneaththe earth. Instead, he transforms her into a large laurel tree, so her beautywill remain eternal. He presses a hand against her trunk and says, “My hairwill have you, my lyre will have you, my quiver will have you.” Apollo looksdown at the baby, too small, tucking into the crook of his arm. “Our daughterwill have you.”

Hecalls her Calliope. Their daughter weaves laurel leaves into her hair every dayof her life.

~

When heis older, but not wiser, he gets drunk on the top of Olympus. It is not thefirst time, nor the last, but this time it is different.

Thistime Hestia, goddess of the hearth, of warmth, of family, places her delicatehand around the back of his neck and leads him to her rooms.

Monthslater, he lands his chariot, the sun finally set. His arms are shaking, and hislegs are covered from burns when the sun grew tired and tried to consume him,but could not. Hestia stands before him, something held in her arms. “What’swrong?” he asks roughly, throat dry and the skin of his lips cracking. Hestiararely leaves Olympus.

“I amno mother,” she tells him, and he doesn’t understand until she places a warm,squirming bundle in his arms. He holds it to his chest automatically. “Her nameis Terpsichore.”

Sheleaves before he has the chance to question her. He looks down, and the babyhas his golden eyes and her dark hair. “Hello, little one.”

Calliopeis fully grown now. Apollo leaves Terpsichore in her care, and promises to comewhen called.

“Yes,Father,” Calliope says, rolling her eyes as her little sister grabbing fistfulsof her curly hair. There’s an ink smudge across her face, and her home isbursting with books. He should really talk to Athena about letting Calliope useone of her libraries.

Hekisses both their foreheads before leaving.

~

Apollofalls in love with a Spartan prince, graceful and strong and with a wide,pretty mouth. He falls in love with a mind that can match him, with a smilethat leaves him breathless. Hyacinth captures his affections and attentionsutterly, and for a few short years Apollo is enchanted, for a few short yearsApollo feels a love deep in his chest that is only surpassed by the love he hasfor his sister.

ThenHyacinth is killed.

Heshows up at his daughters’ door, and Calliope and Terpsichore take one look athim and usher him inside. He can’t bring himself to speak, but he’s covered inblood that isn’t his own, is pale and shaken and mourning.

Theyclean him and care for him and settle him to bed, although he cannot bringhimself to sleep.

Lessthan a week later, there is a mortal woman there looking for him. Her eyes arered, but she stands tall and her lips are pressed into a straight line. Atoddler who shares her dark coloring clutches her skirt. “I am the Princess ofSparta, and wife of Hyacinth.”

Apollohadn’t known Hyacinth had a wife. He hadn’t asked. Surely he would have noticed– but then again, perhaps not. Love makes people stupid. “I am sorry for yourloss.”

“As Iam sorry for yours,” she says in return, which surprises him. “Sparta must havea prince. I am to be remarried.” She brings the little girl forward, and shecan’t be more than a couple years old. “This is Urania, the child of myself andmy husband. I have been ordered to kill her.”

Apolloflinches. He knows such things are done, but – she is Hyacinth’s daughter. “Iwill take her.”

Shesmiles. “I thought you might.” She kisses the girl on both cheeks, hands her toApollo, then leaves as quickly as she’d came.

Uraniawatches them with big liquid eyes that she got from her mother. He stays withhis daughters for a year after that, playing with Urania and watchingTerpsichore dance and listening to Calliope’s beautiful poetry. Urania lovesthe stars. She stares up at them each night, and Apollo patiently explains thename of each one.

Whenshe is fully grown, he begs a piece of ambrosia off Hestia and feeds it to her.

Uraniais his daughter as surely as if his blood ran through her veins. He cannot bearto watch her age and die.

~

Marpessachooses Ida over him, but it is too late. She already swells with his child,and he could use that to keep her. He could force her to stay at his side, sheloves him, she said so, it would not be such a cruel thing.

But sheis not wrong in her assessment. Apollo is immortal, and will not grow old withher, will not change with her, will not die with her. Ida will.

There’sfear on her face, and he thinks she deserves it, for proclaiming to love himand choosing another. But he is not interested in keeping her captive for alifetime.

“Havethe child, and give it to me,” he commands, “and I will leave you to yourlife.”

Ida isfurious in his jealousy that Marpessa will bear a child for Apollo before shebears a child for him, so there is that comfort, at least.

Artemisdelivers the child to ensure it goes smoothly. She’s beaming as she holds herniece. “What will you call her?”

“Youchoose,” he says, running the back of his finger over the babe’s soft cheek.

Hissister considers the squalling child for a long moment before she says, “Ithink you should name her Thalia.”

“Thaliait is,” he says.

She’smischievous, and reminds him of himself on his worst days. She grows, and pullspranks on nymphs and deities. Her older sisters are constantly straining tokeep her out of worse trouble.

He getsa frantic message from Calliope that Thalia has gone missing, and he eventuallyfinds her at the edge of a scorched battlefield, the soldiers long gone but thebodies and stench remaining. He’s furious at her for going to a place sodangerous, but when he marches up to her he sees something that he hadn’texpected.

She’s hallwaythrough a story about pranking a wood nymph that he knows is at least half liesand a quarter exaggeration. Curled up on the ground, clutching his stomach ashe laughs so hard he can’t breathe, is Ares.

Apollohasn’t seen the tormented god of war this carefree since he was a child.

Thaliafinally notices him, and cuts herself off, paling. “Oh, uh. Hi Dad.”

Ares isdownright giggling. “Hello Thalia,” Apollo crosses his arms and glares,“You shouldn’t go wandering away from your sisters.” She winces and nods,ducking her head to look up at him through her eyelashes, doing her best tolook contrite and innocent.

Itmight have worked, if Apollo hadn’t taught her that look himself.

He sitsdown on the ground next to Ares, who doesn’t acknowledge his presence beyondshifting enough to use Apollo’s thigh as his pillow. “Well,” Apollo says, “keepgoing.”

