#eh whatever its all the same train of thought

[applcrumbl]

I see the way you look at her.

Pairings: Peeta Mellark X Reader Warnings: Y/N uses she/her pronouns, talk of cheating, talk of murder and death.  Author’s Note: Y/N is kind of a dick in this but that’s so slay purr for her

Summary: Peeta returns to District 12 after the 74th Annual Hunger Games to a girlfriend who wants nothing to do with him. 

The air in District 12 was thick with tension as the Reaping day unfolded, casting a shadow over the usually quiet town. The nervous energy in the square was palpable, each child from from age 12 to 18 lined up as though they were being put to death by firing squad. In a strange way, they were. Dressed in their finest garments, the kind that they would be proud to have on television, yet praying that their names were never called.

Y/N’s name was in the bowl 20 times this year. 15 as tesserae, for the grain and oil her family so dearly needed to survive, and the rest for the age she’d turned earlier that year. There were boys with twice as many in the other bowl. Her neighbour, Gale, at 18 years old, had his name in 42.

Yet, with only 5 slips of paper, Peeta Mellark was called. His eyes bore into hers as tears threatened to fall. She watched him hug Effie Trinket, clad in her Capitol Extravagance. Katniss Everdeen, the girl she’d played with since youth, stood with him.

Truthfully, she’d moved on from the shock that her lover was going to die quite quickly. He certainly was more likeable than the rest of the tributes, But there was not enough money in the entirety of District 12 to provide the sponsorships he would need to stay alive. Peeta was strong in build, but would never be able to hurt someone, let alone to the point of murder.

She sat with a group of girls in the square, watching Caesar Flickerman on the large screen.

"Well, there is this one girl. I’ve had a crush on her ever since I can remember.” Peeta says, “But I’m pretty sure she didn’t know I was alive until the reaping." 

Furrowed brow, she listened intently to his words. Who else would he be talking about, if not his own girlfriend? If not herself.

“She have another fellow?" asks Caesar.

“I don’t know, but a lot of boys like her," says Peeta.

Alice Walker, one of the girls who sat with Y/N, turns to look. “Thought you an’ him were going steady?”

“We are.” She replies—confusion as to why he was talking about her as though she were someone else.

She turns back to face the screen. Eyes trained on Peeta, looking the same as ever - only cleaner and in nicer clothes. He still wore the silver ring she’d bargained for at the market. His 15th birthday gift - She had put her name in the reaping another time to afford it.

“So, here’s what you do. You win, you go home. She can’t turn you down then, eh?"

“I don’t think it’s going to work out. Winning...won’t help in my case," says Peeta.

“Why ever not?" says Caesar, mystified.

"Because...because...she came here with me.”

From the moment of Peeta’s admission, she secretly hoped that he’d die in the games. As much as she wanted him to come back alive so that she could kill him herself, she also wanted nothing more than to see him suffer.

Everything she’d done for him. Everything she’d been put through for him. All for him to be in love with Katniss Everdeen. She stopped watching the games after that.

That didn’t mean she didn’t hear all about District 12’s star-crossed lovers and how they won the Hunger Games by means of their love. She stayed far away from the train station, and its once-dull platform, now adorned with makeshift decorations crafted from whatever materials the citizens could salvage. She stayed far away from his family’s bakery, and his shiny new home in Victor’s Village. She stayed far away from any place where the boy could find her. But, that did not mean that he did not try.

Katniss once spoke to her in the woods, explaining that it was all a rouse for the Capitol. Y/N only believed it because Gale had told her the same thing before. Katniss pleaded with her to speak to Peeta and allow him to explain. If not for her own sake, then for his. “I can’t even look at him Y/N. But he shouldn’t be alone right now”

She wondered how a victor of The Hunger Games could be so desperate for company. 

It took a lot of her pride to walk to Victor’s Village that night. The air was crisp, and the stars overhead seemed to bear witness to the storm of emotions raging within her. Unable to quell the turmoil in her heart, she found herself standing outside Peeta’s home.

It was the first time that she’d seen him. A glimpse through the front window into the warmly lit kitchen. He was baking again, decorating a cake, much like he would have been before the games. Except now, he was thinner, his eyes more sunken, hands shaking as they pressed fruit into icing. 

Taking a deep breath, she approached the door. Knocking gently, the sound echoed through the quiet night.

"Y/N," Peeta said, his voice soft with a hint of regret. "I didn't expect you."

She met his gaze, searching for answers. "We should talk."

He nodded, stepping aside to let her in. The air inside was thick with the scent of freshly baked bread, a familiar comfort that felt oddly out of place given the current circumstances.

They settled in the living room. The fire roared, illuminating the large room in an orange glow. The walls of the ground floor were taller than the height of her entire house. And one of the multiple sofa suites was bigger than the bed her brother slept on. There was more luxury in a singular room than in any 5 buildings in the seam. 

She sat, conscious of the room she was taking up. It felt like she would be whipped for even being near. Peeta sat more comfortably, the silence stretching between them like a fragile thread. The girl took a deep breath, ”How are you?”

“Where have you been?” Peeta interrupts, “I’ve been looking for you since I returned.”

“Can you blame me?”

Peeta hesitates a moment. “No.” He admits, hands wringing together, “It was for show, Y/N. For the cameras and the Capitol.”

A curt nod. Her expression remained stoic as she processed Peeta's words. The room felt heavy with unspoken tension, the crackling fire doing little to dispel the cold atmosphere that had settled between them.

"For show," she repeated, her voice flat. "So, all of it—the love, the sacrifice, the pain—it was all just a performance?"

Peeta looked pained, his eyes desperately searching for understanding in hers. "Yes, entirely. Katniss and I, we played along to survive. It was the only way."

“It was not the only way.”

“I never wanted it to be like this.”

“You could’ve fought. You could have-”

“I couldn’t kill her. And I couldn’t watch her die.” Peeta interrupts.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “But you could lead the careers right to her.” She deadpans, “And you did do that, by the way”

His shoulders slumped, guilt written across his face. "I never wanted it to be like this. I wanted us both to make it out alive. But they wanted a love story, and we had to give it to them."

“You don't get it, Peeta. You don't get what it's like to watch the person you love be in love with someone else, pretend or not.” Y/N shook her head, her anger simmering beneath the surface. "It was so embarrassing to hear about your 'epic love story' broadcast to the entire nation. Have people question me every single day about what happened between us.”

Peeta scoffs, standing up from his seat and pacing to the far corner of the living room. His hand rubbing his face, he forces out a laugh at her words.

“You had some uncomfortable questions forced your way, Y/N” He starts, “I was reaped for The Hunger Games. They are not the same.”

The room falls silent, save for the roar of the fire and the gentle hum of the lights.

“I did what I did, not to stay alive.”Peeta admits, “I couldn’t care less if I died in there, My family wouldn’t either-”

“That’s not true.”

“It is. But that’s not my point.” He breathes, “I needed to stay alive so that I could come back to you.”

Y/N remained seated, her eyes fixed on Peeta as he spoke. He turned to face her, his eyes pleading for understanding. "I needed to survive, not for the Capitol, not for the cameras, but for us. I wanted to come back to District 12, to you.”

She couldn't deny the sincerity in his voice, but the wounds ran deep. Having spent the latter half of the last 5 months hating his guts, she couldn’t forgive him easily. Hearing that he’d done it for her only made her feelings more scrambled.

 "Love is more than a performance, Peeta. It's more than a show for the Capitol.”

He took a step closer, his expression filled with regret. "I thought we had a better chance of making it out together than I ever would have alone.”

“But now you’re in it for life. After your victory tour, do you seriously just expect that you’ll be able to just ‘break up’? People who have suffered together like the pair of you have, don’t just call it quits.”

“We’ll figure it out, I just need time.”

Y/N leans back in her chair, eyes still trained on the broken boy before her. She tears them away to try and stop the tears that threaten to fall. “I saw the way you looked at her.” She admits. “I understand that you went through a lot together, but- But, you never looked at me like that.”

Peeta's eyes, full of remorse, met hers. He reached out, as if to touch her hand, but hesitated, fingers hovering in the air.

"I never meant to hurt you," he whispered, his voice filled with regret. "But in that arena, survival seemed like the only option. It was never about choosing her over you."

He lowered his hand. "I know I messed up. I can't change the past, but I want to make things right, Y/N. I want a chance to prove that I can be the person you need."

She shook her head, a mixture of frustration and sadness in her eyes. “I think you need time to figure it out by yourself, Peeta”

"Give me time," he pleaded. "But give me time to figure it out with you.”

The room hung heavy with silence, the fire that danced in the hearth was slowly dying. It was the kind of silence that spoke volumes, as Y/N distanced herself from him, each footstep on the plush carpet seemed to amplify the quiet. 

“I should go,” she says.

“Please don’t.” He begs. 

Y/N hesitated, her hand resting on the doorknob. She wanted to turn around, to look into Peeta's eyes and find a glimmer of the person she had once loved. Yet, the fear of more disappointment held her back.

"I need time, Peeta," she finally replied, her voice barely above a whisper. The words hung in the air, “We both need time. Alone.”

Peeta remained silent, watching her silhouette against the doorway, his expression a portrait of heartache. He wanted to reach out, to bridge the gap, but he didn’t.

“If you love someone, let them go.” He whispers, allowing her to open the door and walk down the snow-covered stairs. The hinges closed with a soft thud, and Peeta was left alone.

#applcrumbl #writing #the hunger games #peeta mellark #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark imagine #peeta mellark fanfic #peeta mellark angst #angst #peeta mellark smut

[animeyanderetalker]

So you finished enies lobby eh? How’s ur one piece journey so far, and do you have any brief thoughts on the straw hats (so far)?

I’m giving you my honest review here because as much as I like the series so far, I also have my fair share of stuff I don’t enjoy.

I adore the world in One Piece. I’ve been a big fan of Pirates of the Caribbean as a child and I have always wished back then that I would see Jack Sparrow exploring all mysterious islands and finding all treasures. I got that with One Piece but even better. Each island feels unique and whilst there are definitely pacing problems at times even this early for me, I do love the aspects of exploring each individual island and learning about the rules, the environment and the life of the people calling it their home. I know that the Skypiea Arc isn’t that beloved amongst Anime fans but I really loved the arc due to the unique and interesting setting the island in the sky had. From its past to the inventions to the way people live in the sky, everything has so much personality and that has been the case with every major island so far. The sense of adventure and curiosity I always get whilst getting to know a new island is really addictive and I love the foreshadowing. The fact that the end of the Going Merry had already been hinted during the Skypiea Arc but was only revealed during the Water 7 Arc is insane and from what I have heard, Oda is great in foreshadowing and I’m looking forward to that.

What I find myself struggling with, and I don’t know if the Anime is partially exaggerating this sometimes, are the characters itself at times and the, in my opinion, lukewarm comedy that gets very repetitive and boring after a while.

Luffy:

I am actively struggling with the main character at times. Luffy is quite carefree, impulsive and does whatever he wants and it is not even that this is what I dislike about him. He has such heartfelt moments such as giving Nami his straw hat during the Arlong Park Arc despite the hat being a treasure for him or him defending the pirate flag of Chopper during the Drum Island Arc. It’s just that he sometimes is portrayed as so amazingly incompetent and stupid that I am agonizing over it. How can you get stuck twice within the same arc in between two walls and then spend episodes there whilst your friends are trying to save Robin?? Him being a glutton is expected, older Shounen protagonists just seem to have a habit of having a black hole instead of a stomach. I also still don’t understand how he learnt Gear 2 and 3 in such a short time considering that I cannot recall a time where he had time to properly train.

Roronoa Zoro:

I have very little to criticize about Zoro. Luckily his character gag of always getting lost isn’t something that is thrown into my face every episode so I can tolerate it. He’s a man of honor and I like seeing him on screen, but I’m still waiting for that one moment of him where I go from liking him to loving him. I also feel like he suffered in the Enies Lobby Arc from being paired with uninteresting opponents to fight against (Kaku and Jabra).

Nami:

I love and hate Nami at the same time. But the reason why I hate her isn’t even her own fault. As a character I love how she isn’t someone who is actively fighting and has admittedly not the most interesting fights but without her literally nothing would work. As a navigator she is irreplaceable and without her skills the Straw Hats would go nowhere. Her backstory was also heartbreaking but Oda seems quite skillful when it comes to writing a good and tragic backstory. The reason why I hate her though is because she has become more and more a victim of sexualization the further the story has progressed and I just know that it’ll get even worse. I have seen the pictures of her after the timeskip and it is so infuriating because she didn’t look like this at the beginning of the story. The freaking scene in the Arabasta Arc where she was sexualized from a camel and a crab was a different low for me because it’s the first time I have seen animals thirsting over a female character.

Usopp:

Usopp is a character I also find myself struggling with. On the one hand his creativity and his craftsmanship are to be admired. This is a man who invented Nami’s Clima-Tact and was the shipwright before Franky joined. On the other hand his character gags of being the big coward can get a little bit tiring after a while for me. I really loved the Water 7 Arc because it showed him in a much more serious light which was a nice change for once. And I am going to be quite honest here with you, I did not enjoy the whole Sogeking sequence. I understand that he was too ashamed to face his friends after he had left the crew but it got a tad bit annoying to me after a while. I was also not surprised that Luffy and Chopper were the only ones who didn’t recognize him in his disguise.

Vinsmoke Sanji:

I actually really enjoyed Sanji’s character when he was first introduced. I admired his ideology of not letting anyone starve due to his own experience of being stranded on an island without much food and the relationship he had going on with Zeff and the other chefs was heartwarming. However, his simp character has significantly increased since then to the point where it has gotten frustrating and annoying. I remember that scene in the Skypiea Arc where the Going Merry was kidnapped with a few crew members still onboard. And the first thing that left Sanji’s mouth then was that he was disappointed that Nami wasn’t in bikini anymore. I think that is the moment where I started not liking his character as much anymore and from what I have heard, it’ll become a lot more worse. It’s really disappointing in my opinion because he could be such a cool character but around women he is always reduced to a simp with heart eyes.

Tony Tony Chopper:

Chopper is adorable and I love his versatile forms he can use with his Rumble Ball. But I just wish that the show would actually give him more recognition because the 50 Berries he has on his head as of now and the fact that he was called a pet on those wanted posters is saddening. Because not only can he actually fight because he took down one of the CP9 members but he is the doctor of the ship and fulfills such an important role because of it. He is more than just a cute little animal and I hope that will be more recognized.

Nico Robin:

Robin is as of now my favorite character and I have literally nothing I can criticize about her. She is intelligent, her backstory is my favorite as of now and I love how her character also shows that it isn’t only pure strength alone that can be dangerous in the eyes of others but also intelligence. She was wanted for simply knowing how to read Poneglyphs. I’m also happy that she hasn’t been sexualized in the Anime so far and I pray to god that she won’t get the Nami treatment later on. I also love her dark and blunt sense of humor.

Franky:

Franky is incredibly likable. He is as of now the newest member of the Straw Hats so I have not as much to say about him but he is also a well built character with a nice introduction. The relationship he had going on with Iceberg and his past with Tom were well written and despite his rowdy experience he has a heart made out of gold. The fact that he took all outsiders in Water 7 under his wings and gave them a new home and purpose says really all you need to know about him and I’m looking forward to seeing more of him.

#a talks #one piece #op #monkey d. luffy #roronoa zoro #nami #usopp #vinsmoke sanji #tony tony chopper #nico robin #franky

[baconcolacan]

Chaotic ask but Stay Tord and Regimen Tord swapping Tom’s for a week?

If they even manage to last that long together

I wanna do this with their 40 year old versions because its funnier in my head lmao. Idk what writing style this is, kinda weird kinda eh??? Anyway, Regimen Tom's side is a bit long bc that boy is sad.

Stay Tom: Stay Tom is an absolute nightmare for Regimen Tord, especially because he has so much knowledge on how RA operates, there's some differences but the base knowledge is basically the same. Not only that, but this Tom is so highly trained and can counter any of his attacks with ease, his countermeasures mirror his own, and he can only guess that this Tom's Tord actually personally trained him. He can see his cautiousness in him. It also really doesn't help that this Tom likes to call him 'Red Brat' He spends the majority of his time basically playing defense to ensure this Tom doesn't meet with any rebel groups, because he is 100% sure this Tom is ABSOLUTELY able to take him down with less time and effort, and more of a threat, than his own Thomas, because he's more experienced. Plus, ah, he apparently can turn into a giant....monster..... Tom manages to kick his ass in less than 2 days.

Regimen Tom:

It was really weird suddenly appearing in front of a kid. It was also really awkward when that kid started to wail and cry. Then it was extremely terrifying when fucking Tord Larsin suddenly came bursting into the room holding a gun and glaring at him. Then it was back to weird, because the kid screamed 'DADDY!!' and ran up to Tord Larsin as if he wasn't a threat at all. What the fuck??? Okay so, after some really awkward and stilted explanations, suddenly he's on the couch, the kid is staring at him, he's holding...hot chocolate?? Or, no, it tasted really familiar....

....Hot chocolate Baileys with peppermint schnapps. Exactly how he likes it. His go-to comfort drink when he's feeling particularly stressed. Again. What the fuck?

So apparently, universe jumping?? Wow yay, maybe he did have a huge mental breakdown and finally went insane, but thats what this Tord says (and wow he's really old), and the kid is still staring at him by the way, yet somehow it doesn't feel at all like it usually does. Cold, prickling, and suffocating. And...well, now that he's looking at him...even this Tord's staring didn't feel bad. Didn't feel...suffocating. It's muted, withdrawn, and guilty. Well....maybe this mental breakdown was a special one? Something...comforting before he... Next few days feel weird, and hazy, like he's walking through a barely coherent dream. Things seem brighter here, the colours more saturated, and yet unfocused, like he wasn't meant to see too much of it. He passes by a few photos, but chooses not to look when he first saw a face resembling his own, smiling so bright as if he was actually... ..happy.....

That kinda hurt, but oh well, it's his dying thoughts so whatever. The kid's name is Arthur, but he likes being called AK for some reason. AK has been consistently waking him up and walking around with him in this weird too bright little cabin for the past few days. He says he looks like his 'Papa'. Is it weird if he used to think that, if he had a son, he'd call him Arthur too? Old Tord, as he calls him in his head, avoided him for the first two days. Eventually though, he stopped disappearing every time Tom came into a room he was in, he'd tense up sure, but he stopped acting like his ass was on fire and Tom was the one who lit it. For some reason...he's really intrigued by him. So he stares at him, most times. Eventually, Old Tord kinda just shuffled towards him one day while he was seated at the breakfast bar and actually sat next to him. Tom stared at him from the corners of his eyes of course. Old Tord kinda just squirmed in his seat before he said: 'I hurt you....didn't I?'

Tom thought about it, and decided; 'No? Unless you 'jumped universe' or whatever.' Old Tord looked pained and shook his head. 'It's still me,' He said. 'A version of me at least...And I hurt you....' The way he said it made his heart do something funny. He placed his hand on the bar, palm side up and just looked down to the side. Tom was surprised that Old Tord knew how to ask for this, how to ask if he could hold his hand without saying anything, then again...if the pictures were any indication, of course he would. He puts his hand on top of Old Tord's own, and the other gives him a quick squeeze before letting his hand go lax. 'I'm sorry,' Old Tord said, and his voice was so constricted Tom thought he was going to suffocate for a moment. 'I am so so sorry, Tom....Everything that happened to you was never your fault.' Light squeeze. Let go. 'I don't know how much weight this has, but I am so so sorry....' Old Tord still didn't look at him, which was a huge relief. Because he really doesn't know what to do if he saw him crying. The kid- Arthur- appeared again. He was hugging him from behind. Old Tord just kept a loose grip on his hand, he had his hand over his eye, he was shaking. You know...for his dying thoughts, this wasn't so bad, he figures. At least...it's comforting.

#asks #anonymous #regimen ao3 #ew Stay AU #SOZ GUYS AS ALWAYS THIS IS NON CANONICAL #Sorry we cant universe hop our way out of this one #The Conference Table

[writingmaidenwarrior]

Sin Eaters Part 9

Yeah, I finally managed to finish this part. I can't believe it. Too much jumping around scenes on my side recently. Have some funny new thing @cljordan-imperium

Stretching her fingers, Talindra looked down on the tactical bracelet they all wore when they are out in official matters. The magic it held always made her itchy and she could see from the corner of her eyes same went for Wynthan.

“Itchy, eh?”

“Yeah, the magic collides with ours”, he sighed.

She understood what he meant with ours. The horned one magic, not magic in general. Other magic users in her company never lamented about it and the doctors always calmed her down with this being just a sensitivity to the magic. If they would have known. A bitter laugh escaped her.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, just thinking about how the meds always said I was just too sensitive to its magic.”

A moment later Wynthan joined the bitter laugh and nodded with an eyeroll.

“In some way it is true but not for the reason they thought.”

“Yeah, the only one I knew who also lamented about it itching was Eshfyrr…. Wait…”

The browns knitted together she stopped and glanced up to Wynthan as they walked down the path to the main street up to the portal.

“I need to catch him during training the first chance we get.”

Wynthan’s smirk was weird, but Talindra realized why it was there the moment she heard footsteps close by as they reached the main street to the portal.

“Tal!”

Eshfyrr came running with a broad smile, also in civilian clothes but wearing the tactical bracelet. Right behind him was his partner Ylvante, who slowly strolled behind him.

“Not so fast, we aren’t going anywhere”, she laughed.

Eshfyrr slowed down in time right before he crashed into Wynthan.

“Sorry guys, I just wanted to take the chance to greet you. Where are you going?”

“Archives. Trying to find some info about my family.”

“What a lucky coincidence”, Ylvante stated in a calm voice but there was a knowing smile towards Wynthan.

“You too?”, Wynthan took the ball he got thrown to Talindra’s surprise.

She pulled Eshfyrr aside and watched whatever would unfold between those horned ones.

“Yes, we are also on our way. Eshfyrr and I came to the conclusion, since we have a lot of time at hand, we can use it to find info on his family since his parents were Sin Eaters. I assume same counts for you, Talindra?”

“Yeah, but wait a second… Esh, you never said a word. I told you all the way.”

Sheepishly Eshfyrr rubbed his neck and looked aside while Talindra tried to find his eyes.

“I didn’t know myself. I puzzled it together with Ylvante’s help yesterday. I only knew I was adopted.”

“I suggest we should go. The earlier we arrive, the faster we get access. We can sort out the rest there.”

The pragmatism in Ylvate was somewhat unsettling but Talindra had to admit he was right. He raised his hands and hushed them all back on the path.

Like little ducklings they continued their way to the transit portal. As unsuspicious as she could Talindra watched Wynthan and Ylvante. There was some strange tension she felt but couldn’t name and she was curious what it was about.

Her thoughts got disrupted by Eshfyrr grabbing her arm and smiling at her.

“Wondering who your parents were?”

His excitement was sweet and innocent. She looked up to Ylvante who noticed her gaze and gently shook his head. He clearly was aware she knew more.

“Honestly, I am curious if there are any relatives left. You know my aunt and uncle died during the east wall incident years ago. They never talked about any siblings or their parents.”

“The east wall incident?”, Ylvante repeated astonished, “Wasn’t it the breakdown of the safety wall when some low-class monster ran against it and rampaged through the living quarters?”

“Yes, I had been dispatched in the North to clear out a camp of monster that came too close and only learned about it when I was back.”

“When exactly did this happen?”, Wynthan asked with a glance Talindra already knew to read as he had a thought.

“About seven years ago. It was during my first year after I signed my ten years contract with the defense unit. Ever since then I only stayed at the quarters when back in the city when I am not out with comrades.”

She shrugged it off, but his look didn’t change and even Ylvante wore a similar one. Eshfyrr threw her a questioning glance, but Talindra could only shrug. Ignoring the whole thing was the best option now, so she activated the portal and hit the symbol for the archives on the panel in front of her.

“You coming?”

The smirk on Wynthan was the only response as he stepped next to her and grabbed her hand to pull her with him. It wasn’t clear if it was his action or the portal that send those funny tingling sensations through her, but Talindra decided for the sake of her sanity it was the portal.

A few second later they stood on the huge place in front of the archives on the other side of the city on top of everything right next to the halls of the triumvirates. The closeness to the latter ones sent a cold chill through her as she remembered how the whole raffle was rigged and what their shadowy planes with the Sin Eaters were. Wynthan squeezed her hand as if he could read her mind and tucked gently towards the huge doors of the archives.

The moment was over when Eshfyrr and Ylvate stepped out of the portal behind them.

“Eternals blessed me, that is impressive”, Eshfyrr stated barely above a whisper.

“Don’t exaggerate like this”, Talindra teased him.

She turned around and found Ylvante had wrapped his arms around Eshfyrr from behind and softly nudged him to move ahead. Before she could acknowledge it, she felt Wynthan pull her towards the doors, making her stumble the first steps in the progress. Giggling she followed and threw herself into his side.

“Jealous again?”, she mouthed and got a huff in response.

The barely visible nod towards the doors was enough to know he would tell her once they were inside and on their own. Slowly the morning became weirder and weirder.

Behind the huge wooden doors was an equally huge entrance hall with multiple desks. It was almost sterile in this light grey and beige coloring with even the desks being of some light grey stone. They picked the closes one and stepped in front of it. The middle-aged man looked up with a sigh.

“How can I help you?”

“I like to have access to the Sin Eater archives and the civilian logs.”

He tilted his head with a frown as his gaze went to her bracelet and then to Wynthan with his horns. A tired huff followed, and he pushed some device over the counter.

“Put your bracelet over it. It will add the access to the part of the archives your security level allows you. It will be the requested archives and the history archives. The doors will open for you as long as you have your bracelets with you.”

“Uhm, well thank you.”

Confused Talindra looked up to Wynthan who was equally astonished about how fast and easy it went. Once her bracelet glowed for a moment as reaction to the new information getting fed to it, she took her arm away and step aside for Wynthan. A desk over Eshfyrr and Ylvante went through the same procedure. Eshfyrr was first and she motioned to Wynthan she took the chance to talk to him for a moment.

As Talindra walked by him, she grabbed her friend by his wrist and pulled him towards the next door where they would be heading anyway. In a movement as she wanted to playfully ruffle his hair she went straight to the area where horns would be if her thoughts about him earlier were right.

Eshfyrr’s eyes widened in shock when he realized what she was about to do but couldn’t say anything in this surrounding beside playing along. For a second, she felt bad for being a little manipulative in this moment, but she needed to know fast and smirked when the well-known rough sensation of filed down horns hit her fingers.

She continued the movement to ruffle his hair and hugged him tight.

“Don’t worry. I am like you”, she whispered into his ear.

Eshfyrr went from stiff in panic to melting in relive in from one breath to the other in her arms and hugged her back.

“Does he know?”

“Yeah. And he?”

“Yeah.”

Both laughed relieved and amused. Slowly they let go of each other only to face two questioning glances. Talindra and Eshfyrr nodded toward each other in silent agreement to share their newfound knowledge later.

“You will learn soon, Natty-boy. Come, we have an awful lot of work ahead.”

“I need to have a word with you about calling me this”, Wynthan snickered.

“Admit it, you like it.”

With a bump of her hips against his she stepped through the door. Behind her she heard the other laugh at her.

“Is she always like this?”, Ylvante asked.

“This is the toned-down version”, Eshfyrr chuckled what caused a pained groan from Wynthan.

A part of her hoped he imagined what the version of her looked like when she went in full force. The huge plate ahead of them took Talindra’s full attention and she walked faster to see where they needed to go. Concentrated on the various floors and wings she didn’t notice Wynthan coming up behind her until he growled into her ear.

“Didn’t you want to behave?”

“I behave. Within my normal behavior.”

“Devil you.”

Eshfyrr cleared his throat next to them with a smile and nodded to the plate.

“Looks like we need only the East Wing. Everything is there. Second and forth floor.” 

“We should start with the Civilian records on the fourth floor”, Talindra suggested, “Without having our parents names we won’t get anywhere.”

“Look more closely”, Ylvante pushed with a strange tone, “The Civilian logs are on second and third floor, the Sin Eater logs fourth and fifth. I would suggest since we need information of the newer kind to start at fifth floor.

Wynthan behind her took a deep breath as to calm himself but kept silent. Awful silent for him if Talindra compared it to the previous day.

“Then let’s head to the fifth.”

They moved over to the elevators and stopped a little surprised. It was only big enough for three of them because of Wynthan’s and Ylvante huge built. Eshfyrr and Talindra stepped inside with big grins.

“You need to decide who rides up with us”, Eshfyrr joked.

Before Wynthan could suggest something, Ylvante stepped a few steps back and motioned to him to enter.

“How generous of you. See you upstairs.”

Talindra used the moment to check the elevator for any signs of being bugged. Her glance to Wynthan said he did the same.

“It’s safe, I guess. The whole building is.”

“No bugs?”, Eshfyrr asked to be sure.

Talindra smiled as she saw how he nervously chewed on the corner of his lower lip.

“No bugs or any other devices. Apparently, the archives aren’t interesting enough”, Wynthan stated amused but turned slightly to Eshfyrr, “I like to ask you for a favor. I know from Tal’s reaction you are like her. I know Ylvante longer than you and until he proves he has changed I don’t trust him to have this information.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Me neither”, Talindra joined her comrade’s confusion.

“He is a rat. He will do anything to get better accommodation, treated better, get better food or whatever. He was most of the time the reason the members in our trainings company had to do extra training.”

The icy feeling this revelation brought run through her whole body and she felt her face turn to stone.

“Extra training?”

“Torture to brainwash them”, Talindra explained instead of Wynthan.

The moment she said it, Eshfyrr’s expression changed to unreadable.

“He didn’t tell any of this.”

“There is a lot he likely didn’t tell”, Wynthan stated.

The escalator door opened, and they stepped outside.

“So much?”

There was something in Eshfyrr Talindra always loved about him: How fast he adjusted to new information.

“If you want, I try to get in contact with some horned one elders to learn more about all this.”

“Let me know when you got a day. I want to come with you.”

“I will. I just need your information where you live.”

Eshfyrr raised his finger and with a speed she rarely saw and even made Wynthan huff surprised, he opened the menu of his tactical bracelet and opened his personal information. Talindra held her bracelet over it and checked if the data got copied.

“Gotcha. Like this we also can better coordinate our training. I need to get Kylantha next.”

“That would be helpful indeed. Training in groups, even if we can’t be sure we will form a squad will at least help find a rhythm within a squad frame. Our life depends way too much in this out there.”

With a worried look out of the window Wynthan stated it.

“We get the other’s info as soon as we can. It is a surprise we don’t have them anyway. Like he said, training in a squad already gets a feeling for how things work”, Eshfyrr mused aloud.

Slowly they wandered a few steps away from the escalator.

“Maybe they wanna see who gets to training by themselves, what groups form and so on. All these little psychological games they always play.”

The men nodded slowly at Talindra’s words.

“Would make some weird sense.”

“What would make sense?”, Ylvante stepped out of the escalator with an unreadable face.

“The higher up not giving us the personal information of the other new Sin Eaters to see what groups form by itself”, Talindra repeated thoughtful.

Ylvante snickered the first time since she met him and stepped in front of her.

“Worried about a friend?”, he bent down with a small smile.

For some reason she couldn’t pinpoint it felt like he was interrogating her. She raised an eyebrow at him and huffed, making herself as tall as possible.

“No, worried about staying alive and how to archive it when we can’t train with the others to get to know how they fight, what their abilities are and so on.”

His smile faltered and he straightened up again with an unreadable face.

“That is true. I suggest we should use today for research and see tomorrow the trainings arena and wait who shows up as well.”

“Sounds fair”, Wynthan stated.

Surprised he had stepped next to her at some point, Talindra looked up at him. Behind Ylvante she could see Eshfyrr grin about it like a schoolboy.  As cover he opened the map they got on his bracelet interface and studied it.

“Since Tal and I are 28 and 27 years old, I think we should start with the records going back about 35 years?”

“Do you even have a name to look for?”, Talindra asked him.

His rapid blinking was all she needed to know.

“Oh, I think I should start with the Civilian logs then. I wasn’t taken in by family like you.”

Ylvante bent to a small bow and smiled at him.

“I am following your lead, Eshfyrr. This is your quest.”

“See you later up here”, Eshfyrr smirked and went back to the escalator.

Ylvante threw her and Wynthan one last glance, that almost felt threatening, before he followed. The soft glow of Wynthan’s tactical bracelet distracted Talindra and she turned to him, ignoring the knot building in her stomach.

“So, you father’s name?”

“Almyth Revran.”

“Interesting. I forgot your family name.”

“What is so interesting about it?”

“It used to be a horned one family name. I am curious how it made the jump over the fence, but it explains why your horned one blood is so strong. There must be more in you than you think.”

“Do you want to draw my family tree?”

She joked and went to the part of the archives that held the records of the last 50 years. The doors opened gently by themselves.

“What if I do?”

“You are welcome. I have no patience for the graphic part of such a search.”

With a few long steps he was right behind her and caught her mid step to hug her from behind with a low snicker.

“Lucky you, I find doodling calming.”

“Can I declare you my official family tree painter?”

Talindra craned her neck to somehow look at him but only got so far as to get their noses to touch.

“I am honored to do so.” 

Slowly Wynthan let go of her and looked around to see if he could find some paper and pens laying around.  

“What is your family name?”

The way he jumped told Talindra he was completely engulfed in his search.

“Dreywhin. Why are you asking?”

“Just curious”, she snickered and took his arm to pull him with her, “I am afraid you won’t find pen and paper. You need to note it in your bracelet for today.”

“I am afraid you are right.”

Again, Talindra stretched her fingers and bent her hands in all directions as if she was getting ready for hand-to-hand combat. Wynthan’s snicker behind her made her smile as she walked into the long hallway that held all record of the last 50 years. Her eyes scanned the first row and realized it was sorted in decades and then alphabetic.

“What a weird way to sort this?”, Wynthan commented behind her.

His habit to stand behind her since they arrived at the archives started to make Talindra question him.

“I know. Strangely it will make things easier for us now. We just need to find the entries with R over there and the next block. In one of them my father must appear.”

“Revran, you said?”

“Yes, Almyth Revran.”

Slowly his head came next to hers. His smile pressed against her cheek.

“I take the other block. This way we are faster.”

Fast like a snake her hand grabbed his head and accidentally brushed over the base of a horn. Wynthan breathed in sharp the same moment she turned in the small space to face him. When he opened the eyes again his gaze was clouded. Softly he licked his lips, breathing heavily.

“Sorry, I just wanted to stop you.”

Talindra crunched her face in shame and carefully watched his reaction. The deep growling snicker was nothing she expected, even less how he pressed her against the shelf and kissed her.

“Now you have your answer about the horns”, he whispered against her lips, breath hot on her face.

With a heavy gulp she nodded and snickered embarrassed. A mental note to not come close to his horns for the next weeks later, she rested her hands on his hips.

“Not the way I planned.”

A chuckle and a soft, shy kiss later Wynthan was gone. She swallowed the sigh and breathed in deeply to ignore the ideas in her head, that started to come to life. If she wanted to survive the next two and a half weeks she seriously needed to a grip of her imagination.

With a little delay she also started looking through the records. Since those before her were between 40 and 50 years old the chance was small she would find her father’s name in this block but since she didn’t know how old he was and if he was the older or younger brother, everything needed to be checked.

“Tal? I got him.”

“Wow, you are fast.”

“He is the first in the section with R over here”, Wynthan chuckled and waved with a folder.  

While he took a look Talindra came over.

“Stop right there. You mother’s must be there. Look at Endiphal, Yelori.”

Stumbling almost over her steps, she stopped and looked which letter was next to her. She realized she needed to take a few steps back to reach E and started searching. The sound of his steps and how he leaned against the shelves behind them told her he caught up already.  

Her eyes squinted against the strange, dimmed light Talindra finally found the folder she was looking for and pulled it out with a triumphant yell. Waving with it she tilted her head back to the entry area but stopped once they were there.

“A reading area is over there.”

Wynthan pointed to their left.

“You looked it up?”

“While you searched your mother’s file.”

The little proud smile was cute on him. He led the way to a small group of tables and armchairs. Both huffed surprised about the unexpected comfort. They took the first group and sat down. Questioning glances got exchanged.

“I don’t know if I am ready for this. I have my mother’s name now. This should help the elders to find relatives, right?”

Her arms rested in her lap as Talindra stared those two folders down. Wynthan wrapped an arm around her shoulder and gently rubbed her upper arm.

“I can copy the important data for you, and you take a look later, if you aren’t ready today.”  

Why she hesitated now, Talindra couldn’t name. She knew her father was dead; the question was about her mother’s whereabouts.

Long seconds later, she threw her hands in the air and grabbed her mother’s file. There was a picture of her attached to the first page.

“You look like her.”

His voice was low and soft. In some way it was comforting to see she took after her mother. Even Talindra could recognize the same eyes and facial structure she saw every day in the mirror. The only difference was her mother’s face was more oval with a more prominent cheek bone and the hair was darker and curly, where Talindra’s was wavy.

“Yeah, you can’t deny she is my mom.”

With a small, proud smile Talindra scanned over the information and closed the file with a sigh.

“This won’t help.”

“What is wrong?”

Gently, Wynthan pried the file from her hands and opened it again.

“Yelori Endiphal was declared missing in action on 14th Surin, 547 a.S. after her partner Almyth Revran was the only survivor of a six people strong team to eliminate a small group of four double A monster of the earth shaker category south of the Koleran chasm. Revran couldn’t tell where Endiphal went to but got rescued with two newborns he claimed to be their children. Endiphal’s motherhood couldn’t be confirmed since no medical record of her pregnancy exists. The children were named Talindra and Leenmera. First one got handed to Revran’s brother and his wife. The other child was brought to Hell to see who would care for her since family couldn’t be claimed.”

Wynthan read slowly aloud for which Talindra was thankful because after she saw the date of death she closed it and didn’t look further.

“What? I have a twin?”

“A sister. Leenmera is a woman’s name, and she had horns at birth”, he verified.

“She must be in training now, right? Only three years before she becomes a Sin Eater. Oh Eternals, please let her be less stubborn than me.”