Thalialights up and launches back into the story, and when she finishes she continuesinto another which is mostly true and somehow even more ridiculous.

~

Becausehe’s an idiot with a death wish, Apollo ends up spending a monthwith Hecate in the underworld. He stumbles out one night when she falls asleep,because he feels if he doesn’t leave now there’s a possibility that he neverwill.

One ofthe most horrifying moments of his life is looking for the way out, and findingHades instead. The god of death looks to him, walking around naked in hisrealm, to the direction he came from, and says, “That was you? Are youcrazy?”

“It …it was a good time,” he says faintly.

“Obviously,”Hades shakes his head, and slices his hand down in the air in front of them,creating a doorway for Apollo out of his realm.

Apollogives him a clumsy salute and steps through.

Roughlya year later, he’s playing his lyre when a little girl with black skin and greyhair and eyes appears in front of him. It’s terrifying enough that heaccidentally snaps one of his strings.

“LadyStyx,” he says, voice higher pitched than normal. “Is there something I canhelp you with?”

Thechild snorts and reaches her hands into absolutely nothing and pulls outa baby. She holds it out to him. “Hecate says this is your problem now.”

Improbably,the babe already has a mouth full of too-sharp teeth. Her eyes shift betweenevery color, unable to decide, and there is something a little too knowingabout her face for one so young. Artemis says he too was born knowing too much.

A childof Apollo and Hecate can only be a mistake, something that will never fit quitewell among others of her own kind.

Hesighs and take the baby. “Very well.”

“I likethe name Clio,” the child goddess says before leaving him.

Thaliatells him it’s too small and to give it back. Urania is fascinated, and takesover most of the child’s care, which is likely for the best since Calliope isneck deep into a new epic, and would be cross if she needed to pull herattention from it to rear a child.

As Clioages, she stays just as unsettling and strange. Hephaestus shows up around thetime she starts breaking into Athena’s libraries, even though stunts like thatget people worse than killed. “I don’t know why she gave her to me,” Apollosays as they watch the teenager devouring a stolen tome on the history of thePersian Empire. “Hecate raised you, I don’t understand why she didn’t want toraise her actual daughter.”

“You’rea better parent than she is,” he says thoughtfully. Apollo gives him anunimpressed look, but he says, “I’m serious. Your girls are turning out to bequite lovely – all of them.”

“Ofcourse they are,” he says, nose in the air, but grins when Hephaestus elbowshim the side.

By thetime she’s an adult, Clio is easily one of the most accomplished scholars toever exist. She and Athena regularly get into academic debates that last weeks,and scare off anyone from daring to come closer.

Shestays strange, and too smart, and Apollo loves her utterly.

~

Apollois lying on the beach when a large wave overtakes him and drags him into thesea. He struggles for the surface, but can’t seem to shake the waves, and isdragged to the sea floor. He’s a god, so he won’t suffocate, but he’s terrifiedwhen the water drags him down to Poseidon’s palace and deposits him in front ofhis wife. “Apollo,” she says, “I can see what your daughters will become.”

He hasno idea what she’s talking about. “Excuse me?”

Amphitritegrabs his jaw and pulls him closer. He doesn’t dare resist. She looks into hiseyes, then smirks. “The god of prophecy doesn’t know that which he has wrought.How … ironic.”

“Isit?” he wonders. He really hopes she doesn’t kill him.

“Quite,”she smirks, and with a flick of her wrist she’s naked before him. “I wish forone of your daughters to be mine as well. Lay with me.”

“Uh,”he says eloquently, because Amphitrite has never given her husband anychildren, he hadn’t even known she could. If he sleeps with her, Poseidon mightkill him, regardless of how many people the god of the sea sleeps with thataren’t his wife. But if he refuses her, shemight kill him, and it’s not like having sex with Amphitrite is any sort ofhardship. She’s as gorgeous as she is terrifying. “Okay.”

He’sdeposited back on the shore the next day, feeling oddly used.

IfPoseidon has any opinions on Apollo knocking up his wife, he doesn’t voicethem.

Amphitritedoesn’t foist the baby upon him as soon as she’s born. Instead years pass, andone day a dark skinned, amber eyed sea god shows up at his door. There’s ateenager at his side, who has Apollo’s coloring and Amphitrite’s bonestructure, and hair that shimmers golden-green in sunlight. “Glaucus,” Apollogreets warily, “and who might this be?”

“I callher Erato,” Glaucus says, “I’ve raised her since birth. It’s time for her tojoin her sisters.”

Eratois not as terrifying as her mother. Instead there’s a sweetness about her thatshe must have gotten from Glaucus. She’s shy at first, and spends many dayslooking out into the sea. But his daughters are persistent, and soon she’slaughing and joining them. There’s something dreamy about her, and she loveslove, writes romantic ballads and beautiful poems, so much so that Aphroditecommends her talent.

Eratois also the most like him in the area of her love life, meaning she leavesbehind a constant trail of heartbroken men and women.

Calliopecomplains about the constant wailing around their home, and Clio proves she hassome of her mother’s talent with magic when she casts an unplotable spellaround their home so former lovers stop following Erato home. Of course, sheforgets to tell both Apollo and her sisters about this, and it’s very confusingfor everyone until Clio remembers to tell them where the house is.

Hisdaughters’ home is a place of constant music, poetry, and literature. He thinkshe’s starting to suspect what Amphitrite was talking about.

~

Not allhunts are easy things.

Apollofeels the moment his sister is wounded, the arrow through her abdomen aspainful for him as it is for her. He’s in his chariot, and he can’t leave it,if he leaves his chariot unattended the sun will consume it, and then consumethe earth. “Calliope!” he snaps, and his eldest daughter appears by his side.

“Father?”she asks, huddling into him and away from the sun. “What’s going on?”

“Artemisis hurt, I have to help,” he says urgently, and places the reins into herhands. “You can do this.”