A soft squeeze on her shoulder followed a gentle sigh.

“If she is only half as smart as you, she will know how to avoid the worst. Let’s see who took care of her since the authorities didn’t plan to hand her to your family.”

“Thanks.”

“You are welcome.”

She leaned into him for a moment and let her mind wander. Her mother was MIA and she had a sister. This was clearly nothing she expected. Suddenly she remembered how her uncle told her, her father died shortly after she was born and frowned. With a weird feeling she took her father’s file and opened it.

“This is weird…”

“What?”

Wynthan leaned over the file. Talindra pointed at the last paragraph and started reading.

“Alymth Revran got declared missing in action on 23rd Arestel 547 a.S. after he left his squad during a mission west of Fyllim mountains and was never seen again. Declared dead 27th Arestel 547a.S.”

“That is only three months after you were born”, Wynthan stated confused.

“And he was also MIA. No one really knows what happened to them. Do you think he tried to find her?”

Carefully, he took the file out of her hands and looked at her.

“I know I would if it were you.”

Talindra felt her cheeks going warm and giggled sheepish.

“We still have some get to know to do, you know.”

“I know, but from what those records say, he knew something he didn’t tell. Maybe both did. I know plenty of horned ones who went MIA in this area between the mountains and the chasm. Why, I don’t know, but maybe we will find out in the future, but I know I would never leave my partner out there alone, even less the mother of my children.”

His serious look, and even more serious tone sent shivers down her spine in all the good ways. Out of an impulse she interwove her free hand with his and nodded.

“There you are”, Eshfyrr’s voice sounded off from the main area.

Not knowing if she wanted to kill or hug him, Talindra slightly turned her head to him.

“You found your parents’ names?”

“Yeah”, Eshfyrr beamed excited, “I already know my father had no family that’s why I got put up for adoption. My mother’s name is Thesstasti Dreywhin. Now I try to figure out if she is still an active Sin Eater.”

Ylvante slowly approached them as well with a sour expression once he noticed how Talindra and Wynthan sat there but she couldn’t care less about him.

“Thesstasti Dreywhin?”, Wynthan repeated amused.

Now Talindra also made the connection and started to snicker.

“Yeah, you know her?”

“Oh, I do. She is my aunt.”

With a soft kiss on her temple Wynthan unfolded from her and got up to a seriously baffled Eshfyrr.

“What?”

“Ylvante knows my family name, he could have given you a pointer. So, we are cousins. Mom will laugh for days about this coincidence. Aunt Thess is still active. I think she has about ten more years as Sin Eater, but that means we can contact her now through the internal system.”

Eshfyrr fell in a free chair opposite of Talindra and stared at the ground.

“That wasn’t how I expected things to go.”

“Believe me, I know how you feel. I just learned I have a twin sister”, she stated dryly.

“Wow, that is tough.”

The second Wynthan stepped next to Eshfyrr, Talindra knew what was coming and bit her tongue. The surprised yell of Eshfyrr echoed from the walls when Wynthan surprise hugged him.

“My older brother is back from a mission and will be around for a while. He offered to help with training, so you got to meet more of the family.”

“You will like him. Less enthusiastic puppy than him”, Talindra teased with her thumb pointing at Wynthan, “And his partner reminds me of Kylantha a lot.”

“In this case, I assume we are done here?”, Ylvante stated questioningly towards Eshfyrr who was still in the middle to wrap his head around all of it.

The way how he tried to get away from them and indirectly ordered Eshfyrr to tag along didn’t sit well with Talindra. If it wasn’t for the things, she already heard from Wynthan to dislike Ylvante, the behavior he displayed now was enough.

“You can go if you like. I stay little longer. I guess Tal isn’t done yet?”

She shook her head with a sigh.

“I need to figure out who adopted my sister and if there is any family left on one side.”

The sour expression on Ylvante’s face grew stronger but he nodded.

“In this case, I head back and organize dinner. See you tonight, Eshfyrr.”

He slightly dropped his head in goodbye and turned to leave. All three watched him entering the elevator and the doors closing behind Ylvante. Talindra breathed out relieved.

“What the fuck was that?”

“That was civil for him”, Wynthan remarked.

“He got strange the moment I found my mother’s name but now I know why. He probably doesn’t like having a connection to you”, Eshfyrr stated matter of fact.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. I taught him his games can be played by two.”

Confused by his statement Talindra glanced at Wynthan, who chuckled deep.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t rat him out to the higher-ups, but I made sure the others in the barracks knew it was him who was the rat after I realized it was him.”

Surprisingly, Eshfyrr giggled slightly maliciously.

“He had it coming. But Tal needs help, right?”

“I can do it alone. I just need to find out who adopted my sister”, she pushed him down on a chair close by, “I guess you two have some stuff to talk about.”

“Are you sure?”, Wynthan asked worried.

“I am. Esh needs to be filled in and this place is safe.”

“We will be coming down with you. There is also a resting area.”

Before Talindra could reply Eshfyrr got up again and marched to the elevator. Wynthan shook his head amused at him and nudged her to move. A small smile on her lips she followed her friend who just became more of family than ever before.

#writblr #writing #sin eaters part 9 #sin eaters wip #wynne writes #fantasy #adult audience #post apocalyptic

[nerves-nebula]

I’ve never really recognized it as “religious trauma”, but I’m nodding along to ur list. It’s just kinda stuff that happened. Except for the few things that grown me was kinda at like ‘that seems a little bad actually-‘

I remember being 7 and first thinking what if God isn’t real as I was trying to sleep. So it’s like midnight and I’ve just had this world breaking thought that immediately had me spiraling down two trains of thought: Im going to hell for thinking that, and, what if he isn’t what the fuck. So of course I’m freaked out and I’m pretty sure child me needed a fucking hug or some assurance or something, so I went to my parents room, which woke up my mom. At which point I realize, I can’t tell them my actual problem because it was a thought I was ashamed of having, and I didn’t want to run the risk of getting in trouble for some nebulous comfort that was frankly unfathomable cus my parents suck. So I just said felt sick, and took “sorry” my mam gave me as comfort enough (which in hindsight is not a great response to that), and just had to go back to bed with all that. That shit stuck with me. I remember at Sunday school, maybe months or a year later, when one of the teachers said doubt was put in our minds by the devil, I was so fucking relieved.

And there’s the fact that I didn’t know other religions were a thing. I didn’t know there were other blends of Christianity. I lived in a small town and I just had never been touched by that concept until I moved at 11, and one of our religious education modules was on Judaism. Everyone else was just learning customs and calendar stuff, and I was having a whole epiphany. I was so confused until halfway into the lesson, and I realized they were talking about not being catholic. I literally searched the library for a book that would explain this arcane concept. And it was just such a mind blowing experience. I was couldn’t comprehend why no one had ever mentioned other religions if there were so many. And how did it make any sense that there were so many. The differences aren’t subtle. Point is, it was a whole thing.

If I hadn’t moved I would have been made to do my confirmation that school year. And that’s not okay! The whole point of that sacrament is that you’re choosing Christianity, like your old enough and conscious enough to make that choice. Adult in the eyes of the church and all that. Baptism but leveled up. But they make children do it. Unrelated, but when I first learnt about it I was 8, and there was a girl in my class that never had to religion with us. Which was the weirdest thing to me at the time, because sure there were people that didn’t have to do Irish or English, because they had different first languages. But religion? I always found that so weird. But she literally just. Wasn’t catholic. And I just couldn’t conceptualize that. It didn’t occur to me that could be an option.

Jesus, raising kids with a religion is brainwashing of the highest order and no one can change my mind on that. Sorry for rambling at u, that post just made me think.

If I hadn’t moved I would have been made to do my confirmation that school year. And that’s not okay! The whole point of that sacrament is that you’re choosing Christianity, like your old enough and conscious enough to make that choice. Adult in the eyes of the church and all that.

my girlfriend said this exact same thing when i was forced to be confirmed. said it didnt count but tbh that feels like a cop out. like its something ive been forced to do, like a spiritual violation or something, it still happened. but, eh, whatever

Jesus, raising kids with a religion is brainwashing of the highest order and no one can change my mind on that.

not sure i agree with you here, but i can agree that a lot of the ways kids are raised within Christianity is cult-ish and brainwash-y and bad.

#nnstuff #ask #christianity tw

[the-himawari]

A3! Usui Masumi - Spotlight: Hanasaki High & Ouka High Mini Conversations Translation

*Please read disclaimer on blog

---

Practise Conversation 1

Before I joined the theatre troupe, I just went to school because I was told to. And I went along with the classes and events without any real reason.

But after I met you and joined the troupe… My daily life and my student life—everything changed.

There were times I thought it’d be boring going to school without you, so I didn’t want to go.

But I was happy you were supporting me. And I liked it when you’d ask about school and chat with me after I came home.

Also, everyday became noisy after I started going to Hana High with Sakuya and Banri.

So I think things have changed, in more ways than one.

Practise Conversation 2

Come to think of it, there was a swimming competition in the summer back during my Hana High days.

When I told Tasuku, he told me to aim for a good time since I swim pretty fast.

As a result, for some reason, I started practicing swimming with Tasuku.

But you wished me good luck, and I imagined you waiting for me at the finish line during the race, so I swam with all my might.

Because of you, I was able to set new personal record at the swim meet.

…Well, it might have slightly been thanks to training with Tasuku too.

Practise Conversation 3

The cultural festival at Hana High is one of my special memories from high school.

It’s because you came and we got to walk around inside the school together.

I was happy that I was able to serve you at my class’s food booth, and that we got to explore cultural festival together, even if our time was short.

It was really cute how you were excited to see the booths and how your eyes lit up when you wanted to go check out the next ones…

I was overjoyed I got to show you around the school that I attended…

It felt just like we were classmates and having fun at a school event together. I was so happy.

I told you this before, but Fuyou University holds its own school festival, so you have to come. I’ll check for all the food booths, exhibits and programs that I think you’ll like.

It'll feel like we go to the same school again. This time, I’d like to walk around together while holding hands.

Masumi & Taichi Talk

Taichi: You were you hella popular with the ladies back in your Hana High days, weren’t you, Masumi-kun!

Masumi: Whatever. Not that I cared.

Taichi: Eh~. There could’ve been a whole shoujo manga series written about you, dude… Wait, if that’s true, then did you experience all sorts of situations that I wish would happen to me!?

Masumi: Ha? What do you mean?

Taichi: Like getting called to the rooftop and getting confessed to. Oh, or having a love letter placed in your locker!

Masumi: …I feel like those happened, but I barely remember.

Taichi: ARE YOU SERIOUS!? Then did girls from different schools also wait at your school gate? And did Valentine’s chocolates get placed on your desk!?

Masumi: …I think those happened too, but I had no interest.

Taichi: WOAHHH, AWESOME! What about turning the corner and bumping into a girl with a piece of bread in her mouth on your way to school, and it turns out she was a transfer student!?

Masumi: That never happened.

Taichi: It didn’t, huh~. Then how about exchanging a notebook with someone and then you saw a heart-fluttering message written on the edge of the page!

Masumi: That didn’t happen either. But that sounds like good reference for a situation with Director, so explain it to me in detail.

---

#a3! #a3! translation #usui masumi #nanao taichi #act! addicr! actors!

[headcanonsandmore]

Little Dark Age

Summary:  Tegan tries to support Yaz through her grief over the Thirteenth Doctor. However, there's grief in Tegan's past that she hasn't ever admitted openly to...

~~~~~~~~~                       Read on FFN.                             Read on AO3.

~~~~~~~~~

Martha Jones opened the door, her face lined with worry.

‘Thanks for coming,’ she said, ushering them inside. ‘She’s been in her room for hours…’

Yaz had mentioned in the last meeting that she had been sharing a room with Martha for a few weeks now. Yaz’s parents apparently knew where she was, which Tegan was glad to hear. From what Martha had mentioned, they had visited a few times.

However, that morning, Martha had sent an urgent message to the group chat they had set up. Tegan, Ace and Graham happened to all be in the area, and had all responded with offers of help.

‘Thanks, Martha,’ Tegan said, patting the young woman on the arm.

‘Yeah, thanks for the heads-up,’ Ace elaborated, now pulling things out of her bag. Tegan had suggested bringing food, and Ace had immediately volunteered. She had clearly raided a nearby cornershop, because most of the snacks seemed to be biscuits. ‘Wonders of modern technology, eh.’

‘Tell me about it,’ Graham said. ‘Back in my day, we would have had to ring round.’

‘Your day?’ Ace chuckled. ‘You only left the TARDIS a few years ago. I knew the professor back when I was a teenager.’

‘Same difference.’

‘Where is Yaz’s room, anyway?’ Tegan said, cutting across Graham and Ace’s continuing flirtation (or was it just bickering?). Whatever it was, it was starting to get on her nerves.

‘Here,’ Martha said, leading them down the hallway. ‘I’ve left food outside for her, but she seemed too far gone at that point to talk to me. That’s why I thought some reinforcements might help…’

They all came to a stop in front of a door. There was the unmistakable voice of Adele playing on the other side of the door.

‘Oh, dear,’ Tegan sighed. ‘That’s never a good sign…’

Graham and Ace exchanged worried looks. They had known that Yaz had been in love with the most recent version of the Doctor, but they hadn’t expected her to feel the heartbreak as keenly as this. Yaz was normally very composed. The amount of anguish she was presumably going through was... well, it didn’t bare thinking about.  

‘Yaz?’ Tegan called, knocking softly on the door. ‘Yaz? Me, Ace and Graham are here; can we come in?’

The music dipped slightly in volume. There was a few seconds pause, and then a soft click as the door unlocked, revealing Yasmin Khan, eyes red from tears, wearing pyjamas and a very weak smile.

Without thinking, Tegan reached out and pulled the young woman into a hug, patting her softly on the back. The younger woman seemed a little shocked at first, but did not recoil. Tegan hoped this was helping; she wasn’t normally good with the touchy-feely stuff. Certainly not by herself. Back in the day, she had always been supported by-

No, she thought, stopping that train of thought before it could reach its inevitable destination, you are not thinking about her.

‘We thought you might like some company,’ Ace said, placing a supportive hand on Yaz’s shoulder.

‘And we were worried about you,’ Martha added.

‘Ta,’ Yaz mumbled, rubbing her eyes with the sleeve of her pyjama top as Tegan let her go. ‘Sorry, Martha; didn’t mean to block you out. Please… please come in…’

Yaz’s room wasn’t messy, but it did have the distressed look of someone who had been cooped for a good deal longer than they would be ordinarily. The duvet on the bed was askew, and a bunch of CD cases were scattered across the desk, with the current Adele album left haphazardly on top of the combined radio/cd/tape player. Tegan had been under the impression that Yaz, like a lot of women her age, preferred digital music, but she supposed maybe it was the nostalgia factor that was a help in times like these.

Yaz sat down on the bed, sniffling. Tegan and Martha took a seat either side of her.

‘We brought some food…’ Ace said, holding out a tube of biscuits. ‘I always find the right snacks cheer me up...’

Yaz took one look at the packet of Custard Creams Ace was proffering and, to the immense shock of the two older women, broke down in a fresh set of tears on Tegan’s shoulder.

‘Why did you bring them?’ Graham asked, snatching the offending biscuits out of Ace’s hands. ‘Which biscuits did I say that, under no circumstances, you should bring with you?’

‘Sorry!’ Ace said, sending an apologetic grimace towards Yaz, who was still sobbing.  ‘I thought it was an inside joke!’

‘Some joke,’ Tegan muttered, patting Yaz on the head in a manner that she hoped was consoling. ‘I knew I should have gone with you to Tesco’s…’

‘I think I best go make us all some tea’ Martha said, squeezing Yaz’s shoulder before standing up. ‘Ace, Graham; can you give me a hand?’

‘Sure.’

The three of them left the room, leaving Tegan and Yaz alone. Given that Ace and Graham had developed a habit of bickering about everything in the last few weeks, Tegan imagined that Martha had suggested this partially to give Yaz some much-needed breathing room.

‘Tegan, I appreciate y’trying…’ Yaz said, taking her head off the Australian’s shoulder and rubbing her eyes with her sleeve. ‘I imagine you probably went through something like this when you left the D-Doctor.’

‘What?’

Yaz stared at her in confusion.

‘I thought you said you and Ace were like me back in the day?’

‘Yeah… friends of the Doctor!’ Tegan said, urgently. ‘Not… not like that with him!’

‘So… you never….’

‘Urgh, no!’ Tegan replied, aghast, before realising that this probably wasn’t being very tactful. Yaz had been in love with the blonde lady version of the time lord, after all. ‘Sorry, but… no, the Doctor was like a dad to me. A very annoying dad.’

‘And… and Ace?’

‘Same for her, I think. Although her Doctor seems to have been more manipulative than mine ever was. Mine was a smug git, mostly.’

‘Rude!’

With an electronic beep, the hologram of Tegan’s Doctor booted into life, glaring down at the Australian from where he was stood in the middle of Yaz’s room.

‘Are you still here?’-Tegan rolled her eyes-‘I’m gonna have to ask Kate about getting that thing removed.’

The cricket man put his hands on his hips.

‘Oh, really, Tegan.’ he exclaimed, irritably. ‘At least apologise to Ms Khan for causing a scene!’

‘Yeah, yeah…’ Tegan said, waving her hand lazily. ‘Get lost, Doc.’

With another glower, the cricket man vanished, the hologram making another beep.

Yaz chuckled.

‘Your hologram Doctor still working, I see.’

‘Sorry about that. Stupid time lord always shows up when he thinks he’s being mocked.’

‘That must happen a lot w’you.’

‘Cheek,’ Tegan chuckled, hoping to cheer the younger woman up. ‘But accurate. How… how is yours?’

Yaz sighed, patting her own arm.

‘She appeared t’other night; I was watching summat, and I said that I wished she were here. And… and there she were…’

Fresh tears streaked down Yaz’s cheeks.

‘Oh, Yaz,’ Tegan said, cursing her own rabbity mouth. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve-’

‘No, it’s fine,’ Yaz replied, softly. ‘It just… seeing her brought back a lot of things. I haven’t seen ‘er since; I think she knows how much it ‘urts me at the moment.’

Tegan squeezed Yaz’s shoulder, softly.

‘Someday, the pain will go.’

‘Yeah,’ said Ace, who had just walked in with Graham, holding cups of tea. She handed one to both Yaz and Tegan, before sitting down on Yaz’s other side. ‘If we’re talking trauma, half the people I fancied ended up dead. Including one cat-woman.’

‘Y’what?’ Graham said, mouth falling open.

Yaz let out a watery chuckle.

‘So… neither of you got choked up after you left the Doctor?’

‘No,’ replied Tegan, as Ace shook her head. Graham, presumably guessing that Ace wasn’t going to elaborate, sat down on Yaz’s office chair. ‘But… well, I suppose I had a similar reaction, but it wasn’t after I left the TARDIS. It was… well, when I travelled with the Doctor, there was… another woman there.’

Tegan sighed, staring in the middle distance. Good grief, that was so long ago, but the memories blossomed in her mind. Of beautiful curly brown hair, of bright grey-green eyes, and of a delicate, sweet smile…

‘She was… my best friend. After she left, I felt awful. Like a part of my heart had been wrenched away along with her. We didn’t have Adele back then, but I did listen to “S.O.S” by ABBA a lot. I cried a lot, but… it helped. I dunno. I’d never really had such a close friend before that point. And I wasn’t ever going to see her again, so no wonder I was so upset.’

Tegan turned back to look at Yaz, and found the younger woman’s brow creased in apparent confusion.

‘That kinda sounds like what I’m like with the Doctor,’ she said, softly.

‘I don’t think it was nearly as strong as that,’ Tegan chuckled.

‘Sure sounds like it was.’

Tegan stared at Yaz, mouth falling open.

‘What?’ Tegan gasped. Was her face burning? ‘No! That’s… that’s completely different. Me and… well, we were just very close. Best friends, we were. I swear, we were basically joined at the hip. Shared a room and everything on the TARDIS. Best friends, definitely.’

Out of the corner of her eye, Tegan could see Ace rolling her eyes.

‘What?’ she exclaimed, hotly.

‘Nothing,’ Ace said, munching on a jammy dodger. ‘You carry on being an oblivious lesbian; why break the habit of a lifetime?’

Yaz giggled.

 *

 ‘I think that about wraps it up for this meeting,’ said Graham, clapping his hands together. ‘Thank you all for coming; we’ll arrange another one for about a months time.’

Tegan watched, as Yaz turned in her seat and began chatting to Martha. She was glad to see that Yaz had come to the meeting. Their intervention the previous week had clearly helped Yaz a fair bit. The poor girl was clearly still not okay, but she was better. And that was all that could be asked for. Tegan knew that the pain of that parting would never disappear completely, but Yaz would live a full life despite that. Despite living without the woman she loved.

Not that Tegan knew what that felt like, of course.

‘Hello…’

Everyone looked towards the door. Kate Stewart had poked her head through.

‘Hi,’ said Ace, cheerfully. ‘You’re a bit late today.’

‘Got held up at work,’ Kate said, opening the door slowly. ‘Actually, we had a skyfall event earlier today.’

‘Er… what?’ Tegan asked, confused.

‘Someone teleported into Heathrow Airport,’ Kate explained, holding the door open. ‘Actually, they used to travel with the Doctor. They’re here, actually. They said they had a feeling they might know some of you…’

A woman walked into the room. She had slightly greying bushy brown hair, grey-green eyes, and a nervous smile.

There was a crash, as Tegan’s chair fell backwards onto the ground. She was now standing on her feet, but she didn’t remember standing up. Her eyes met the newcomer, and Tegan’s heart seemed to leap into her throat.

‘Hello, Tegan,’ said Nyssa of Traken.

As if in a daze, Tegan slowly walked across the room.

‘N-Nyssa…’ she whispered. ‘Is… is it really you?’

‘It’s me,’ Nyssa replied. ‘I… oh, I’ve missed you, Tegan.’

Without thinking, Tegan darted forward and threw her arms around her. Nyssa let out a deep sigh of contention, her own arms coming around Tegan’s back. Almost four decades worth of buried hope seemed to rise like a firework in Tegan’s heart. She didn’t think she would ever see Nyssa again and here she was, arms wrapped around Tegan as they embraced for the first time in… oh, so very, very long. And, just like with their goodbye on the Terminus space station, Tegan found herself almost unable to speak, overcome with so many confused and heightened feelings that she couldn’t even begin to describe.

Eventually, Nyssa’s hands loosened, and she pulled away slightly, staring into Tegan’s face. The grey-green orbs met Tegan’s own brown eyes.

Tegan began to shake, tears streaking down her cheeks as she sobbed.

‘Sssshhhh…’ Nyssa said, tears dripping from her own eyes as she cupped Tegan’s face, stroking the Australian’s tears away. ‘It’s okay… I’m here…’

‘Oh, Nys…’ Tegan whispered. ‘Oh, Nyssa…’

‘Like I said,’ whispered Ace, nudging Yaz with her elbow. ‘Oblivious lesbian.’

~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading, everyone! Hope you enjoyed this fic!

#doctor who fanfiction #tegan/nyssa #nyssa/tegan #past thasmin #post-centenary special #post-power of the doctor #tegan jovanka #ace mcshane #yasmin khan #yaz #graham o'brien #nyssa #nyssa of traken #indestructible #heathrow scientific #doctor who #hurt/comfort #tw: grief #tw: food mention #tegan x nyssa #nyssa x tegan

[glittery-ishfish]

Hetalia Drama CD Vol.7: Let’s Talk About the G8 Members☆, Part Four

(tw: swearing, lots of it)

P1,

P2 (tw: Brief poor Ukraine characterization, swearing)

P3

P4 (Hello)

P5 (tw: Poor Ukraine characterization)

P6

P7 (tw: Poor Ukraine characterization)

P8

P9 (tw: Poor Ukraine characterization)

P10 (End)

[Start scene, footsteps entering the room]

Narrator-san: And thus, the G8 conference drew its curtains open without any guidance from Italy, the host country of the meeting.

Eng: So, today's agenda is about us. 

Jap: Thinking about the G8 members, right England-san? 

Ame: AAAAAGH! I WAS GONNA SAY THAT, JAPAN! 

Jap: R-Really?! I'm sorry, America-san. 

Ame: And on an unrelated note, when are ya gonna export that game about the two tied-up girls, and that manga with my president in it?

Jap: Uh…When I return, I will inform my boss and take care of it. 

Ame: Okay! I'll leave it to you! 

Eng: I’M THE ONE TALKING ABOUT THE AGENDA, SHUDDUP YOU GUYS!

Can *at the same time as England*: America is turning the G8 meeting into his...My house is--

Eng: Anyway, let’s start with my opinion. It's time for the G8 to get out of the rut it's in. Don’t you think it’s time we ‘shape up'?

Ame: WHADDYA MEAN ”SHAPE UP”!? YOU TELLING ME TO QUIT HAMBURGERS AND MILKSHAKES?! YOU CAN’T MEAN SOMETHING CRAZY LIKE THAT!! IF I DO THAT I'LL DIE!!

Eng: I’Ｍ NOT DOING THAT!! I MEANT IN TERMS OF THE NUMBER OF PEOPLE! STA~RE…

[England glares directly at Russia with 'staring arrows']

Rus: Don't stare at me so~ much!

[Russia grabs the staring arrows and breaks them]

Eng:…Don't break people's sight lines without permission!

[Dark aura sounds, Belarus edition, take three]

Bel: You harassed big brother, you harassed big brother, my big brother…MY BIG BROTHER… 

Eng: Er-

Bel: Big brother-- the guy who harassed big brother…*hissing/gurgling*

Eng: R-Russia, stop your little sister.

Rus: Ufu! I'm afraid I can’t. Anyways, I think we're fine with just the eight of us, but what about you guys? How about you, Canada-kun?

Can: Eh? Um…I, uh, my opinion. I think that before this…

Kumajiro: Who’re you? 

Can: I'm Canada! Let's see…So, I think we should--

Bel: ATCHATCHAHATCHAO

[Poor Canada keeps talking in the background]

Fra: If you're talking about getting 'stuck in a rut', I wonder if a position will be given to someone new. Spain, for example, is my best bet right now.

Ame: No way, not him! Whenever he sees me, he tries to attack me with his knees!

Ger: Hm…Spain, huh? I agree with France's opinion.

Ame*upset*&Fra*pleasantly surprised*: Ehhh?! Germany!

Ger: HOWEVER, the G8 is still the G8 and only eight other countries will be considered. We will congratulate Spain for joining and thank you, for all you've done up until now…France.

[Cartoony shock sound]

Fra: EEEEEH??! MEEEE?! W-What the hell!? I thought we were getting to know each other a little better these days!

Is that a German joke or something? Huh?? You know what? I'll only drive a Peugeot if you keep talking like that, how does that sound~?

Ger: I'll give you an example of what you've done for us so far, France.

Fra: Don't go on at all if you don’t like meee!!

Ame: *AmericanLaugh.exe*

Fra: GODDAMMIT, STOP LAUGHING! *sniffle/whimper* You're making big brother cry...

Rus: Isn't this great? You love vacations, don't you, France-kun?

Fra: *annoyed* Well, you see, strikes are supposed to be for the betterment of the workplace, not to pile on whatever the hell you want!

Rus: *(probably) not paying attention* I see! I just love to take vacations, and I like to take vacations to museums, trains, palaces, and so~ on!

Fra: ENOUGH! I DON’T WANNA HEAR IT! THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT! BIG BROTHER’S NOT LISTENIIINNNGGG!!!

Rus: But those are all things I really like about you, France-kun.

Fra: THAT’S NOT REALLY ME YOU’RE TALKING ABOOOUUUUTTT!!!!

Can: Um…I heard...about this invention--

Ame: *AmericanLaugh.exe*

[America (I assume) runs off]

Eng:…It's definitely Russia who should leave.

Jap: Um, if you want, would you like to look at the history of each nation from the last 10 years?

Eng: Huh? Okay, let me see. 

[England flipping through pages]

Eng: Mm-hmm *page-flip*…

Jap: What do you think?

Eng: Hm, Well...*page-flip* In terms of statistics and current performance, Italy--

[Germany knocks documents out of England's hands]

 

Ger:…Please. Pretend you didn't see that.

Eng: Germany…

Jap: Germany-san!

[Sparkly sounds]

Eng: Understood! I guess it can't be helped!

Jap: It doesn’t hurt to be a little lenient, does it~?

[More sparkly sounds]

Ger: I'm sorry…I'm so very sorry…

[Sounds of France getting bullied]

(T/N: From what I could pick up, I believe that France may have said something along the lines of "Evil, evil! I'm surrounded by evil!")

Jap: So, Germany-san, since everything ended up unchanged, please do your usual thing.

Ger: O-Of course, *ahem*...YOU BASTARDS! 

[Germany slams hands onto the table]

Ger: LET’S GET THIS MEETING OVER WITH FIRST! You each have eight minutes left! AND NO SIDE CONVERSATIOONNSS!!!

[End scene]

#hetalia #aph official #hetalia drama cd #aph russia #aph belarus #aph england #aph japan #aph america #aph france #aph canada #aph germany #hetalia belarus #hetalia russia #hetalia germany #hetalia england #hetalia japan #hetalia canada #hetalia america #Poor France #I'm learning so much about these characters through this CD! #Why does the way Germany says “Furansu” sound so...(⊙-⊙;)?? #I'm very scared to post the next scene...

[anmylica]

Like Slow Spinning Redemption

Chapter Two

@their-seafaring-ways Here is part 2 for your reading pleasure!

Read on AO3

Tagging the Usual Crew: @kmomof4 @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert @snowbellewells @sotangledupinit @tiganasummertree Want to be added? Ask me!

Liam accompanied them to meet up at the loft with the others in Emma’s group.  He was quickly introduced to everyone, and he was a little taken aback at first that Emma’s parents were the same age as her (of course, they told him that that was only due to a Dark Curse, but still, it’s very strange).  He crowded around the kitchen counter with the others as David brought a wooden chest out and set it on the counter in front of his wife, Mary Margaret (or was it Snow White?  Liam was uncertain which moniker he needed to call her).  

Emma’s mother looked at Liam, noticing his confusion, and explained, “In the world above this is where I found the Storybook.  So…” she left off and lifted the lid, beginning her search by rifling through its contents, but coming up empty handed.  Crestfallen, she muttered a soft, “Sorry,” to the group.

Regina (or the Evil Queen?) frowned.  “Are we really surprised?” She asked the group rhetorically, continuing, “That book is the embodiment of hope, and there's not a lot of that here in the Underworld.”

“Let’s keep looking,” Emma’s father, David (was that his curse name or real name?), suggested, and they all began to go through everything in the apartment.  Emma wandered upstairs, and Liam, seeing an opportunity to address her privately, followed her.  Liam reached the top to see what looked to be a second bedroom, where Emma was opening drawers and storage cabinets, searching fruitlessly for the book.  When she had to pause her search because one was stuck, he decided that that was as good a time as any and popped around the corner.

“Emma, can we talk,” he asked.

Emma sighed and smirked.  “Is this like a protective big brother talk where you want to make sure I’m good enough for Killian?” She turned to him, seemingly both annoyed and pleased at the notion that he would want to feel her out as any other older brother would.  The notion just annoyed him.  How could she not see how negative an influence she was on his brother?  She was the one who had caused his death!

Liam’s reply was a little sharp due to his annoyance.  “Eh, no, because I already know you’re not good enough.”

Whatever it was that Emma had been expecting, it was clear to Liam that his response wasn’t it.  Her face looked shocked, as if the thought that he wouldn’t like or approve of her for his brother never crossed her mind.

“What?” She asked, taken aback by Liam’s outright refusal to give her the time of day.  Liam resolved that this was as much as she would get from him.

“Killian blames himself for ending up here, but he told me what happened.  Sounds to me like it’s not his fault.  It’s yours.”  Liam frowned at her, curious to see what explanation she could have that might possibly change his mind.  Perhaps if she acknowledged that her mistakes led to his brother’s death, she might move up in his esteem.

Due to his train of thought, her next statement shocked him.

“I think we both made mistakes,” Emma said slowly, as if seeming to hedge on whether she needed to outright state the horrible things Killian had done to her in retaliation for her turning him into the Dark One in an obviously misguided attempt at saving his life.  But Liam was no fool; he knew that Killian would not have made the mistakes he made if he hadn’t been put in the position of being the Dark One in the first place.  And her reply outraged him.  She was supposed to grovel for his forgiveness, not try to rationalize her actions as if it were some sort of lover’s spat that both were responsible for starting!

“You fed him to the wolves.  You led him down a dark path that he had no business going down!” Liam vehemently replied. 

“I’m trying to help him get back on the path of the light.  That’s the whole reason I’m down here!” Emma retorted.

“No, you don’t get it, Emma Swan.  My brother has struggled with the darkness his whole life.  He’s always been tempted by it; I watched him struggle constantly with it growing up.  He’s always wanted to be a hero, but he’s never been able to escape the darkness pulling him in.  It’s just how it is for him.  But for you to come into his life and pull him in like an addict picking up a fix after months of not touching the addiction… You pushed him off the bloody cliff!” 

Emma’s face took on an outraged expression.  “I was trying to save his life!”

Liam responded quickly in a sharp tone, “And it was a bloody selfish thing to do.  He had the chance to die a hero, to move on, and you took it from him!”

Emma took a deep breath to calm down before replying.  “That’s not fair.  I’m down here risking everything to save him.”

Liam shook his head, frustrated that she couldn’t see how right he was.  “And is that really what he needs… or what you need?  It’s just wrong, what you did, and I can’t forgive you for it.” He scowled at her.  “You shouldn’t have come down here.  You need to just let him find out what his unfinished business is and let him move on.  You’re no good for him.”

Emma tried not to let his words get to her, but she couldn’t help it.  Her temper flared as she responded, “I actually don’t think you get it at all.  I’m not down here on some selfish, I-can’t-let-go-of-him-because-all-that’s-matters-is-what-I-want mission!  I’m here because he sacrificed himself to rid the whole world of the Darkness, the very thing that you claim has always called to him, and it was all for nothing!  Rumplestiltskin is still the Dark One, the Darkness is still very much a part of my world, and Killian is down here in the Underworld for it!” Emma shouted.  “If he had no unfinished business, if his story was truly done, then he wouldn’t be here.  He would have already moved on, not be stuck here in limbo.  Whatever darkness you believe your brother is capable of isn’t true.  His story isn’t over.  His hero’s journey isn’t over!  In fact, from what I know of him it’s just getting started!”

“I think I know my brother better than you,” Liam replied tersely after a moment of tense silence.

“No, you don’t.  You died, Liam,” Emma stated baldly, moving a step closer to him to illustrate her point.  “You weren’t there to see him turn to piracy after your wrongful death.  You weren’t there when his first love’s heart was crushed in front of him and she died in his arms.  And you damn sure haven’t been there since I met him and he decided he wanted to work towards becoming the man he always wanted to be.  No, Liam Jones, you don’t know your brother half as well as you think.  If you did, you’d see that he is not the villain you’ve only heard about.”  

“I don’t think my brother is a villain,” Liam snarled out.

“Obviously you do if you think he has no capability of being a hero whatsoever, which it’s clear to me that you believe.  He is the most heroic, noble, and decent human being I know.  Whatever stories you’ve heard about Captain Hook are not indicative of who Killian Jones is at the core of him.  He’s been through so much loss and heartache, and in spite of all of that, he’s done more good and helped more people than you will ever know.”

“I know what I’ve experienced, and my brother’s darkness is just as much a part of him, and he should be allowed to move on into the afterlife as a hero,” Liam stubbornly reiterated.

Emma rolled her eyes.  “Were you this self-righteous when you were alive?”

“When it came to my brother, yes.  If he defeats Hades today, he’ll forgive himself and he’ll have another chance to move on as a hero.  When that happens, stop thinking about your own desires and let him go.”  Liam looked over the railing to the downstairs area to where Killian was rummaging through things trying to find the book.  Killian was all that mattered.  Emma Swan’s attempts at meddling in affairs she had no business in meddling with had no bearing on what was best for Killian.

“And if he forgives himself, he can come home, where he belongs,” Emma stubbornly shot back.  “He can continue living his hero’s journey and do even more good for the world.”

With that, Emma stalked off to continue searching through the rest of the loft for the copy of the Underworld version of the book of fairy tales.  She didn’t think she could stand a moment longer in Killian’s brother’s self-righteous presence.  

Liam, meanwhile, turned and stalked off in the opposite direction, fed up with Emma’s I-know-better-than-you attitude.  How his brother could stand to be in a relationship with her sanctimonious beliefs was beyond his level of comprehension.  He could see why Killian was attracted to her physically; with her blonde hair and bright green eyes, she was a beautiful woman, though Liam was a bit surprised that Killian had decided on her, as he had always known his brother to prefer brunettes. No, it wasn’t her beauty that was so off-putting; it was her personality that grated on his nerves.  He didn’t need some know-it-all woman coming between him and his brother.

But what was it that got under his skin so much? Was it the way she looked at Killian, as if he were the epitome of nobility, or was it the way she seemed to see right through Liam’s carefully constructed image of heroism? Nope, that was definitely not the reason why he disliked her so much. Her green eyes narrowing in offense and suspicion absolutely did not make him want to confront his actions all those centuries ago. He wasn’t going to lose his brother’s respect because of her. What did she know about what Killian needed anyway?  

He descended the stairs quickly, going to search another area while their altercation circled on repeat in his mind. Emma must have followed him down, because he heard Killian ask her, “You all right?” 

He watched Emma approach his brother out of the corner of his eye. 

“Yeah. Fine,” she responded, obviously lying. Liam was impressed for a moment by how she didn’t immediately run to Killian to tattle on him. He’d have figured she would have been quick to run to his brother and cry on his shoulder about Liam’s horrible treatment of her. “Let’s keep looking,” she said as she walked towards Killian, who watched her with concern in his eyes.

Before Killian could respond to Emma’s blatant denial of her emotions, the door swung open, revealing Emma’s son, Henry. “Hey,” he said as he entered, but stopped short as he looked at all of them ransacking the apartment. “What’s going on?”