Shepales, but steps forward, keeping a white knuckled grip on the chariot. “Go.”

Hekisses his forehead, and goes to his sister. Her huntresses have set up anhonor guard around her, defending and dying as cruel faced giants draws closer.“ARES!” he screams, and he doesn’t know what they’re fighting for, what thiswar is about, but it doesn’t matter. “WE NEED YOU!”

The godof war appears, and he’s clearly come from some other battle, covered in mudand other worse things. He throws himself into the battle, but it’s not untilthey gain more aid that the tides turn in their favor.

Hefirst sees Erato on the field, water swirling around her as she slices throughthem all, the power of her mother making her golden eyes glow. Clio is at herback, the glittering magic Hecate passed on to her filling her hands.

Thaliahas long curved knives flying from her fingers, and all who face her don’tfigure out they’re dead until she’s already left them behind. Urania is lettingloose arrows against the giants and though she’s not his by blood, not agoddess by birth, none would know it watching each of her arrows hit true andtake down another enemy.

Terpsichoreuses her honed abilities of dance differently here on the battlefield, twirlingand ducking around enemies with her sword flashing as it slices through all whogo against her. Celestial fire licks up the sword, and the daughter of Hestiaand Apollo is laughing as she dances through the battlefield.

Hewants to yell at them, to tell them to get off the battlefield, to get tosafety. But it is thanks to them that the fight is being won, so he saysnothing.

Areslooks around, grimaces, and catches Apollo’s eye before he disappears from thebattle. They must be invoking his name. Apollo is only grateful he managed tostay as long as he did.

Thegiants are all dead by the time Apollo manages to make it to his sister’s side.She’s pale and covered in blood, her huntresses seated around her and trying tostop the bleeding. “What were you thinking?” Apollo demands, grabbing her handand pushing her hair from her forehead. Terpsichore comes forward and lays herburning sword against the wound, sealing and cauterizing it at once. BothApollo and Artemis scream

“They –took – a – child,” she pants, leaning in for his touch, for his comfort, and hehas never been able to deny her anything. He pulls her up, biting back a screamat the pain that rips through them both, and props her up against his chest. “A– nymph’s child. Zeus’s child. They killed – it’s mother. That – that sort ofinjustice will – will not be – tolerated.” She lays her head back against hisshoulder, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes, and Apollo almost wishesthe battle were not over, because he wants to murder something.

“I’llget it,” Erato says, and a moment later she returns with a toddler in her arms.She has the copper skin of Zeus, and pale blonde hair. “What do we do now? Zeusdoes not care for his children.”

“Ithink it’s time you became a big sister,” Thalia says, and Erato looksstricken. “Right Dad?”

Helooks to his sister, who nods. “I can think of no better place for her. Shecannot stay with me – a hunting party is not place for children.”

“Verywell,” he sighs. “Does she have a name?”

Thegirl attempts to hide behind Erato’s hair, then says, “I am Euterpe.”

“Welcome,Euterpe,” he says.

It’sthen that the sun finally sets, and Calliope stumbles into existence next tothem. She’s covered in deep, bleeding burns, but it’s not as bad he feared it wouldbe. She’s certainly faired better at her first time driving the chariot than hehad. “What’s happening? Is everything all right?”

“Wehave a new sister,” Thalia says brightly, even as Clio rushes forward to tendto her burns.

Euterpe,thankfully, seems to inherit none of Zeus’s madness. She has a singing voicelike a clear bell, and soon surpasses even Calliope’s talent with the lyre.

Heknows, technically, that Euterpe is his half-sister. But it takes him no timeat all to regard her as his daughter, to love her with same simple ferocity as heloves her sisters.

~

For awhile, all is well, is quiet. His daughters are all fully grown, accomplishedand beautiful.

ThenDemeter corners him when he’s walking through quiet city and pins him againstan alley wall. “If Amphitrite thinks she can one up me over this,” the goddesshisses, “she’s sorely mistaken.”

Atleast this time he knows what’s going on when Demeter starts pulling her dressoff. “You can’t raise the child,” he says. He’s not adverse to laying withDemeter, although at this rate it looks like there will be less laying and morestanding against a rough alley wall. But Demeter only knows how to love in away that crushes all it touches. He won’t let her do that to his child.

“Fine,”she snaps, “Now get moving.”

He’svaguely terrified the whole time, and it mostly reminds him of his month withHecate. He’s left alone and naked in the alleyway an hour later.

Ninemonths later, a baby is delivered to his door by a nervous wood nymph. Hisdaughter still has the squashed appearance of a freshly born baby. “She didn’twaste any time,” he comments, settling her into the crook of his arms. “Doesshe have a name?”

“Polyhymnia,my lord,” the wood nymph says, then bows before fleeing.

Hebrings her to the home where all his daughters live.

Shegrows, and she’s the spitting image of Demeter, of Persephone back when sheanswered to the name Kore. Her voice is lower than Euterpe’s, but just as prettyand when they sing together it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.She’s quiet, and thoughtful, her big brown eyes watching all around her with ameasured stare.

Polyhymniaasks after her mother, something none of the others had done, and Apollodoesn’t know what to say. The truth is too callous, but he can’t bear to lie toher. Instead he begs an audience with Persephone, and says, “Your sister asksafter the mother you share. I don’t know what to tell her.”

Persephonehas no advice to offer, but she starts spending some of her time outside of theunderworld with Polyhymnia. It is enough, and her questions stop, and Apollotries not to feel guilty that he never really answered them.

~

Cassandrais unlike any woman he’s ever met, unlike any person he’s ever met, and theflames of love and passion burn inside him in a way they haven’t since hisHyacinth died.

She’sbull headed and irritating, and whenever he tries to complain about it Artemisrolls her eyes and his daughters laugh at him. He supposes he’s not doing avery good job hiding that he’s in love with her. Not even from her, because atone point she crossly asks if he’s ever planning to do anything with her, or ifshe should accept the offer from the butcher’s son.