Mary Margaret walked swiftly past Henry, replying gibly, “Oh, just looking for the Storybook. You know: Underworld edition.” She resumed her search in another area of the apartment.

“Really?” Henry’s eyes lit up. “Well, I think I might know where it is!”

David stopped his search and looked curiously at his grandson. “And how would you know that?”

Henry turned to David and said, “The Apprentice. I saw him at…” Henry broke off for a moment, clearly trying to think of an alibi for where he had been that he wasn’t supposed to be. “At Granny’s,” he continued. “He said the Sorcerer's mansion is down here and there’s a bunch of his stuff inside, like the Storybook.”

Regina sighed and looked up to the ceiling. “Finally, some good news.”

Henry winced. “Well, sort of? The house is locked with magic, and the sheriff has the key.”

Killian chuckled. “Your evil twin is the sheriff?” He asked David. “Oh, Hades has panache, I’ll give him that.”

David sighed and nodded. “Well, it’s time for my brother and me to have an overdue chat.”

Mary Margaret squared her shoulders and prepared her things to go with them. “Well, you won’t be alone. I still owe him a punch in his pretty mouth for kissing me.”

David scowled. “He kissed you?!” he exclaimed, turning to give Killian an outraged look, which Killian returned. It struck Liam as odd that David, who was Emma’s father and well within his rights to not approve of Killian dating his daughter, would turn to Killian for solidarity and support for his anger. It seemed like a gesture that brothers would share, and it rattled Liam to see that kind of interaction between his little brother and another man.

Mary Margaret cut a short, irritated replay. “Thought it was you.”  She headed briskly towards the door, David’s eyes one her the entire time. Once she exited the apartment, David looked back at Killian again before he grabbed his jacket and proceeded after his wife. “Let’s go.”

Liam turned to Killian and stopped him before he could head after David and Mary Margaret.  “In the meanwhile, we should all go about our usual business. Hades has eyes everywhere. We can’t have him learning what we’re up to.”  

Killian nodded his head once. “Fine plan. I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he learns a valuable lesson… one should never mess with the brothers Jones.” Killian clapped Liam and on his shoulders and smiled at him encouragingly before moving to open the door for Emma, who had grabbed her coat and hat in the moment it took them to decide on the plan.  She left through the door, closely followed by Henry and Regina. 

Liam smiled briefly at his little brother before following them down out of the apartment. He really hoped that Killian could do what he planned because he really wanted him to be able to move on.  His brother deserved to have his hero moment and proceed to the rest of his afterlife without any emotional baggage weighing him down.  Liam couldn’t help but glance at the blonde hovering just behind Killian as he pondered over the situation.

He hadn’t realized how much he had missed his brother being around until Killian was suddenly there.  There had been a hole in Liam’s life, and it’s only now that he was realizing just how large that hole had been.  He had hoped that Killian would have had a long life before his death, perhaps have a family of his own, but now that Killian was there Liam didn’t want to lose him.  He didn’t want Emma Swan to be able to change his brother’s mind about trying to return back to life.  It didn’t just have to do with wanting his brother to try and be a hero (though it hadn’t always looked as if Killian had the ability to be one); he didn’t want him to find a way back to life because he was tired of being without his family.

He didn’t think it was selfish to want his brother to remain here with him.  It wasn’t like his brother could go anywhere; Killian was dead.  Though Liam wouldn’t have wanted Killian to die to be able to join him, now that he was here, Liam didn’t think it was too much to ask to have his family stick with him.  Killian’s confidence in their ability to wreak havoc on Hades had struck a chord in Liam that was reminiscent of their days in the navy, but so much had changed since then.

Liam shook his head and tried to stop thoughts of wanting to keep Killian with him from taking over.  He hurried back to the bar, desperate for the semblance of normality before they opened.  He wasn’t working the evening shift tonight, but he had a lot of preparation to do to get the tavern ready for the evening.

Once he got back to The Rabbit Hole, he worked as quickly as he could to restock bottles of beer and sodas, fill the ice machines, and wipe the surfaces down.  He was working on washing and drying various glassware when Hades strolled in as if he owned the place.

“Wow.  Even for the Underworld, it is dead in here.”  Hades casually looked over the place, for what Liam didn’t know.

Liam placed the wine glass that he had been drying down on the counter.  “Can I help you?,” he asked.  “I can make you anything.”

Hades sat at a bar stool just in front of Liam but to his right slightly.  “That’s okay.  I can help myself.”  He waved his hand in a circular motion and produced two glasses of Scotch.  “This Scotch is a few centuries old.  I think it’s aged quite well.  The key is to store it underground.”  He waved his hand at the glass nearest Liam, and the glass slid down the bar close enough for Liam to grab.  “Here. Try some.”

Liam took the glass and raised it to his lips, sipping minutely at the beverage.  Liam, as a general rule, didn’t imbibe much alcohol.  It went against his code of good form.  He had seen too many sailors (including his brother) succumb to its ills to want to imbue much, but one didn’t refuse Hades in his own realm.  Liam made a hum of appreciation; though he didn’t drink much alcohol, it was pretty good Scotch.

“It’s good, right?” Hades smiled after taking his own sip.  “See, I’m… I’m not such a bad guy.”

Liam’s heart dropped, but he carefully schooled his facial expression so as to not give anything away.  Hades knows, he thought bleakly.

“But here you are,” Hades continued, “trying to stage some kind of a…. What’s that quaint nautical term you keep using?  A…” Hades snapped his fingers.  “That’s right… mutiny.”

Liam blinked.  “So, you found us out.”  

“Well, like you said, I have eyes everywhere.  What I don’t have is that Storybook.”

Liam frowned.  “And what do you want from me?”

Hades shrugged and took another sip.  “Not much.  I don’t even really care about that book, except for a few select pages… the ones about me.  So, find the book and destroy them.”

Liam crossed his arms.  “Do it yourself.”

Hades huffed a soft, dangerous laugh.  “Well I would, but it’s the Sorcerer’s house.  Light magic doesn’t agree with me, so I kind of need you to do it.”  

“Why me?” Liam asked.

“Because you owe me,” Hades replied.  “I’m the one that guaranteed your and your brother’s lives in that storm, after all.”

Liam thought for a moment.  “And if I refuse?”

“I’ll tell your brother the thing you never could, the reason you’re really down here.”

Liam stared at Hades.

“Yes, I’ll tell him that you traded the lives of the crew of the Hispaniola for your and your brother’s life and the Eye of the Storm.  I’ll tell him that the lives lost were worth nothing more to you than a magical rock.”

Liam looked down at the counter.  “You wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?  Tell me, why do you think you’re down here?  You’re stuck here because you can’t admit what you did.  You can’t acknowledge the role you played in those men’s deaths.  And you certainly can’t admit it to your brother.  How likely do you think it would be that he would choose to stay here with you when he finds out what you’ve done?  When he hears that his hero wasn’t as heroic as he once thought?  You’d surely lose him to Emma Swan and her fruitless attempts at resurrecting him.  Do you really want to test me on this?”

Liam took a deep breath.  He knew Hades was right, as much as he hated to admit it.  He certainly didn’t want to lose his brother after everything they had gone through to reunite.  He couldn’t have cared less about Emma Swan’s so-called mission; he resented the woman for her role in Killian’s death and her insipid insistence that Killian forgive himself and go home when there was no way to return to the living.  He made up his mind.

“How do I do it?” Liam asked, and Hades gave a smirk.

“Just take the pages and destroy them.  Find a body of water and throw them in it; they’ll make their way to me.”

Liam furrowed his brow in confusion.  

Hades got up and leaned in close to Liam and whispered, “All bodies of water flow through my throne room.”  He drew back and turned to leave.  “I’ll expect them later this evening,” Hades announced before disappearing in the blink of an eye, leaving Liam to contemplate his mission.

#Like Slow Spinning Redemption #anmylica writes #for their-seafaring-ways #ouat #out ff #once upon a time #captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #captain hook

[pansyfemme]

Oh also this isn't like. An ask but you could maybe share your favorites from being on T (if wanted!), but when I finally do start it I am literally so fucking excited for the "rat stache" so many trans guys get. I already *have* one kinda (it's more seeable when up close but it's there!) and like, my friend said too he thinks I'll really rock it when it grows in 8).

Also I so excited for tdick, unwell about tdick but like. That's a given. I wear the fact I'm a tdick lover on my sleeve <3

Oh absolutly!!

I will say i had mixed feelings on my "rat stache" when it first started lol. Well. more like, i liked it, my brother made constant fun of it until i started shaving constantly until he moved out. But around yr 3 on t, my beard and mustache came in so strong i kinda just wanted to see how far i could go with it lol!! I've been growing it out since august at this point, so its def the longest it's ever been, but considering just how hairy ive gotten over the past year, it probably could get a little longer. at this point im not sure if i like the beard or if it's just a get out of misgendering free card lol! But it's pretty reliable for that at least. (still get misgendered like once a day, but yknow. whatever at this point.)

I'm a proud tdick lover myself, so its probably my fave change? i don't need to go into detail bc i dont think ppl want to hear that TBH but i think i'm a little smaller than average and i still feel pretty affirmed with my growth! it's complicated bc im thinking of looking into metoidoplasty in the future so im not rlly all too concerned with my growth considering i'm gonna end up getting surgery anyways but i think ppl underestimate how much it does for bottom dysphoria. It changes the way you view your lower half a bunch!

As for my voice, i think its.. ok? i know you guys probably haven't rlly heard it before but it is what it is. Definitly flamingly queer and gravely in that typical t voice style. It's not suuuper low, not always enough to pass over the phone, but usally enough that people don't question it combined with my appearance. It's the kinda voice where those in the know spot that im trans just from hearing it, but those who aren't trained to the art of recognizing t voices probably just think im a gay dude, which i am.

Even though i enjoy dressing hyperfemininly, i've started to really appriciate my build when im just wearing tank tops and jeans. My dad told me i look so much like queer guys in the 90's dressed like that, which was a confidence boost LMAO. Fat redistribution was hard to visualize when i first heard about it, but it definitly happens. Most of the fat in my hips moved to my stomach and ass, and while it isnt a lot, it's def way more masc than it was before. I never was a particulaly curvy person, just large chested, but my build now is considerably more masculine, paired with top surgery.

My hands also got a bit bigger! tho it's not like. a huge difference and my hands r pretty chubby and not very masculine, it was something ppl around me noticed. not rlly sure how that happened but i was pretty young when i started so who knows!

I will say that my body and face are enough that i dont feel like i need any surgeries on them at this point in time. im not happy with my jawline, but i know a sharp one would look unatural considering my weight so, eh. I'm not against the concept of facial masculinization or body sculpting or whatever but the truth is i just. don't think those surgeries are made for my body type. I may be wrong, but a lot of the surgeries i see for masculinzing torsos need flat stomachs to work well, so im just eh on getting surgeries that im not sure would look natural on me. I have a few more surgeries planned but in all honesty im not certain on the path of my transition past those. I would like a hysterectomy as soon as possible, any maybe if i can, a minor bottom surgery procedure at the same time. I've thought of phallo possibly in the future, but likely not until im out of school at least. but even thats pretty up in the air. and who knows? i could change my mind and get facial masculization or go off t or do whatever, im just not really certain yet, and feel no need to rush into it. Something ive been thinking about a little lately is how i don't think i want to go stealth, but it's kinda nice when people don't know me immediatly as a trans dude, something im just starting to expereince. I never want to be closeted, but sometimes its nice to know im being viewed 100% as a guy, yknow? It's so hard to gauge when cis people actually see me as a man when they know im trans, it's just.. nice to not worry about that sometimes. I think as you get further on t, your ideas of how you want to be viewed change a lot. I never thought i'd be hairy, i thought that wasn't something i'd face, but im not mad that i am. I don't think it makes me any less of a femme. I've also, as i mentioned, become more comfortable with the concept of dressing femme in mens clothes. I didn't know that id still come off as gay and femme when i dressed in just a tshirt and jeans, but i do, it's kinda wild! this has become kinda rambly but i really have valued these past 4 years on t, it's been a whirlwind, truly.

[flydotnet]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled).

That guy seemed like he was about to burst a blood vessel. He was goin' too hard too much.

I started this fic what feels like a bazillion years ago - it was supposed to come out last year I believe, but between my half-year job that sipped my Life Points away like I was some Yu-Gi-Oh character, various other sources of brainrot and Whumptober, I ended up finishing this fic a lot later than I'd have liked.

Well, I knew I'd have to postpone posting it until I was done with a previous prompt on the card for Reasons only known to myself (and Tekiro), so it's not that surprising of me I'd suppose.

The backstory of this one was inspired by a fanfic series on Pixiv where, at some point, Nitta confronts Kumi's bullies; but like I'm edgy as fuck so I took it in an angstier direction. Woops.

I'm just really glad this fic is done, it's been a long time coming. Also I need food for my stupidly niche-ass rarepair that crosses into crackship territory if you don't think about it hard enough.

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Sunny-Side Up

Summary: Shun has felt off for a couple days, but in his haze, doesn't quite get why. Somehow, his crush manages to read through his own unease.

Fandom: Captain Tsubasa Relationships: Nitta/Kumi (pre-rel)

Word Count: 4.2K words

AO3 version available here.

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo.

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In a sudden flash of awareness, Shun realizes how much of a mess he’s made.

There’s a video playing on his smartphone of someone wrapping gauze on a dummy’s arm. His smartphone is itself propped on some makeshift installation on top of the empty bathtub, threatening to fall if he hits it at just the right angle. There’s an empty bottle of disinfectant on the floor, its smell all over the bathroom, bandages all over the place, a first-aid kit wide open and spilling.

All that mess, yet his wound still looks the worst out of everything here. Oh, this is going to be a pain in the ass…

Whatever. He can handle it on his own. He doesn’t need Urabe, Misaki and especially not Sugimoto’s nosy ass to slip their noses into his bullshit. Mom and Dad trust him to be on his own so he’ll manage it on his own. Tutorials are all he needs to get by with whatever he doesn’t know yet. He’ll cook himself omurice, he’ll down a pill or two, and it’ll be fine. He’s fine, no need for anyone else, and especially not a manager who puts her nose everywhere (even if she’s lowkey cute – when she’s not being a brat who meddles in people’s business).

Fuck it. It’s stopped bleeding and it doesn’t even smell that bad anymore (it doesn’t make him want to puke, at least), so that should be enough. He’s got other stuff to take care of, like what he’s going to train tomorrow and his math homework. Dammit, he should’ve taken a shower before patching that wound! Oh well, he’ll just quickly wash himself in the sink, like Dad often does when he runs late to his flights. You shouldn’t wash a wound, right? He remembers that from when he had stitches for another injury. It makes some amount of sense.

Just staring at the mess he’s made is kind of discouraging, though. It’s been a long day (even longer than that, actually), even without taking into account the deep cut on his thigh. He still doesn’t quite to make of it, confused by his own actions. Man, he’s really not in the mood to think of that over, why is he being like that? All he needs to do is get some sleep and it’ll all be good. Eat, sleep, repeat. It’s easy.

Eh…

On second thought, cooking omurice very much sounds like a chore as well. What if he just made rice in the cooker and sunny side up eggs? That sounds like a good compromise. Same ingredients, less wok involved, he can survive that. As long as he takes a pill, he’ll be fine. No need to ask for anyone’s help, he’s self-sufficient. He’s been for a long time.

He doesn’t need anyone’s help, and especially not that of a certain nosy manager he’s going to have to deal with tomorrow first thing in the morning.

It’s not that Sugimoto is a bad person. Yes, sure, she’s still a bit obsessed with Tsubasa, despite how long it’s been since she’s apparently confessed her love to him, only to be turned down because Nakazawa has always been his main squeeze; but she’s mostly gotten over it in years, although that’s probably helped by the fact Tsubasa has gone to Brazil and taken nobody else with him, not even his own girlfriend. She’s hardworking, she’s enthusiastic and she’s always ready to get her hands dirty if it means helping Nakazawa or Nishimoto with their tasks. She’s a good person, dammit, he can’t take that away from her, and the team wouldn’t be the same without her.

Hell, Shun would even say she’s kind of cute with her pigtails and her bright eyes and her infectious energy.

But the issue is that Sugimoto is enthusiastic and nosy. She’s so fucking nosy, all over the place asking people this and that, if she can help them, and that’s exactly what he doesn’t want. She’s well-intentioned and butting in people’s business isn’t exclusive to her in this team (looking at you, Ishizaki): the issue here is that not only can she not shut it once something has hit her radar, but she’ll also make sure that thing is taken care of personally – and by God, Shun can’t imagine making his teammates lose their manager’s time over some stupid cut on his thigh.

Also, how are you even supposed to explain how and why you’ve got a cut on your thigh? You just don’t get a thing like that by playing soccer, Shun’s clever enough to know that. Even the clumsiest of soccer players wouldn’t manage to get a cut this high and this clean on his leg, not even while drunk off his ass. It’s clearly no accident, he realizes, and he has no lie to come up with that’d sound credible enough to get past her, even when taking Sugimoto’s credulity into account. She’s seen too many soccer matches to know he’d have to do it on purpose and slip on a knife for this wound to happen.

Doesn’t help one bit that Shun’s a terrible liar. There’s no way he’s getting past the classic test of seeing if the person in front of you is sweating as they’re retelling a supposedly innocent story. Hell, he’s seen Misaki do it one too many times for that to fool him; and if Misaki can’t pull off a poker face good enough to fool the team, then there’s no way in hell Shun’s pulling that off. Moreover, Urabe tends to feel that sort of things like you’d feel someone’s unease: he’ll ask every annoying question possible with a loud enough voice to make a conviction weaver dead in its tracks.

He almost cracks two eggs open on the hot non-stick pan before remembering he needs to add oil so it won’t stick. He doesn’t have the energy to scrub burnt eggs off tonight (he never does, to be fair, it’s annoying even on a good day), so he loses the twenty seconds that take in exchange for more sleeping time tonight.

He kind of misses Mom, in situations like that. Every time she’s here, she cooks him her signature stir-fry, and they all eat it, with Dad and sometimes their friends. Whenever his parents are here, the house is always warmer, and it’s more comfortable, even if he’s nowadays used to the echo of his footsteps and to whistle a song when he’s cooking. Of course, he knows they’re rarely here for a good reason, and besides, it’s what makes the days they are home the best in the year. He can hope they’ll be in Japan for the high school national tournament this year, Mom told him that the other day, and it made his heart flutter.

The chime of the rice cooker sounds a little different tonight, like the echo has made it more sinister.

It’s somewhat weird, Shun finds. He’s been making rice on his own for long enough for that chime to be nothing if familiar, so he has no idea why tonight it resonates a bit differently now. He’s going to attribute it to fatigue, for now, and maybe later down the line he’ll have some sort of answer about it. At the moment, all he should worry about is improving on his soccer skills, take care of his homework and, of course, cooking his dinner. That’s the most important step of his evening as of now.

Urgh, he should’ve paid more attention, instead of zoning out for no reason like he just did, like a moron. The yellows have completely opened, rendering them as dry as the whites, there are burnt edges all over those of the pan and he doesn’t have eggs to spare. Shit end to a shit day, he supposes – so may as well gulp them down. He isn’t even that hungry anyway. He’ll just eat them, wash himself and go to bed. His uniform can wait until the morning, and so can thinking about Sugimoto butting her nose into his business, and the fact he wouldn’t even mind that much. At least, she’d look at him, and they’d be up close and personal, and…

No, no, he would mind, actually! Just like he’d mind Nakazawa or Nishimoto not minding their own businesses, but especially Sugimoto! Explaining this whole mess to her sounds exhausting. Bah, if push comes to shove, he’ll just find an excuse when he’ll be more refreshed than now. He’ll be a better liar next time, or he’ll just hide everything just enough for a basic pretence to work.

At least tomorrow will be better – and if not tomorrow, then the day after.

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Once again, and for what feels like a vague nth time lately, Shun wakes up in a haze. He eats a breakfast just as hazy, presumably composed of leftover rice from yesterday fried with oil and chocolate (it surprisingly doesn’t taste bad, at least not enough to make him nauseous again). He tries to button his uniform vest but ends up giving up because he’s already spent all his patience on his dress shirt. He walks to school unable to walk in a straight line or quickly – it’s either one or the other. Urgh.

It’s been colder and colder for the past three days, and no amount of hot beverage or soft-boiled egg has been able to fix it – and goddamn is Shun tired of hearing people asking him if he’s fine. Yes, he is, shut the fuck up. You’re a chore for asking something so useless.

Although Shun has to admit, in the privacy of his own mind, that their doubts aren’t unfounded.

The wound on his leg hasn’t healed very well yet: if someone was to see it, or even the bandages that keep turning red without his approbation, they’d question it, and he’d have no choice but to explain how in the hell he got a cut that high yet that low at the same time. It’d then provoke some sort of domino effect, he’d guess, where Sugimoto would get involved because she’s a manager or something (sounds like an excuse), and that he can’t let it happen.

Come to think of it, if he could just get Nishimoto or Nakazawa not to tell anyone else about it, he’d be fine, would he? But the managers are close friends, they tell each other everything, and Shun can’t even risk Sugimoto hearing about it. If she was to learn of it, then…

Speaking of the devil, she just had to be there as soon as he was done changing. And here he was, hoping he’d be alone for a moment or two, enough time to get his crap together and look his Sunday best when he’s feeling anything but… (No, Shun, you’re just good. You’re doing just fine. Don’t whine, if you can walk, you’ve got nothing to cry about – you’re no quitter).

“Oh, good morning senpai!” She says with her usual smile. “I didn’t expect anyone to be here this early!”

Yep, she’s adorable all right, bouncy and luminous and everything of the sort.

“Good morning to you too, Sugimoto.”

Too bad she’s the one person he didn’t want to see, especially when he’s not made sure his stupid cut isn’t going to reopen yet.

“You’re going to practice shoots, right? I can help you get the balls back!”

“Yeah, Imma do that; but, like, you don’t have to help with it. Just make sure the clubroom is good for everyone else to use if they come.”

If they come, yeah, because morning practice isn’t the gold standard it used to be for some. Shun may also be hoping fewer people than usual get to see him because he didn’t exactly look… fresh when he was brushing his teeth (at least, that’s what he got through his haze). He can’t imagine it’s gotten better either.

“I’ve already taken care of preparations for the day, senpai.”

Uh…

“Oh, that’s good then.”

He helplessly watch her face twinge just a little.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Nitta? You look really pale today…”

And here’s why he really didn’t want to come across her all day: Sugimoto has a hawk’s eyes when it comes to things like that. According to his teammates, she used to be oblivious – blinded by her love for their captain, you know how it is, Nankatsu’s very identity was overwhelmingly Tsubasa’s to a sickening degree – but ever since he left for Brazil, she’s become the sharpest gaze on staff. Some say she may as well have been reading into their future. It’s, of course, impossible, but hey, for once, Shun’s willing to let it slide. It gives her an additional layer of depth he can’t deny but be allured by.

Oh, right. He’s supposed to lie to her now.

“Yeah, I’m all good.”

He feels something cold on his leg. He doesn’t really know what it is, but what he knows is that he needs to get away and onto the field as soon as possible before she realizes something’s up. But how does he do that without seeming suspicious?

“You really don’t look like it… Are you sure you’re not sick? You know you can take a day off, right? I promise you, people won’t blame you!”

“Nah, I’m fine, no need to fuss.”

He waits for her response, but all he gets in exchange is her widened eyes and a cold sweat pearling down his back.

“Nitta,” she says in a choked voice that’s so unlike her.

“Yeah?”

“You’re bleeding…”

In a snap of the gaze, Shun looks down at his leg and realizes, in unspoken horror, that the damn wound has already betrayed him: there’s a trail of red coursing down his thigh and shin, tainting his white socks, mocking him with its vicious rusty hues. Yeah, that one’s going to be difficult to explain, let alone hide anymore. Dammit, had he still been wearing his uniform, the black pants would’ve hidden that.

Guess lying by omission his way out of this situation isn’t on the table anymore… Unless?

“It’s, uhm… It’s a cut on my thigh,” he admits, trying to keep as many details out of there as possible. How does one accidentally cut his thigh?

“Stay here, I’m getting the first-aid kit!”

Sugimoto runs out of the main room to get to their small-ass infirmary, which leaves him time to flee out of there. Unfortunately, now that he knows he’s bleeding, he’s realising the damn thing stings, and it’s preventing him from actually attempting an escape – and she’s back already. Goddammit.

“Sit down anywhere, please.”

The worried tone of her voice makes him do the polar opposite of what he should: obeying her like a good little puppy and sitting on the nearest chair possible.

“It’s really no big deal,” he tries to argue anyway. “Just gimme the bandages, I’ll patch it up myself.” She stares at him with somewhat empty eyes. “What? I can wrap a wound, y’know.”

“It’s a manager’s job to take care of the players of her club,” she says as she kneels down to his legs. “Pull back your shorts just a little, please.”

It’s uncomfortable at best to actually strike some sort of balance between showing enough skin for her not to scold him, yet not enough for her to see whatever the hell he’s wearing underneath his shorts (come to think of it, what did he even put on this morning?). Why is he concerned about it now when he couldn’t be bothered when Nakazawa was seeing him almost entirely naked? No real idea, but for now, it’s very much an issue to immediately take care of.

Oh, wow, that bandage looks really fucking red. It was white when he put it on this morning, sure, but now, it’s a nasty amount of red. The thing won’t stop expanding too, like ink on paper.

“Oh my God,” Sugimoto barely manages to articulate, hands in front of her mouth and eyes open wide. “I need to check this, hang on, please.”

“You really don’t have to—”

He has to muffle a scream when she starts unwrapping the bandage, everything having stuck to his skin through a layer of sweat first, then with matted blood all around the cut.

“How long have you been injured for?”

The word hits him like a freight train.

“Uh… A couple days, I guess?”

This wasn’t supposed to make her worry even more.

“This should’ve healed in two or three days,” she says, trembling. “Your wound’s infected.”

Ah, that makes sense. Vaguely so, but it does.

“Crap.”

Sugimoto backs away a little, stares some more at his leg, and her face doesn’t get much better.

“Why did you let it get that bad, Nitta? You should’ve sensed something was wrong much earlier than that!”

Her voice is loud enough to rattle against all of his brain at once.

“H-hey, no need to yell at me! That shit happens sometimes!”

“What do you mean, ‘this happens sometimes’?! That’s an infected wound! Have you not cleaned it at all?!”

“Of course I didn’t! You’re not supposed to wet a wound!”

Sugimoto stares at him with all the disbelief in the world.

“You’re supposed to disinfect a wound! What are you saying?!”

“Last time I checked, when I had stitches, my doc told me not to!”

“It’s because you had stitches, senpai! But that’s just not the same, your wound’s already clean when you get stitches! Did you…” She trails on. “Did you not know this?”

Shun freezes when he realizes what he’s been doing for the past couple days has been stupid.

“Uh… No. I didn’t think about it, I guess?”

That doesn’t quell any of her disbelief in front of what the hell he’s telling her about.

“Why didn’t you ask for help, then?” She asks in an almost emotionless voice.

He’s once again sent for a loop there, just because he’s not sure himself. Shun’s never been too keen on getting help, because dependence has never run in his blood: he hates having to rely on other people for things beyond his control, let alone not being able to decide how much of a hand they should give him. What if he can’t pay them back, huh? Then what? He hates debts. He hates losing his sense of freedom and independence and that’s just how it is. No amount of feelings he can have for anyone will change that.

Sports are unrelated to that. Soccer is a collective sport, so of course, he knows he has to cooperate and rely on other people. Relying on other people for passes is fine. Asking someone else about how to dress a wound is fucking embarrassing.

“I don’t like that,” he spits at her without an afterthought, as if it was the whole story.

“You… don’t like asking for help,” Sugimoto drags through her teeth.

“Yeah.”

His head’s a little hazy, in no little amount due to the constant blood loss, as light as it’s been. It can’t be too good, he supposes.

“I suppose I understand that,” Sugimoto tells him as she starts cleaning the damn thing.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” He can’t quite see her much through the dizziness that’s slowly been creeping up and her odd positioning, hair falling in front of her face like a cascade. “Besides, you don’t look very capable of handling it yourself. You should’ve asked for help earlier.”

The urge to scream at her to shut the fuck up dries up before even his impulsive ass can do it. Instead, he deflates, a slow realization dawning on him: there’s no way he’s getting out of here without a very ugly truths or two coming out of his mouth, whether he wants it or not.

“I guess,” he snaps back, even if it sounds weak (as if he was so much tired than he’s supposed to be, as if he actually didn’t want to bite back when he should be spitting venom back at her).

“It’ll get very ugly, one day, if you don’t take good care of yourself.”

“What would you know about that?”

Her eyes squint. Shit, that wasn’t his wisest move – but what has been, lately? Clever people don’t get their wounds infected by sheer stupidity.

“I was there, at some point.”

The sentence is icy water down his back, uncomfortable and leaving a mark no matter what. He has no idea what she’s referring to, and his slow-moving nerves aren’t making the task any easier, and the more he tries thinking about it and the worst it gets – but like the shiver-inducing trail of an ice cube, he can’t ignore it, not entirely at least. Dammit.

You know, maybe Shun doesn’t know her as much as he’d like to say with certainty and all sorts of bravado, and that’s the saddest shit ever. He’s pretty much down bad for her, the way she handles everything as well as she can, the bounce of her pigtails, the spark in her eyes and all of the spunk he could ask for; and yet look at him, unable to tell if she’s actually gotten over Tsubasa and absolutely unknowing of her hardships. Too self-centred, as he’s always been.

“How did you end up with such a cut…?” Sugimoto whispers to herself, breaking the palpable silence. “It’s so deep, yet it’s in such a weird place…”

He didn’t want to hear that question, he really didn’t – especially from her.

“I dunno,” he tries lying. “Maybe I just slipped on something.”

The sting of disinfectant jolts through him, much more than it should’ve probably.

“Do you really think I’m this stupid, senpai?!” Sugimoto claps back with a snap, but her anger quickly fades away. “This is quite a deep gash, that doesn’t make sense for something to have happened to you on the field, or when slipping. It’s almost like you got cut there…” Her voice softens again, right as her fingers stop on top of his skin. “What actually happened? Is it something you can’t tell me…?”

“It’s, uh…”

Shun finds himself as a crossroad, now. Sugimoto’s asking for answers, but she also gives him a way out if he’s too much of a coward to come clean with all of this crap. It’s no grand burden, after all, and fatigue is a terrible thing that creeps into his bones and gnaws at everything there is to find, until it gets bored, and then you slip into the haze – oh, right, he was talking. Was supposed to, at least.

“It’s fine if you can’t, Nitta,” Sugimoto picks the train back up again.

Despite her words attempting to be reassuring, sounds clearly displeased; the hold on the bandage roll she’s wrapping around his thigh tight. It hurts a lot more than it should, right about now.

“I, uhm…” He gulps, suddenly sweaty, the lies dying in his throat.

Everything feels heavy on his chest, because he’s tired and sick and injured and in front of his crush, she’s hurting not to know what happened to him. How they got to this point, in a clubroom, in a sort of headlock where he really wants someone to know yet doesn’t want to open, and her who seems so sad he won’t let her in.

Maybe it’s fine to tell her.

Maybe it’s fine if she’s asking to know.

Maybe it’s fine if it’s the girl he loves.

“It’s a scissor cut,” he finally lets loose.

Sheer horror curses her face, her hands dropping the bandage roll.

“Someone did that to you with scissors…?” Her voice is as saddening to hear as her expression looks. “That’s awful…!”

She directly jumped to a culprit having done that, huh. Well, he did decide to be truthful with her… so there’s no way back. There’s no taking back. Plus, she kind of deserves to know.

“It was some girls in your class. They had that pair of scissors to cut shit in your locker, dunno what.” He chuckles, because it really was ridiculous, by the end of the day. “I confronted them and it actually did happen on accident. They weren’t reaching for my leg, y’know?”

Sugimoto puts away everything she used back into the first-aid kit.

“Why would you…”

He gets up, despite her worries and despite the pain in his leg that hasn’t gotten better at all. If anything, he’s just more aware of it now.

“I couldn’t let them hurt you anymore. Why didn’t you tell us?”

She doesn’t reply, at first. They’re so close, physically, he can almost hear her own heartbeats, or so it feels – or maybe it’s just blood reaching his head. He’s apparently running a fever and shit.

“Can I… tell you later?” She replies with all of the timidity in the world. “Please?”

“No problem.”

His focus slips for just a second and, as a result, he almost falls backwards a second later. She catches him in his fall, and that’s the one moment where his entire body has chosen to just stare in awe.

“I think we… should get you to the infirmary!” She nervously chuckles and he can’t help but smile.

“Sounds…” his stubborn bone snaps in half, “good to me, actually.”

He stands back up, limping on the side of his infected leg.

“Let me accompany you, then. You sound like you’ve been on your own for quite some time.”

“Yeah, that sounds right.”

“Let’s go, then.”

She leads the way, he follows holding her hand. It’s not just for balance.

#bad things happen bingo #captain tsubasa #hiding an injury #nitta shun #sugimoto kumi #shunkumi #bthb #back on my shunkumi bullshit and yu can't stop me

[gay-jesus-probably]

unpopular opinion: a lot of the LGBT encanto headcanons are bad actually (an accidental essay)

I've decided that actually y'know what I WILL talk about my thoughts on Camilo Madrigal, specifically the Encanto fandom's incredibly bad takes on him. I am so fucking sick of having to see people cheerfully talking about how 'well this shapeshifter turns into men AND women sooo obviously they must be genderfluid, and definitely can't use just the one set of gender pronouns they have in canon'.

I don't know how to explain this to you, but insisting that a character is genderfluid specifically because that character can become biologically male or female at will? Not the progressive statement you think it is. Actually taking us back a few steps there.

You know what's a lot more interesting? Camilo being a cis guy who has no problem shapeshifting into women, because gender is a lie and biology only means what we want it to. The world isn't divided into 'trans people' and 'people who are physically unable to examine their gender identity'. Why the fuck isn't anyone writing about Camilo as a boy that's been able to shapeshift since he was five, and has the perspective to see that his physical form changes nothing about his identity, and he is a boy because that's how we feels, not because he's AMAB? Am I the only enby person that actually WANTS cis people to examine their gender identity and decide that biological sex isn't very important and their assigned gender being correct was just a happy coincidence?

And again, cannot stress this enough, while I understand why the idea of being able to shapeshift away from your dysphoria is appealing, and you want to project that fantasy onto a shapeshifting character, declaring a character genderfluid because they are capable of shapeshifting into men and women has some incredibly fucked up implications, and you should probably put some more thought into that.

Look, if it was just Camilo, I'd give the fandom the benefit of the doubt, but I fucking see how Mirabel and Luisa are the only other characters getting trans/enby headcanons. Especially looking at you, people who saw a character that's very tall and muscular with a deep voice and decided she must be a trans woman, all of you are fucking banned from making gender headcanons until you get your heads out of your asses. And I've definitely noticed the suspicious absence of nonbinary Isabela headcanons, that's not a great look for y'all. The 'Mirabel is enby' team doesn't seem to have quite as much blatant transphobia behind it, but also I do kind of get the vibes that y'all latched on to her specifically because she doesn't qualify as beautiful by eurocentric standards, and I'm not super comfortable with how that ties into the idea that brown/black women don't get recognized as women unless they can perform femininity at a standard that white people deem acceptable, but that's. Not really something I'm qualified to talk about.

And of course all of this ends up coming back to the main problem, which is that this shit is being done by white people whose understanding of intersectionality is shaky at best. So I'm honestly not sure how much of the white Encanto fandom understands that the characters being latine means they will have a different relationship to their gender/sexuality, so things that are progressive in white characters might carry unfortunate implications in brown characters.

Being queer isn't just a white thing of course, and having queer headcanons for non-white characters is great. But a different culture is going to have a different queer culture as well. People aren't getting mad about LGBT Encanto headcanons to be homophobic, they're getting mad about it because white people aren't writing queer latine characters, they're writing characters who read as queer white Americans that happen to live in Colombia. The writers are projecting their own experiences and culture on to the characters, and completely ignore all but the superficial details of their actual racial identities. So yeah. That's why latine people keep yelling at you to stop headcanoning Encanto characters as queer and/or neurodivergent. It's not because they're homophobic/ableist. It's because you don't know what you're doing, and keep whitewashing the characters so you can project onto them.

Fuck, I've seen a genuinely disturbing amount of white fans who assumed a detail in the movie was about them, got informed it was actually a Colombian/latine culture thing, and decided to argue with them and appropriate it anyways. For example, the part in What Else Can I Do where the plant pollen Isabela's throwing around forms a Colombian flag on her dress, which white people have been outright arguing was actually just a messy take on the lesbian flag. The people arguing that like Isabela and can relate her to her exploring who she is and celebrating her sense of identity. It's just that those people can't relate to connecting to their race and culture and finding a defiant joy in celebrating that aspect of their identity. But instead of realizing and accepting that that specific detail isn't meant for them, they're just... twisting the moment to try and make it belong to them anyways. Because acknowledging that the experience of being a white lesbian and the experience of being a brown woman share some similarities, but are ultimately completely different? That's not super fun, and makes it hard to project onto Isabela. But ignoring and twisting the nuance to interpret the character as an extension of yourself, oh, that's both fun and easy, no uncomfortable feelings required! Or how white fans hold up Bruno's habits of knocking on wood, throwing salt over his shoulder, and holding his breath as evidence of him having OCD. But those aren't abnormal behaviours; they're common, socially accepted actions for bringing good luck in Latine culture. The only significance they have for Bruno's character is highlighting that he's very superstitious. He also has a habit of crossing his fingers and avoids stepping on cracks, but those are never brought up as proof of him being neurodivergent, because those aren't considered strange to the people making the headcanons, so they don't register; that just looks like a normal, harmless bit of superstition that just brings a little peace of mind. And again, these headcanons are from white people with OCD who saw a character performing strange rituals to ward off bad luck, and saw themselves in him. But they're missing the wider context, which is that Bruno's actions aren't personal, compulsive rituals that look strange and unnecessary to the people around him, he's just making casual gestures that other character see as being on the same level as crossing your fingers for good luck. They see a character doing things they consider weird, and feel a connection to him, without realizing that they're just projecting their own values onto a different culture.