Theydon’t leave her house for five days.

She iscurious, hungry for knowledge, hungrier for it then she is of him. She wants toknow impossible things, wants to be an impossible thing, and so Apollo laughsand takes her hand and says, “I will make you a bargain. I will give you thegift of prophecy, if you will grant me the gift of your hand.”

He’snever take a bride before. He hasn’t wanted to.

Cassandrais screaming and laughing, and she throws her arms around his neck and kisseshim until she’s breathless. He takes it as a yes.

That’swhen everything goes horribly, incredibly wrong.

It’stoo much, all the horror she sees is too much, and Apollo tries to tell her tofocus on the good, to see the happiness of the future. But she can’t, gets toocaught up in too many wars, and she wastes away in front of his eyes even asher stomach swells.

Hetries to take back the gift, tries to save her, but he can’t. It cannot beungiven, and his headstrong, vivacious lover fades before his eyes. He onlymanages to alter it, to change it so no one believes the horrible things she criesto prevent the horror people feel when she looks at them and screams the waythat they’ll die.

Artemishelps deliver their child, but halfway through her face goes pinched andworried, and Apollo knows that Cassandra won’t make it.

“I’msorry,” he weeps, kissing her gaunt face, feeling the sharpness of hercheekbones under his lips, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know this would happen. I didn’twant this to happen.”

Shelooks at him with glassy eyes, barely reacts when Artemis places their child onher chest. There’s a growing pool of blood under her, but she can’t be saved,she will die, here, now.

Apollowonders if she saw this coming.

Sheblinks, and meets his gaze with a sharpness and awareness he hasn’t seen for along time. “She is your last daughter,” Cassandra says, “Melpomene is the lastdaughter you will have.”

Hekisses her, his last chance to do so.

She’sdead before his lips leaves hers.

Apollotries to flee, to run from the claws tearing apart his heart, but Artemisdoesn’t let him. She yanks him back and pushes Melpomene into his arms. “Youcan’t leave,” she says harshly, “She needs you. Your daughter needs you. You’renot allowed to run.”

Hecrumples, leaning his head onto his sister’s shoulder as he sobs, and hercalloused hand grasps the back of his neck. Melpomene is stuck between them,soft and warm and alive.

Timepasses.

Melpomeneis Thalia’s other half, her best friend, and they do everything together. Herdark hair is a mass of unruly curls just like her mother, her laughter is just likeher mother’s.

She,like her sisters, is his pride and his joy.

~

Apollohas nine daughters

Calliope,who reigns over written epics.

Terpsichore,who reigns over dance.

Urania,who reigns over astronomy.

Thalia,who reigns over comedy.

Clio,who reigns over history.

Erato,who reigns over love poetry.

Euterpe,who reigns over song.

Polyhymnia,who reigns over hymns.

Melpomene,who reigns over tragedy.

Theyare known as the Muses.

gods and monster series, part xxi

read more of the gods and monsters series here

#gods and monsters series #apollo #daphne #hestia #calliope #hyacinth #urania #marpessa #thalia #hecate #styx #clio #amphitrite #erato #artemis #euterpe #demeter #polyhymnia #cassandra #melpomene #muses #the muses #mythology #greek mythology #greek myth #omg wow #so long as always #and as always i'm so sorry #i literally get like an insane amount of requests for apollo #and i can't possibly do all of them

[thiswasinevitableid]

Can you do 60 for indruck, NSFW? Thank you so much! Love your work!

Here it is! I set it in the same world as this sternclay fill. Credit to @bellafarallones for playing in this space on discord. Apollo is from my Super hero AU

“All I’m sayin is it seems mighty unfair to me that one fella gets a handler-assistant type deal and the rest of us don’t.” Duck crosses his arms as Ned fiddles with the pen on his desk.

“You’re not wrong, dear boy, but Apollo was in high demand from the higher ups-”

“Because he’s a shallow dipshit with a mean streak who’ll be good for ratings?”

“Precisely. He demanded in his contract that we allow his twin to continue his work as his photographer and assistant. He has over a million followers on Instagram, so those photos will be a boost to the show. Just try to get along for the camera’s?”

“His brother ain’t even on camera.” Duck mutters.

“I meant with Apollo.”

Duck shrugs, defeated, “sure thing, Ned.”

As he walks back to the main house, he mulls over the fact that the twin (Indrid, he thinks that’s the guys name) bugs him more than Apollo does. Apollo is vain, mean, and selfish, but at least that gets him things, even makes sense for the kind of show they’re on. Indrid gains nothing by helping him out here. Except protection from the bully, which Duck finds to be the worst kind of cowardice. Hopefully Vincent, this season’s bachelor, will see through the “influencer” and send him packing ASAP.

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

Four weeks in, and this is exactly what Duck was worried about. Not only is Indrid hovering around his brother like a nervous moth (excet when cameras are near, at which point he ducks out of frame), he’s doing fucking nothing to reign him in.

A few frontrunners are starting to emerge, and with that claws are coming out. Barclay, a chef and all around nice guy, is the target of choice. Nico and Josh both took bites out of him this morning. But Apollo sunk his teeth in like a dog on a fox, calling him, among other things, a pathetic, six-foot puppy dog who no man would ever want. The cook left noticeably teary eyed. Duck was about to block the cameras from following when Joseph beat him to it. Which is weird, because he thought Joe couldn’t stand Barclay. Apollo flounces off, but Duck corners Indrid where he’s been stoically watching his brother be a raging asshole.

“What the fuck man?”

‘Wrong twin.” Indrid says flatly, indicating his silver hair, tied back in a half-bun. His dark roots are showing and his eyebrows are black, unlike Apollo’s immaculate blonde dye job and bleached brows.