Honestly, this sort of thing is an especially serious problem for white American fans; they're used to a very self absorbed culture that places America as the default option, the center of the world, so trying to understand another culture just... doesn't come naturally to them. Meanwhile literally everybody else has experience having to put up with stuff that assumes they're American, and therefor gets frequent reminders that other places exist and have different cultures. Like, if I'm writing a fanfic set in another country, I'll do a little bit of research about what their normal is, and I'll try to make sure that stuff I consider standard doesn't slip in unless it's a thing there too. Meanwhile I've seen Americans write fics where prom night is an important high school experience in South Korea, fics where a badly injured Canadian is terrified of the medical bills pilling up while he's in the hospital, fics where going from Denmark to Sweden involved passports and border checkpoints, fics where gun ownership was treated as normal for average civilians in Japan, and fics where Russians living in the city while also owning a second house for vacations in the country was only for crazy rich upper class people. There's just this sort of built in idea that Americans have where the every modern civilization must be just the USA with some cosmetic differences.

I mean, cultural blindness/appropriation is global problem, anywhere you go you'll find people who think their idea of normal is the universal standard. But it's especially common in Americans, and they're the most resistant to accepting that they can connect to the similarities they find in stories from/about other cultures while still acknowledging and respecting the differences.

#encanto #camilo madrigal #isabela madrigal #bruno madrigal #this. this got away from me. #started as me being mad at transphobic takes #ended with me being mad at racism and ethnocentricism #maybe should've made two posts for this #eh whatever its all the same train of thought #this just in im still adhd

[theminecraftbee]

Hey I really love your boatem roadtrip shenanigans ever since I came across them! Would you ever post them to ao3? I also wanted to ask what's Mumbo's deal with the whole thing, it seems like he's even more anxious than usual about evenything? And has the whole Mumbo-Grian souleating fiasco changed anything about this whole void adventure?

So they’re still in the void, and the thing is, it’s like...

It's good! Everyone can move now, and that's good. Even though, oh, he's known what's going on for a bit now, he hadn't, er, figured out how to move? So Pearl, Pearl saying the thing about them all being the void - well, or was it Grian who finally actually said it out loud? Mumbo isn't certain. He's getting confused. Things are blending together; faces are blending together; he's not doing a very good job staying focused on what everyone's supposed to look like now that they've acknowledged it.

"It" being the whole "they are all a part of the void and possibly dead" thing. Although maybe the "possibly dead" is just him? That might just be him. Um. Not just him being possibly dead. Everyone is possibly dead. Just him that's realized it properly, though, the same way he was the first one to realize what they are because he has gotten used to changing shapes and he knew he was not the shape he was yesterday the moment Impulse had said something.

It feels like it's been months since Impulse said something. It feels like its only been days. Mumbo really wishes he had a sense of time down here.

Anyway, the point's something like: okay, so if they don't technically have physical bodies, and their existence is mostly defined by their will, or perhaps whatever nebulous soul they have, or don't have, and Mumbo is hungry, and...

"Hey Grian," he asks suddenly. "Didn't I eat your soul?"

There's a long pause as everyone turns to look at him. Oh dear.

"Yes," Grian says. "Yes, you did in fact do that."

"Mumbo ate what?" asks Scar, thrown off.

"He ate my soul, he juiced me technically? It was like -"

"How do you juice a person?" Pearl asks.

"With a juicer," Grian explains. "It like, presses - is this really -"

"Maybe my factory needs a person juicer," Impulse says.

"That does sound useful," Scar agrees.

"No, you don't need a person juicer, there are much more efficient ways to kill people and probably get their soul?" Grian says. "Anyway. The point is that this was before we got down here, and that technically -"

"Maybe there's a faster person juice press you could be using instead," Scar advises.

"Will you all shut up!" Grian says, throwing his hands in the air.

There's a long pause.

"No," Scar says cheerfully after a moment.

"Look, this is all very enlightening, but Grian, if I ate your soul, are you technically soulless?" asks Mumbo. "I mean, that doesn't make sense, right?"

"Oh I was soulless anyway," Grian says. "Don't really believe in the things."

"Then how did I eat your soul?" Mumbo asks, baffled.

"Eh. Chutzpah," Grian decides.

"What?"

"Was there a point to asking this?"

Mumbo tries to remember his train of thought. He's certain he had one. He's certain it was important. Something metaphysical about how they were all held together? The problem, Mumbo thinks, is that even when he knows things, he doesn't actually tend to know anything.

"Honestly, I just have more questions now," Mumbo says.

"Yeah. Like how to make a person juicer," Impulse says intently.

"That wasn't one of my questions, but I can show you later," Mumbo says.

"I should be concerned with how badly you want to juice people for your candy factory, but honestly? Sounds hilarious," Grian says.

Mumbo's thoughts slip away again. They do that a lot. Ah, well. He can go back to being anxious after he's done being baffled over the material reality that, apparently, Grian never had a soul to begin with. Does that mean Mumbo doesn't have a soul? Does anyone have a soul? Much to consider.

They float on through the void.

#answered #as for the other thing: yep it'll go on ao3 eventually! only when i'm done with it though. #the continued adventures of the boatem road trip #a bee fic #see this one COULD HAVE had answers #but its mumbo and everyone got derailed by his previous soul-eating shenanigans #ah but he was VERY CLOSE to understanding a point #no like genuinely Mumbo was ALMOST at the point but lost it to everyone being dumbasses #there are some hints in here though

[qqueenofhades]

Do you really hate this county? Or were you just ranting?

Sigh. I debated whether or not to answer this, since I usually keep the real-life/politics/depressing current events to a relative minimum on this blog, except when I really can't avoid ranting about it. But I have some things to get off my chest, it seems, and you did ask. So.

The thing is, any American with a single modicum of genuine historical consciousness knows that despite all the triumphalist mythology about Pulling Up By Our Bootstraps and the American Dream and etc, this country was founded and built on the massive and systematic exploitation and extermination of Black and Indigenous people. And now, when we are barely (400 years later!!!) getting to a point of acknowledging that in a widespread way, oh my god the screaming. I'm so sick of the American right wing I could spit for so many reasons, not least of which is the increasingly reductive and reactive attempts to put the genie back in the bottle and set up hysterical boogeymen about how Teaching Your Children Critical Race Theory is the end of all things. They have forfeited all pretense of being a real governing party; remember how their only platform at the 2020 RNC was "support whatever Trump says?" They have devolved to the point where the cruelty IS the point, to everyone who doesn't fit the nakedly white supremacist mold. They don't have anything to do aside from attempt to usher in actual, literal, dictionary-definition-of-fascism and sponsor armed revolts against the peaceful transfer of power.

That is fucking exhausting to be aware of all the time, especially with the knowledge that if we miss a single election cycle -- which is exceptionally easy to do with the way the Democratic electorate needs to be wooed and courted and herded like cats every single time, rather than just getting their asses to the polls and voting to keep Nazis out of office -- they will be right back in power again. If Manchin and Sinema don't get over their poseur pearl-clutching and either nuke the filibuster or carve out an exception for voting rights, the John Lewis Voting Rights Act is never going to get passed, no matter how many boilerplate appeals the Democratic leadership makes on Twitter. In which case, the 2022 midterms are going to give us Kevin McCarthy, Speaker of the House (I threw up in my mouth a little typing that) and right back to the Mitch McConnell Obstruction Power Hour in the Senate. The Online Left (TM) will then blame the Democrats for not doing more to stop them. These are, of course, the same people who refused to vote for Hillary Clinton out of precious moral purity reasons in 2016, handed the election to Trump, and now like to complain when the Trump-stacked Supreme Court reliably churns out terrible decisions. Gee, it's almost like elections have consequences!!

Aside from my exasperation with the death-cult right-wing fascists and the Online Left (TM), I am sick and tired of how forty years of "trickle-down" Reaganomics has created a world where billionaires can just fly to space for the fun of it, while the rest of America (and the world) is even more sick, poor, overheated, economically deprived, and unable to survive the biggest public health crisis in a century, even if half the elected leadership wasn't actively trying to sabotage it. Did you know that half of American workers can't even afford a one-bedroom apartment? Plus the obvious scandal that is race relations, health care, paid leave, the education system (or lack thereof), etc etc. I'm so tired of this America Is The Greatest Country in the World mindless jingoistic catchphrasing. We are an empire in the late stages of collapse and it's not going to be pretty for anyone. We have been poisoned on sociopathic-libertarian-selfishness-disguised-as-Freedom ideology for so long that that's all there is left. We have become a country of idiots who believe everything their idiot friends post on social media, but in a very real sense, it's not directly those individuals' fault. How could they, when they have been very deliberately cultivated into that mindset and stripped of critical thinking skills, to serve a noxious combination of money, power, and ideology?

I am tired of the fact that I have become so drained of empathy that when I see news about more people who refused to get the vaccine predictably dying of COVID, my reaction is "eh, whatever, they kind of deserved it." I KNOW that is not a good mindset to have, and I am doing my best to maintain my personal attempts to be kind to those I meet and to do my small part to make the world better. I know these are human beings who believed what they were told by people that they (for whatever reason) thought knew better than them, and that they are part of someone's family, they had loved ones, etc. But I just can't summon up the will to give a single damn about them (I'm keeping a bingo card of right-wing anti-vax radio hosts who die of COVID and every time it's like, "Alexa, play Another One Bites The Dust.") The course that the pandemic took in 21st-century America was not preordained or inevitable. It was (and continues to be) drastically mismanaged for cynical political reasons, and the legacy of the Former Guy continues to poison any attempts to bring it under control or convince people to get a goddamn vaccine. We now have over 100,000 patients hospitalized with COVID across the country -- more than last summer, when the vaccines weren't available.

I have been open about my fury about the devaluation of the humanities and other critical thinking skills, about the fact that as an academic in this field, my chances of getting a full-time job for which I have trained extensively and acquired a specialist PhD are... very low. I am tired of the fact that Americans have been encouraged to believe whatever bullshit they fucking please, regardless of whether it is remotely true, and told that any attempt to correct them is "anti-freedom." I am tired of how little the education system functions in a useful way at all -- not necessarily due to the fault of teachers, who have to work with what they're given, and who are basically heroes struggling stubbornly along in a profession that actively hates them, but because of relentless under-funding, political interference, and furious attempts, as discussed above, to keep white America safely in the dark about its actual history. I am tired of the fact that grade school education basically relies on passing the right standardized tests, the end. I am tired of the implication that the truth is too scary or "un-American" to handle. I am tired. Tired.

I know as well that "America" is not synonymous in all cases with "capitalist imperialist white-supremacist corporate death cult." This is still the most diverse country in the world. "America" is not just rich white middle-aged Republicans. "America" involves a ton of people of color, women, LGBTQ people, Muslims, Jews, Christians of good will (I have a whole other rant on how American Christianity as a whole has yielded all pretense of being any sort of a principled moral opposition), white allies, etc etc. all trying to make a better world. The blue, highly vaccinated, Biden-winning states and counties are leading the economic recovery and enacting all kinds of progressive-wishlist dream policies. We DID get rid of the Orange One via the electoral process and avert fascism at the ballot box, which is almost unheard-of, historically speaking. But because, as also discussed above, certain elements of the Democratic electorate need to fall in love with a candidate every single time or threaten to withhold their vote to punish the rest of the country for not being Progressive Enough, these gains are constantly fragile and at risk of being undone in the next electoral cycle. Yes, the existing system is a crock of shit. But it's what we've got right now, and the other alternative is open fascism, which we all got a terrifying taste of over the last four years. I don't know about you, but I really don't want to go back.

So... I don't know. I don't know if that stacks up to hate. I do hate almost everything about what this country currently is, structurally speaking, but I recognize that is not identical with the many people who still live here and are trying to do their best, including my friends, family, and myself. I am exhausted by the fact that as an older millennial, I am expected to survive multiple cataclysmic economic crashes, a planet that is literally boiling alive, a barely functional political system run on black cash, lies, and xenophobia, a total lack of critical thinking skills, renewed assaults on women/queer people/POC/etc, and somehow feel like I'm confident or prepared for the future. Not all these problems are only America's fault alone. The West as a whole bears huge responsibility for the current clusterfuck that the world is in, for many reasons, and so do some non-Western countries. But there is no denying that many of these problems have ultimate American roots. See how the ongoing fad for right-wing authoritarian strongmen around the world has them modeling themselves openly on Trump (like Brazil's lunatic president, Jair Bolsonaro, who talks all the time about how Trump is his political role model). See what's going on in Afghanistan right now. Etc. etc.

Anyway. I am very, very tired. There you have it.

#anonymous #ask #politics for ts #covid for ts #i had a lot to say evidently #rant

[toplinetommy]

Kill My Lonely Nights - Tyson Jost

a/n: after plotting and replotting this fic for over a month its finally here. my baby and definitely my most favorite thing ive ever written. hope everyone enjoys it as much as i do.

tagging @bqstqnbruin​ thanks for being my beta and for bouncing ideas around with me and also my fav josty whores 😇 @justjosty​ @hookingminor​ @farbutnevergone

Synopsis: tyson finally meets jt’s neighbor — and he’ll stick by her side through her ‘i’m a single and independent woman’ phase as long as jt doesn’t find out

songs: im so tired - lauv, troye sivan; better than heaven - slander; cherry on top - olmos, kyle reynolds

words: 20k+

warnings: alcohol, smut, unprotected sex​

“Tyson, you know my neighbor right?”

You roll your eyes at JT’s way of introducing the two of you, because, no, you did not know the curly-headed brunette in front of you. You had seen him in passing a few times when he was over at JT’s but you never learned his name. In fact, the only thing you knew about him was that they were teammates and you got that from deductive reasoning since he was always dressed in some sort of Avalanche merch. 

“I’m y/n,” you smile, sticking out your hand for the stranger to shake. 

“Tyson,” the no longer nameless stranger responds, a quirky smile on his lips.

“It’s nice to finally put a name to the face,” you respond, your cheeks heating up as you look over him. He’s cute in that quirky way where his head’s a mess of curls, his eyes full of joy, and his shoulders filling out the grey Avs hoodie quite nicely. 

“Same here,” Tyson agrees, shoving his hands into his sweatpants pockets. You continued to gather the few things in the living room that were yours before finding your phone charger and giving JT a hug. 

“I’ll see you when you get back from Chicago yeah?”

“Yep, have a good birthday!” JT cheers, from his spot on the couch.

With that you bid Tyson and JT a goodbye, choosing to wave at Tyson instead of showing an outright affection towards the stranger. The door shuts behind you as you walk a few feet down the carpeted hallway to your own door. 

“Dude,” Tyson starts, turning his attention back on his buddy from where it was lingering on the now-closed door. 

“No-”

“You don’t even know what I’m gonna say!” Tyson incredulously interrupts.

“You’re gonna tell me she’s hot because, yeah, anyone can see that. She’s going through this thing she’s been calling a ‘guy cleanse’,” JT explains, putting finger quotes around guy cleanse. Tyson brushes the comment aside, not bothering to ask any more questions. If he’d want to get to know you, he knows he’d have to do it without JT’s help. JT always had this thing of being overprotective over the women in his life, especially being a guy that grew up in hockey with three little sisters.

Another week or so passes before Tyson sees you again. It’s when he’s getting into the elevator after getting dinner with his JT, and you’re just getting home from what Tyson presumes is work and maybe even the liquor store with the purse and lunch box hanging in the crease of your elbow as well as the case of Truly’s in your other hand.

“Hey, it’s y/n, right?” Tyson says in lieu of a greeting. He holds the elevator open for you as you step out, thinking of ways to keep the conversation longer than a simple greeting. 

“Yeah,” you smile, warmly at him. He can see that your hands are full as you try to shovel through your bag in search of your keys as you take another step towards your door towards the end of the hallway. “Well, uh, have a good night Tyson.”

Tyson watches as you turn away with a small smile, and suddenly he’s stumbling over his words, trying to make the moment last longer. He’s rarely ever seen you around, most times in passing in this very hallway and the occasional time JT talked to you on the phone when they were on the road. You didn’t go to games, you didn’t hang out with the team, and you were never over at JT’s when Tyson would show up.

But when he had officially met you the other week when you were leaving JT’s apartment, he was transfixed and curious about the girl JT always talked about but never brought around.

“Do you wanna come in for a drink?” You ask, nodding to the case in your hand. You’re asking as more of a common courtesy than anything else, but you can tell that he’s waiting for you to make the next move regarding this run-in with him. The peachiness of his cheeks and his hands shoved into his jacket pockets are proof of that.

“You sure?”

“Any friend of JT is a friend of mine,” you smile, opening your front door and gesturing for Tyson to go in before you.

“Yeah, okay,” Tyson smiles, taking another step towards you and reaching out for the box of Truly’s. “Let me take that for you.”

Tyson graciously takes the case from you and steps through the doorway of your apartment, suddenly losing any train of thought he once had now that he’s in an apartment he’s never been in. He sees the fridge across the way and decides he’ll just stick the drinks in there. There’s thankfully space in the fridge for them and he watches you shred your raincoat and heels by the door. “So, uh, how do you know JT? Like, I know you guys are neighbors but he’s always referring to you as his best friend. I honestly didn’t even know that you lived next to him until the other week.”

You laugh, thinking back to how you even met JT. It was nowhere near being a typical introduction between neighbors, it was honestly pretty far from that. “So, whenever he first moved here like two years ago, I was sitting in my car in the parking garage on the phone with my dad, and this car parks next to me and the driver gets out and completely dings my car. I’m talking a paint scratch that’s starting to rust now.”

“He’s pretty unaware of his space,” Tyson laughs, knowing all too well that his friend did something like that.

“And so, I get out of my car, and I confront him about it, and he apologizes and whatever, not a big deal. But then he gets off the elevator with me and I’m thinking this guy’s gotta be a creep since he’s barely talking to me but then he pulls out his keys and is unlocking the door next to mine, and now he bugs me all the time,” you smile, Tyson making space for you to go into the fridge he’s currently standing in front of. 

“You see that picture frame over there?” you nod your head to the wall your TV is mounted on. Tyson walks over to it, inspecting it and noting that neither of the people in it are you or JT. “There’s paint missing behind it because when he was helping me mount my TV he hit the wall with the drill. He got me the frame to cover it but I still haven’t gotten around to putting a picture there.”

Tyson’s eyebrows quirk up, “and how long has it been there?”

“Uh, maybe a year?” you answer, your tone making it sound more like a question as you blush. Tyson only laughs at you, fully understanding how something like that can slip from your mind. You offer him a Truly at that, him not missing an opportunity to chirp you since your flavor of choice was lime, even though his was black cherry, which in your mind was the most basic flavor there was.

He sits across from you at the island while you stand opposite of him, leaning on the granite in front of you. He can’t get enough of your laughter, finding it’s something you do quite often as the two of you share stories. You, on the other hand, have to stop yourself from blushing since he doesn’t break eye contact with you once. It’s starting to get late and you still haven’t eaten dinner, so with an empty Truly in hand, Tyson is reluctantly getting up to head home to prepare for his early practice and flight tomorrow. He doesn’t want to impose on you any further, considering you were essentially strangers an hour ago.