“Nope, right one. You’re his handler, cant’ you fuckin intervene when he’s doin’ shit like that? Or are you just here to let him hurt whoever he feels like?”

Indrid fixes him with a bitter smile, “If there were a way to make my brother be kind or, indeed, see others as people, don’t you think I’d have found it and used it everyday since?”

“I-”

“You people have no idea how much I’m already doing. I kept him from going after you yesterday by reminding him he looks ugly when he yells on camera. And if nothing else console yourself with the fact you all have only to deal with him for a few months. Some of us have endured twenty-eight years of it.”

With that, he turns and stalks from the room. As he leaves, Duck can’t shake the thought that his black denim jacket and worn jeans fit him better than Apollo’s designer ones ever could.

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

Indrid understands why there’s so much alcohol on set, but he can’t partake (too bitter) and it makes Apollo even harder to handle than usual. Which is why Indrid is out on the grounds at ten p.m, intending to hide from his brother until dawn.

At six weeks in, fan favorites are getting more established and Indrid, needing to predict Apollo’s mood in order to do his job, is keeping a close eye on them. His twin is well-liked for being snarky and hot, though he suspects the large number of contestants means there have been limited chances for his unpleasant side to be showcased. Joseph is another, because of course he is, movie-star handsome with an interesting past. Barclay is beloved for the very things that the other contestants torment him for. And Duck? Duck is quickly becoming the one people think Vincent will choose.

Indrid thinks they’re right. He’s charming in an understated way, funny, and while Apollo needles him for his “dad bod,” Indrid and Vincent have both noticed the muscles in his arms. Who gives a damn about flat abs? Indrid would much rather have something soft to rest his head on while those green eyes look lovingly down at him. His crush on Duck is useless, persistent, and must be hidden from Apollo at all costs.

His foot catches something solid and he tumbles over the obstacle to land ass-first on the lawn.

“Ow.” He glares at the object. The object turns out to be Duck Newton, who's obviously drunk as he sits up.

“Sorry man, thought no one’d come out here. Oh it’s you, it's, uh, fuck, fuck c'mon” he snaps his fingers as he searches his thoughts, “It's cute Apollo!”

“Indrid.” Surely Duck didn’t mean to use that adjective. Right?

“No, I’m Duck?”

He snickers, “No, I meant I’m Indrid.”

“Ohhh, right. You're Indrid. I'm Duck. That's the big dipper” He points at the sky. Indrid follows the line and grins, delighted.”

“It is!”

“Uhhuh. C'mere, can show you more.” Duck pats the spot beside him and lays back. Indrid scoots closer and reclines as well, making appreciative sounds each time Duck shows him a constellation.

As they’re studying the sky, the other man whispers, “Can I tell you a secret? I, I think Joe’n Barclay are into each other now."

“The way they look at each other is not exactly subtle.”

‘“Heh, yeah.” he links his hands across his belly, “I think they're in love. You ever been in love?”

“No.” He sighs, not wanting to dwell on that pile of baggage, “You?”

“Nope. And, uh, don’t, don’t tell anyone but I don't think I am with Vincent. Maybe I could be? Does that make me a bad person? He's nice, think he likes me a lot but, I, I dunno.”

“Not being in love with someone doesn’t make you a bad person. No more than loving someone does.”

Indrid is hard to surprise; years of getting out ahead of his brother and father taught him how to see things coming. But nothing could prepare him for Duck rolling to hide his face against Indrid’s chest. Not knowing what else to do, he pats his back, notices a woodsy scent tingling his nose.

“You smell good.” He winces; that was too creepy, now Duck will pull the comforting bulk of his body away.

“Thanks. I bought a bunch of cologne when I realized I was actually going to be a contestant. News clothes too. Thought it would give me an edge but...I dunno, can't compete with a guy like your brother.”

“Join the club.” Indrid reaches up to toy with a lock of Duck’s black hair, expecting Duck to bat him away. Instead, he sighs and turns his head to give Indrid better access.

“You could compete with ‘im. You're cuter. Nicer too.”

“Oh. Ah. Thank you.”

Duck’s fidgets with the mothman pin on Indrid’s jacket, “You wanna cuddle?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“No one cuddles with me. And we ain’t allowed to cuddle Vincent yet.” He looks up, lips pouting just enough to be charming.

Indrid let’s a purr enter his voice, “That’s a shame. I’m happy to cuddle.”

Duck rolls more of his body onto Indrid, resolutely nestling his head under his chin and tangling their legs together. His hands stay on Indrid’s chest and shoulders, though he’s now drunkenly petting Indrid’s collarbone, making him shiver. He expends four months worth of daring in a second, wrapping his arms around the curves of Duck’s torso. When Duck’s fingers brush skin instead of shirt, Indrid whimpers, then bites his lip and prays it went unnoticed.

“You don’t get cuddled much either, do you?” Duck murmurs thoughtfully.

“No.”

“Damn shame, you’re real good at it. Can cuddle me any time.”

Indrid “mmhmms” knowing the promise is like the stars; bright and comforting in the darkness, but ultimately beyond his reach.

Three day later, he drops his guard; Apollo’s been on his good behavior since Vincent’s been spending more time with him. You’d think Indrid would learn by now that all his venom has to go somewhere.

He’s huddled down in the rec room trying not to cry; it’s pathetic enough that he let such childish insults get to him, but to cry over them would confirm everything his brother said.

“Indrid? You, uh, you okay?” Duck’s reflection in the darkened T.V approaches his own.

“I'm fine.” It’s the same inflection he’s used hundreds of times, but Duck sits down on the couch all the same.

“Do you, uh, need a hug?’

“No.” He replies a hair too quickly.

“Do you want one?”

“......Badly.”

Duck opens his arms and Indrid shifts on the cushions, doing his best to curl his long limbs so they’ll fit in his embrace. The shorter man notices, concern flashing on his face.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not particularly.”

“Okay. You, uh, wanna hear the most exciting news of the day?” He waits for Indrid to nod, “there was a cougar sightin’ in the foothills near here!”

“That is both very exciting and alarming.”

“Doubt it’d go after folks, they try to steer clear of people. We don’t have ‘em back home, but you learn what to do when you’re also learnin how to deal with bears.”

“How does one deal with a bear? Other than buying them a drink.”

Duck snorts, relaxes further into the couch, “Depends on how soon you see ‘em…”

They emerge two hours later, and Indrid is so engrossed in their conversation about hiking incidents that he runs smack into a camera man. While he’s apologizing profusely, Duck guffaws, steadies him, and leads him off in search of somewhere to watch the sunset.

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

“Oooh, ooh, look, sea lions!” Indrid points to the distant wharf.

“Good eye. Man, those fuckers are big. Glad none of ‘em were in the water when we did that fuckin cliff dive.”

“I for one would pay good money to see my brother chased by a sea lion.”

Duck chuckles, pops the tab on his WhiteClaw. They’re having dinner on the beach, a gourmet spread meant to encourage them to show off their pallets. Indrid took Barclay’s recommendation and ordered the whole, grilled snapper, which he assumed he’d be eating alone; Vincent’s attention has been on Duck ever since he went swimming this morning. Duck seems to be enjoying it, but come dinner time he demurred (“gotta let some of the other fellas have a chance”) and brought his basket of fried oysters over to join Indrid on the sand.

“Speakin of your brother, kinda surprised he didn't make any digs at this whole, uh, situation.” Duck gestures to the torso Indrid is currently aching to lick droplets of saltwater from. To subdue the craving, he licks salt from his fingers before replying.

“I, ah, the last time he tried to, I reminded him of all the pictures I have of him eating. He hates to be seen eating. Most of the time.” He tilts his head towards his twin, who’s chowing down next to Vincent without a care for the cameras. Indrid sets his hand on the warm sand, “I’ve been trying to, well, reign him in as you suggested. Or at least make him think twice about his choices.”

(Indrid omits the part where he’s most likely to risk it if Duck is the one with the target on his back).

Duck sets his hand down beside Indrid’s, brushes sand from the side of it with a calloused thumb, “Mighty good of you. But, uh, think I mighta read things wrong that day. You gotta handle him how you think best. Just, uh, just promise me you won’t sacrifice your own well-bein’ for my sake, or anyone else’s. We’re all grown-ass men; we can handle it.”

“I promise.” He lies.

The other man leans back on his hands, green eyes drifting across the waves. Indrid would gladly sit in silence the rest of the night, it’s so easy to be comfortable in the lull when it’s Duck filling the space beside him.

Eventually, the ranger murmurs, “It’s so fuckin breathtaking. The ocean, I mean. Maybe if you live on a coast you get used to it but man, it is somethin;.”

“More so than the forest?”

Duck smiles, “It’s like apples and oranges. Monongahela got its own charms; you’d have a blast takin pictures and drawin there, believe me. If, uh, if Apollo and I both make it to the final four, uh, maybe we could take a few hours durin’ my hometown visit and I could show you my favorite spot.

Indrid imagines the two of them beneath the trees, walking hand in hand.

“I’d like that.”

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

“You know you’re just a distraction, right?”

Indrid doesn’t look at his brother, just flips the page in his book, “I doubt that. You’ve said, often, that I’m too off-putting to be interesting.”

“Not when there’s competition for someone superior; Duck knows he might not win. You’re his back-up if he doesn’t, and a way to kill time until the end. Once Vincent sends him home, which he most definitely will, he’ll keep you around until something better comes along.”

“Don’t act like you know him.” Indrid hisses, looking up just in time to see something scurrying behind the triumph on Apollo’s face: fear.

So, his brother has a new weakness. He’ll tuck that away for later; this is shaping up to be an unpleasant conversation, but not one requiring quite that degree of weapon.

“You should thank me. If I weren’t so captivating, Vincent would spend all his time with Duck. Then you’d be without any attention at all. Even Duck’s taste isn’t that abysmal.” He grins his several thousand dollar smile, “he and Vincent are probably laughing about it right now.”

Indrid stands, crosses the tiny room, “Shut up, Apollo.”

Then he slams the door. There’s a yelp, followed by “you hit my nose, you pathetic excuse for a man, ow, open this door this instant I’m not done with you!”

He flicks the lock and sits back on the bed. There’s a tin of sensory putty on his nightstand and he opens it, playing with it between his fingers. Duck brought it for him after a museum date with Vincent. The image of him not only thinking of Indrid when he saw something, but then buying it for him just to see him smile makes him want to grin and hide his face in a pillow like a teenager who just got asked to prom.

But maybe this date is going differently.

Indrid squeezes the putty, repeats the mantra he’s had since he was a child, “Apollo always lies. Apollo always lies.”

Eventually, he’s calm enough to work on some tattoo commissions, is coloring away when there’s a knock on the door. A secret knock Duck invented as a goof. Throwing open the door reveals the shorter man wearing a suit jacket and an exhausted expression. Indrid gestures to the bed, shuts and locks the door as Duck slumps on the mattress and sets his head in his hands.

“Whelp, that was a shit-show.”

“What happened?” Indrid sits cross-legged beside him.

“Vincent went in for a kiss and I, uh, I turned him down. I mean, he took it well because he’s a sweet guy but I, I feel like shit.”

“There’s no shame in not wanting to kiss just yet.”

“That ain’t the problem. I, I wanna kiss someone on this set, but it ain’t him. Indrid” he looks up, green eyes watery, “Indrid, I think I’m fallin in love with you.”

“Oh. I, are you sure-”

“The whole night, and I mean the whole fuckin night, I was thinkin about you. Thought how nice the trip to the botanical gardens would be with you there to point out color combos and get excited about butterflies. Wanted to hold your hand over dinner. Fuck, when they brought out the dessert menu all I could think was how fun it’d be to order one of each thing to surprise you so you’d do that thing you do with your hands when you’re real excited.” Duck turns, sets his hands on Indrid’s shoulders, “‘Drid, if you don’t want this, I’ll back off but-”

Indrid cuts him off with a kiss, let’s strong arms pull him down to the bed and presses as close to Duck as he can, as if any space between them might be a way for the universe to push them apart.

“Than fuck” Duck pants, cupping his face, “wait, fuck, what do we do now? I can’t string poor Vincent on.”

“We’ll get them to let you out of your contract. It can’t be that hard, right?”

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

“Absolutely not” Ned shakes his head, “dropping out of the show is out of the question.”

“But that ain’t fair to any of us. Can we at least tell Vincent the truth?”

“No, it needs to look as if he naturally decided not to choose you. If not, we could be accused of manipulating results; the last time that happened, the ratings tanked for that season and the next. And my predecessor was fired.”

Duck looks at Indrid, “Guess I’ll just...pull back? That way Vincent won’t have a reason to choose me and’ll let me go soon.”

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

“Droppin out is outta the question, huh?” Duck mutters to Indrid as they watch Barclay and Joseph walk off holding hands, the host eagerly asking them questions as they go.

“I suppose he didn’t drop so much as sprint.” Indrid glances at the rose in Duck’s hand, “congratulations on making the final...well, final three now.”

“Thanks? Guess Apollo’s pretty happy about it too.”

“Yes, but his ego needs no stroking.” Indrid smiles, “maybe this means you’ll get to show me the woods?”

“I hope so. Huh. What are they gonna do with the rest of us when it’s not our turn for the hometown visit?”

The answer turns out to be: drag everyone to each hometown. Because they no longer have Joe’s trip to do, Ned decided they needed more scenes of the contestants exploring where their competitors came from.

Kepler is first, and tonight is the night Duck’s been dreading. His romantic, home-town date that everyone expects to end with at least some kissing. He manages to make it through dinner, even enjoys showing Vincent the down-town he spent years roaming. But as they start down the river walk for a romantic stroll, his heart is trying to smash its way out of his ribs.

“It’s alright, you know.” Vincent stops, guiding Duck to face him, “the fact you want to be with Indrid.”

“I, uh, fuck, I, I don’t not know, uh, fuck-” he closes his eyes, “how’d you know?”

“I’m more observant than I get credit for.” Vincent brushes his cheek, “I’ve had a hunch for weeks now, but I kept you around because I liked having you here, even if I suspected it wasn’t going to end with us together. I’m very fond of you, Duck. You deserve someone who makes you happy. I promise I’ll send you home this next rose ceremony”

“Christ” Duck chuckles, “you’re a hell of a guy too, Vince. I hope whoever you pick treats you right. I, uh, can I, should we…?”

Vincent plants a chaste kiss on his cheek, then smiles, “go get him.”

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

“Any twos?”

“No. Go fish.”

Apollo grumbles as he takes another card. Given Duck and Vincent are on their date, neither he nor Indrid is having a good night. Before Indrid can make his ask, his twin says, “How do you get people to like you?”

“Why do you care? You’ve made it this far, so obviously Vincent likes you a great deal”

“I don’t just mean him. I, I mean, I want him to like me. To want me. But I suspect he’d like me better if other people did.”

Indrid idly taps his cards, “I suggest you stop acting like our father.”

“I’m nothing like him!” Apollo squawks.

“Oh, but you are. Everything he taught us you still hold as true; you’re just the newest version of men like him. Self-absorbed. Cruel. Shallow. I’m amazed you’ve gotten this far with Vincent, given that the age difference means you’d be caring for him in his old age.”

“I, I can care for him. I will!”

“Apollo, I wouldn’t trust you to care for a potted plant.” He sets his cards down.

“At least I’m not a-”

“Ambitionless deviant who has to ride his brother’s coattails to survive?”

“Wha--how-”

“Like I said; you’re just like him. Down to your insults.” Indrid stands, “I’m going to bed. I suggest you do the same.”

His brother remains speechless--a rare state for him--as he closes the door and heads for his room. He doubts Duck will do anything on the date (hell, the two of them have only been able to steal some kisses now and then), but the whole charade has him feeling low.

There are far more cameras in the rented house than there were a few hours ago. Which means the rest of the crew is back. Does that also mean…

“Hey, sugar. I was just lookin for you.”

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

Duck’s glad his door is open, because otherwise Indrid would have smashed it to pieces dragging them both through it. He’d only gotten out the barest explanation before the taller man was kissing his face and tugging at his clothes, purring “mine” over and over again.

“Yep, all yours.” He shuts the door as Indrid mouths at his neck, “which also means you’re all mine.” He yanks Indrid’s black sweater up and over his head, sends the matching t-shirt after it a moment later. Indrid whines, fumbling with Duck’s dress shirt, and he gets an idea.

“Uh uh, only good boys who show me why they deserve it get to feel me up.”

Indrid groans into his shoulder, fisting the fabric of his jacket “What constitutes good behavior in this instance?”

“One sec, don’t go nowhere.” He starts to step past him, pauses to grips his chin and pull him into another kiss, “and no peekin.”

As he digs through his bag for the strap on he brought just in case, he keeps an eye on Indrid to be sure he’s following the directions. The taller man’s fingers twitch, but his head stays still. God, Duck is going to memorize the shape of each of the tattoos decorating his skin with his mouth.

“You did real good.” He slips around Indrid once more, resting his back on the wall. Indrid notices the new bulge in his pants and thuds to his knees.

“May I?”

“You better.”

Indrid undoes the button of his fly. Then he looks at Duck over the rim of his glasses as he takes the zipper between his teeth and pulls it down. When the black silicone of the strap breaks free, Indrid cocks his head as if unsure of his options. Duck doesn’t really have a plan--he just wants to be with him, to make him feel good and show him just what weeks of pent-up desire have done to him--but he’s starting to regret that choice.

Indrid flicks hair from his face and wraps his lips around the head of the cock experimentally. He hums, sucking on it a moment, then pulls back blushing, “This is going to sound strange but, ah, I, I really like that. It’s such a lovely texture on my tongue, it’s, it’s almost soothing to suck.”

“Guess you better keep suckin it then, huh?” Duck runs the fingers of his right hand through Indrid’s hair.

“Is that really alright? It can’t feel like much on your end.”

“Don’t mean it ain’t fun to watch. But, uh” he touches the edge of Indrid’s red glasses, “it okay if I take these off?”

Indrid nods and Duck slides them free, tucks them into his breast pocket for safekeeping as Indrid draws the cock into his mouth again. He focuses on the head at first, humming and moaning as it bumps his cheek. Then Duck sees him swallow and relax the muscles of his jaw as he presses closer. Little puffs of breath tickle Duck’s skin as Indrid gets most of the cock in his mouth, cheeks hollowing and head bobbing as he sucks. Hungry noises burlbe up his throat, and the more he lets himself go the messier he becomes, spit coating his lips and eyes fluttering closed in bliss.

“Okay, I lied.”

Brown eyes shoot him a disbelieving look.

“This ain’t fun. This is one of the hottest fuckin things I’ve ever seen.”

Indrid wiggles happily on his knees, left hand dropping to rubs his own cock through his jeans.

“Needy little thing, gotta have somethin down your throat and around your dick at the same time.”

“MMMhhmmm” Indrid purrs, the picture of filthy perfection.

“If, if you swallow the whole thing, I’ll let you finger-fuck me.”

Both hands fly to his thighs with an excited moan. Indrid’s brow crinkles with determination as he slowly, carefully brings his lips to the base of the toy. Duck groans out “good boy” and shoves his pants down, Indrid helping to drag them to his ankles. Indrid keeps his left hand on Duck’s hip while the right hovers below his folds. Duck takes it, the toy making the angle a bit awkward, and guides it against him.

“Start with one.”

Indrid nods, moans reverently as he obeys. Duck curses, looks down to find Indrid watching him attentively. Duck is going to wreck him. Then he’s going to cuddle him to sleep and wonder at the fact he got this lucky.

“You’re doin’ great, sugar. Promise I’ll tell you if you need to adjustOH, ohyeah” he lets his head rest against the chipped white of the door, “that’s the spot. Fuck it, add one more, Ahfuck, yeah, those artists fingers are fuckin perfect for this.”

Another purr and then a sharp, choked noise. Duck looks down, realizing he rolled his hips without meaning to. Before he can apologize, Indrid grips his thigh and shakes his head.

“You like that?”

“Mmhhmmm” Indrid traces a heart on his belly.

“You’ll pull off you need to?”

“Mhmmmm.” Indrid curls his fingers as his stretched lips manage to grin.

“Fuck!” Duck giggles, “okay, if my darlin wants his face fucked, that’s what he’ll get.” He keeps a hand on Indrid’s shoulder as he lets loose, grunts and curses mingling with the increasingly wet moans of his cock claiming Indrid’s throat. Soon he’s out of words, too busy with the sight of himself forcing Indrid’s lips apart as he tightens around his fingers. Handjobs are a toss-up for him most days; sometimes they work, other times he can’t cum from them at all. It turns out what makes it very easy to do so is-

“‘Drid, fuck, fuck, sugar, yeah, right there, rightthererightthere ohfuckyeah.” He cums, jerking his hips hard enough to punch a new, high sound from Indrid’s throat. The other man pulls off, rests his cheek on Duck’s belly with shuddery, satisfied sighs.

“Y’know” Duck unbuttons his shirt from the bottom up so Indrid can more easily nuzzle the skin there, “I had this whole plan where I was gonna fuck you with this and then ride your face to cum.”

“I’m not opposed.” Indrid grins, bouncing a bit.

“Yeah, but I’ve only got one in me tonight. So” He tosses the shirt away, pulls off the harness as Indrid nibbles his hips, “if you wanna cum, you’re gonna have to do all the work.”

An edge enters his smile, “I can manage that.”

Duck hits the floor with a whump, Indrid trapping him on his back and climbing atop him, all the while kissing him with abandon.

“May I fuck you?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Condom?”

“Dop kit, bathroom, aw come back.”

“Patience, sweetheart” Indrid blows him a kiss, returns a few moments later doing an inelegant dance to kick his jeans and boxers away, “got one!”

“Good, now get back down here before I-AHfuck!” Indrid is on him and in him so fast it knocks his breath away.

“Before what? You’re not going anywhere, you’re mine, alllllll mine.” He drags kisses across Duck’s cheek, then bites his chapped lip as he looks down at him, “right?”

“You know it, nnng, fuck, that’s it sugar, be a good boy and cum for me. Fuck, darlin, wanted this so bad.” He locks his fingers into silver hair to keep Indrid in kissing distance as the other man whimpers, thrusts shallow and rabbity.

“Want you too, so much, I’ll be worth it, I swear, I’ll be good, I’ll, I’ll make you so happy.”

Duck rests their foreheads together, “You already do.”

There’s a high, gasping moan, almost like a chirp, and Indrid rides out his orgasm in drawn-out rolls of his hips. Then he collapses, laughing, on Duck’s chest.

“I, I’m sorry, I just never thought I’d get this. Someone wanting me. Choosing me.”

“I mean, I went on a T.V show to find love, so I know a little somethin about that fear. But I also know findin you is better than anythin I ever imagined.”

“Likewise.” Indrid nestles closer, one hand reaching out to hold Duck’s where it’s flopped on the rug.

“...You realize this means there’s a fifty-fifty chance your brother will win.”

Indrid shrugs, lifts his head to smile at Duck, “I leave that to Vincent. I already got my prize.”

#indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #bachelor au #meet ugly