You wave goodbye at him as he walks down the hallway to the elevator, a smile on your face as he nearly runs into Mr. Harter, the man that lives at the end of the hallway. You laugh as he apologizes profusely, something you amount to his Canadian upbringing.

Tyson curses himself over the next few days for not getting your number, and there’s no way in hell he’s asking JT for it. He doesn’t know how he’ll go about getting it, and the possibility of him running into you to get it is slim, with the fact that the Avs have a nine-day roadie on the upper East Coast. He figures he’ll try to ask JT more about you over the course of the trip, and then hopefully weasel his way into getting it.

It’s three days into the roadie and they’re sitting next to each other on the flight from Ottawa to Toronto. JT is busy on his iPad, and Tyson looks around him, seeing Cale and Gravy reading books, and G is passed out behind him. Tyson nudges JT’s shoulder with his, JT pulls out his AirPod and looks towards his buddy.

“So, y/n, eh?” He jumps right in, watching as JT rolls his eyes and moves to put his AirPod back in. “You said she doesn’t date?”

“Correct.”

“Why’s that? She seems like she wouldn’t have any issue in that department.”

“First off, that’s gross. Secondly, even if she was dating, you aren’t allowed to try anything,” Tyson chooses to ignore that part but continues to listen anyway. “She’s just like focused on herself, I don’t know. She knows her worth and knows what she deserves. She’s been single for as long as I’ve known her. It’s no bullshit with her, in every aspect of her life.” JT shrugs his shoulders as he talks. He’s not an expert on the topic because it’s not one you really talk about with him considering it’s just not really a huge part of your life.

Tyson hums along as he listens to JT talk, trying his best not to show why he’s even asking these questions in the first place. He takes what his friend says in stride, not being one to have gone through a phase like the one you’re going through. In fact, Tyson’s never been someone to say no to a date, fully taking advantage of the pro-athlete lifestyle he’s been living for years now. JT knows this, knows what it’s like to be 22, and all eyes on you. 

He was there once, but he’s been with Sydney for over two years now. JT knows the locker room talk that goes on within hockey teams, he’s been living it his whole life. Yeah, the Denver room has been the best and the calmest when it comes to comments about guys’ dating lives, but the occasional whistle and chirp is made when one of the single guys has a story to share. The last thing he wants is to hear your name in one of those scenarios.

He doesn’t get your number during that road trip, can’t even find you on social media so he puts his efforts on pause. He even went through the list of people JT followed, your name not coming up once. Come to think of it, he doesn’t even know your last name.

Soon January is ending and February is starting, the season kicking into high gear as the all-star breaks ends and the playoff push truly begins. Tyson still hasn’t seen you around other than the occasional run-in, and you honestly haven’t given him much thought since that night in late January. Your life has always been chaotic, but still in the most organized way, and you’ve barely seen JT with the way his game schedule is laid out. But the middle of February brings Sydney to town and brings too many parties while she’s around.

It’s at Andre’s place where you see Tyson again, warm pleasantries shared between the two of you. He’s a little confused as he watches you chat with almost everyone there, the weird feeling coming from the fact that most people filling the apartment are on the Avalanche roster. He wonders if you’ve already met most of them or if you’re just that outgoing.

Tyson finally makes his way over to you, two cans in hand as he offers you the one with green lettering with a smile.

“A lime White Claw? That’s the way to my heart,” you joke, placing your hand over your heart before taking his offering.

“I was asking around to see if there were any Truly’s,” Tyson laughs, waving his hand around. “But I hope the White Claw is okay.”

“A White Claw definitely isn’t as good as a Truly but it’s a close second, thank you.”

“Right!” Tyson agrees, “People think they all taste the same but there’s a clear hierarchy of which seltzers are better than others.” You laugh along with Tyson at his comment in complete agreement. You tell him your own tier list of seltzers, starting with Truly’s and ranking the Bud Light ones as the worst.

“I’ve only had a few of them, but I’ll take your word for it,” The laughter between the two of you dies down before JT finds you, saying he’s been looking for you for a little bit.

“It’s not my fault I’m hidden by all these huge men,” you roll your eyes, pointing around the room that’s filled with men all over six feet tall.

“Did you know your neighbor was a hard seltzer connoisseur?” Tyson asks with a quirk of his eyebrow, causing you to scoff. You were nowhere being a ‘connoisseur’ of sorts.

JT takes a sip of his drink, “She’s an alcohol connoisseur period, bud.” WIth that JT disappears to go find his girlfriend, leaving the two of you alone. Tyson’s face is filled with confusion at JT’s comment, not entirely sure what his comment even meant.

“I used to bartend in college,” you answer his silent question. “Which makes me JT’s personal bartender most nights.”

“Maybe I’ll have to get you to make me a drink sometime then,” Tyson suggests. It’s a little too forward for his liking but it just slips out, and you giggle at his attempt at flirting. His tan cheeks have a pink flush to them, and you’re sure it’s not from the alcohol since most people have only been here for an hour or so.

“C’mon,” you nod your head in the direction of the kitchen. Tyson silently follows you, weaving between the people and the furniture. “I can get you that drink right now.”

Once you make it to the kitchen you look around the counters, taking note of the different types of liquors laid out. Tyson watches you as your hands move around, picking up and setting down various bottles. When you’re satisfied with your concoction, you hand him a shot glass, one in your own hand to match his.

“It’s a shooter,” you inform him. He puts trust in you, clinging your glass with his own and bringing the glass to his lips as he tips his head back. Your eyes stay on him as his tongue pokes out to swipe the extra liquid off his lips before you realize you haven’t even taken yours yet. His eyes stay locked on you as you throw your own shot back, your eyes reconnecting when you set the glass on the counter next to you.

A shiver runs through you as his eyes watch your every move. You hadn’t noticed it with any of your other previous run-ins with him but he’s intimidating in that way where his presence is radiating that good kind of confidence. You watched him, unbeknownst to him, as he made his way around the room before ever making it to you.

“So what was that you just gave me?” He asks, crossing his ankles and leaning further on the counter behind him. You move to stand next to him, your shoulder brushing his cotton-covered bicep.

“It’s called a lemon drop shot, it’s just vodka and lemon juice so nothing too special,” you shrug, turning to look up at him. “Maybe I’ll get around to making you more drinks.”

Tyson smirks lightly at your comment, his hands gripping the counter behind him. He remembers what JT told him not too long ago about you, and how you’re someone that doesn’t put up with bullshit when it comes to relationships and his heart deflates a bit. He’d much rather keep talking to you and eventually kiss you, but he knows deep down that’s not what he wants with you either. He can tell from your brief encounters that this could be way more than just a few dates, so he holds back and instead bites his lip before pulling his phone out of his pocket.

He passes it over to you, and you hesitate taking it as you look between the black phone and his brown eyes, “so we can plan a time for you to make me drinks.”

“Ah, I see, I see,” you quip back, taking the phone from his hands and opening a new message and typing in your phone number. You respond back to him on your phone, showing that you got the text and opening up the contact to save his information. “Should I put in some funny name for your contact or is Tyson good enough?”

Tyson laughs fully at that, his chest rumbling for a moment before he calms down and tells you his name is just fine for now, “but I won’t complain if you find a better name for me.” Tyson scratches the back of his head for a moment as he places his phone onto the counter next to him, trying to find the words to keep the conversation going.

You leave not too long after that, catching an Uber with JT and Sydney back to your place. Tyson stays near your side most of the night, giving you a full hug as you leave and a promise of texting you soon.

You see Tyson the next morning at brunch with JT and Sydney, his strong, muscular thighs touching yours in the small booth. You get some fancy french toast, Sydney eyeing you from where she sits across from you. She’s been a close friend of yours ever since JT introduced the two of you whenever she first visited. Her eyes keep flicking between you and Tyson and you give her a stern look, silently telling her to knock it off.

“So, y/n,” she starts, a smirk forming on her lips. “How’s the dating life?”

You scoff with a laugh at her question. She knows well enough how that aspect of your life is doing considering you text her on a pretty regular basis. You choose not to answer, the scoff you let out being enough. 

“Besides, no guy is good enough for her, right?” JT asks, looking over at you continuing his girlfriend’s train of thought. His eyes glance over at Tyson sitting next to you and Tyson ignores the look his teammate gives him. 

“You mean the idiots you always try to set me up with? The ones that don’t live in Denver?” You quip back with a raise of your eyebrows. It’s more of a joke than anything else, but Tyson doesn’t quite understand your tone and mannerisms yet.

His heartbeat speeds up momentarily, thinking that if you hadn’t had any interest in any of JT’s other friends, you definitely wouldn’t have an interest in him. Besides, he may live in Denver now, but that’s not even the whole year when you account for traveling and the offseason.

You miss it, but Tyson changes the subject anyways, which is something you’re grateful for. Brunch passes by and when the waitress comes back with two checks, you knit your eyebrows.

“Actually, could I have my own check? We aren’t together,” you stumble, cheeks heating up at the misinterpretation of yours and Tyson’s relationship.

Tyson takes the check from your outstretched hand, “it’s fine, I got it.”

He’s talking more to you than to the waitress as he smiles warmly at you. You thank him quickly, but not before saying you have enough cash to take care of the tip. He doesn’t argue, following the three of you out of the restaurant and to your car. The two of you linger a little further back than JT and Sydney, both of you reveling in the comfortable silence. 

“Do you have any plans for the rest of the day?” You ask.

“Not really, I was probably gonna call my mom and maybe do my laundry,” Tyson answers.

“Do you want to come over and hang out instead? I’m just gonna third wheel the two of them but maybe we can find something to do that’s more interesting than laundry.”

Tyson laughs at the third wheeling comment you make, being all too familiar with being the third wheel around most of his friends. “Sure, yeah, I’ll just follow you all then?”

“That sounds good. I’ll see you in a few,” you say goodbye with a smile and a shy wave, hopping into the backseat of JT’s SUV.

Once you get home, Tyson’s knocking on your door a few minutes later with the same warm smile he seems to always have. He sheds his winter coat as he enters your apartment, throwing it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. He notes the change in clothes, as you’re now wearing an olive green crewneck instead of the wrap top with flowy sleeves you were wearing at the restaurant a few moments prior.

“You a big reader?” He asks, picking up and inspecting the book that’s laid out on the kitchen island. The Power of Now, it reads on the cover. He flips through the first few pages and goes to the back cover to read the reviews.

“Sometimes, it depends on what it is, but I usually just go through phases where I read in all of my free time and then I won’t touch a book again for the next few months,” you admit with a small laugh. “That one’s really good so far though. It’s just about how to live more presently and in the moment.”

Tyson nods his head as he listens, his eyes on you as you speak, “Cale really likes reading this kind of stuff, I should tell him about it.”

“Which one is Cale, again?” You ask, mentally going through the Colorado roster. 

This causes Tyson to laugh, “JT really doesn’t bring you around much, eh.”

You laugh along with him, “not really, but that’s on me sometimes. I go to bed too early for my own liking.”

Tyson’s confused as to why he’s never really seen you before at anything. Guys on the team are always bringing their friends around if they can. At first he thought he just always missed you, but he knows he wouldn’t miss someone as carefree and beautiful as you. Nevertheless, he’s glad he’s sitting in your kitchen right now, and to top it all off, he didn't even have to ask you to hang out first.

“Do you read at all?” You ask curiously. You really knew next to nothing about the man in front of you other than that he was Canadian, played hockey, and preferred Truly’s over White Claws (his favorite flavor was still to be unknown to you).

Tyson chokes out a laugh at your question, “No. When we travel I usually play random games with Sammy and he’s been teaching me French. I still don’t know much so don’t go asking me to say anything.”

“Duly noted,” you nod. You move to the pantry, looking for a few things as you continue to respond. “Like I said, my interest in reading comes in waves and you barely speaking French is better than me only knowing English.”

You continue rifling through your pantry, pulling out everything you know you need. You’ve just finished setting all of the dry ingredients you’d need to make brownies when Tyson asks you what the hell you’re doing.

“I was thinking we could make brownies,” you respond, opening your fridge and pulling out the milk, butter, and eggs. You hear the island chair scratch against the hardwood, indicating Tyson getting up.

“Wait a second,” Tyson says causing you to turn around with a confused look on your face. “Are these the brownies Comph always bringing around that his friend makes?”

“They very much are,” you chuckle. He compliments the baked good one more time before you’re putting him to work. The two of you move seamlessly through your small kitchen, both of you sharing smiles and stories to fill the time. There’s a moment where you see a certain glimmer in his eyes paired with a small smirk and you think he’s about to pull one of his infamous Jost pranks that JT was always telling you about. He doesn’t though, and instead just nudges your hip with his. It seems like you’re looking more at him more than focusing on the flexing of his forearms as he mixes the dry ingredients.

Once it’s time to mix the dry and wet ingredients, Tyson all but misses half the bowl, causing a good chunk of it to land on your crewneck and jeans. The brown powder covered the ‘Disney World’ logo across your chest.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Tyson rushes out, holding back a laugh, because of course he would embarrass himself in front of you and mess up something as simple as that. You move to the sink, shaking off the loose contents into it to help alleviate any sort of mess.

“You’re fine, I promise,” you reassure, turning around to give him a smile. He smiles nervously back at you, not fully knowing your statement was genuine or if you were trying to spare his feelings. He glanced at your chest, trying to see the damage he had done before realizing he was staring directly at your chest and his cheeks flushed. You walked back over to where he was standing, giving him another smile as you began mixing everything together. 

“Would you, uh, ever wanna grab dinner with me some time?” He asks, voice higher than normal as he speaks, his heart beating nervously for your answer. Your face falls as you hear the question and you slowly turn around to face the curly headed brunette. Tyson is a great guy, it’s obvious to everyone, and you’re not oblivious to the fact that there’s physical attraction between the two of you. It’s that Tyson is best friends with your best friend who also happens to be your neighbor.

You laugh nervously at the question, the question seemingly coming out of nowhere, before you respond, “Sure, it’s not like it’s a date or anything.” 

You brush it off, even though you’re pretty sure he was explicitly asking you out on a date. You turn your focus back to the brownies, popping them in the oven before wandering down your hallway to change into something clean. As Tyson walks over to take a seat on the couch, he sees your retreating figure as you pull your sweatshirt over your head. He stops in his tracks momentarily, seeing your bare back, the skin between your shoulder blades covered by your lacy bralette. He blinks a few too many times as he shakes any thoughts from his head and continues his path to the couch.

Your guys’ friendship quickly develops after that. The two of you starting a snapchat streak and having a long string of text messages involving various TikTok’s and memes alongside the more serious stuff. You seem to be spending more time at JT’s place when Tyson is also there and soon enough Tyson’s leaving JT’s and going the few extra feet to your place instead of home like he says he’s doing.

It’s one of those rare nights where it’s the three of you at JT’s place and you’re all catching up on the latest episode of Hell’s Kitchen. You’re pretty sure JT cheated and watched the new episode already with how quiet he’s being and how absorbed he is in his phone.

“JT, did you already fucking watch this?” You ask, whipping your head to look at the ginger in question. He’s sitting across the room from you in what he claims as ‘his chair’ while you’re sharing the sectional with Tyson, your feet in his lap. “And you wonder why I never watch shows with you. Tyson and I are going to start watching it without you.”

Tyson chuckles at that, his thighs rumbling under your ankles, his hands coming to rest atop of your shins. JT scoffs at you, unaware of your two’s newfound friendship. To him, the only time you ever saw or even talked to Tyson was when he was also around. Besides, he didn’t need to know the ins and outs of every single thing you did in a day, even if Tyson was involved in a good portion of those things.

You let JT’s previous actions of watching your show ahead slide since the episode was finally wrapping up. JT goes back to the Hulu home screen with an exaggerated yawn followed by stretching his arms above his head. It’s then he turns to his two best friends, letting them know he’s going to start heading to bed and that the two of you are more than welcome to hang out for a little while longer. He doesn’t think much of his offering, but it’s one Tyson’s thankful for if it means he gets uninterrupted time with you that isn’t revolving around the team or drinking.

It’s then he remembers how he never found you on social media, something that had bewildered him in the moment but one he forgot about once he got your phone number and snapchat. 

“So, this is gonna sound totally weird but do you have an Instagram?” He asks, infliction in his voice and ears turning pink at the question. He remembers how not too long ago he did some heavy duty deep dives into JT’s social media to see if he could find your name only to come up empty handed. Your stomach tightens and the thought of him looking for you, and you definitely don’t take it the weird way he’s insinuating.

“No, I don’t,” you respond, sitting up further in the corner of the couch, Tyson bravely holding onto your ankles. “Which definitely makes me the outlier of our generation. I had it for a while but then I kinda just got sick of it and how fake it was starting to get, so I deleted my account. I have not missed even once, too.”

He nods his head in understanding, he’s been there, especially with being a professional athlete. “I’ve been there. I deleted my twitter a while ago because every time I got on there some nobody would be in my notifications about how I was playing. I really didn’t need that, ya know? Like, I play hockey for a living and I’m very aware of when I’m underperforming. So, it was hard when I would get on my phone and see other people telling me the same things.”

Tyson’s fingers began to brush comfortably over your shins and ankles as he spoke, causing you to start slouching back into the couch. 

“I’ve gone back and forth with deleting Instagram but I just can’t seem to make a decision. Besides, I only follow my friends and musicians I like.”

“It’s definitely not for everyone,” you agree with a hum. “The biggest plus is that it gets me off my phone and I’m more absorbed with the real world. It’s all in that book I was reading a while ago that you asked about.”

Tyson remembers that conversation, a smile falling on his lips as he hands rub higher and higher on your calf. The movements are causing you to yawn not a minute later, but you try hard to keep your eyes open to continue to hang out with Tyson. “You a big music guy then?”

Tyson scoffs with a small, playful grip on your leg, “I get the aux in the locker room, so I’d say so. Not a big deal.”

You laugh at his joking manner, snuggling deeper into JT’s couch. Tyson notices how sleepy you’re becoming and he gives your leg another squeeze.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you home,” Tyson suggests as he slips from underneath you to his feet.

You chuckle at that, considering you're more than capable to walk the few feet from JT’s door to your own. Before you can respond saying just that, Tyson’s reaching his hand for yours to help you off the couch.

“My mom raised me to be a gentleman, so I’m walking you home even if it is down the hall.”

You accept his offer, the two of you walking in silence until you’re pushing your key into the lock. You turn back to Tyson once you’ve cracked your door open, wanting to take in the silent, all-too-relationship-like feeling this scenario is. Tyson’s eyes drift from where they’re focused on your eyes to your lips, before he’s scratching the back of his head, a sign of nervousness you’ve quickly caught on to.

“Goodnight, Tyson,” you smile softly, leaning up on your sock clad toes to wrap your arms around his neck and give him a hug. His arms wrap around your middle; his back bending over at an awkward angle to properly reach you. You breathe in his musky scent as his hands spread out over the small of your back. The scruffiness of his beard against the side of your face has you giggling as you pull away. 

“Goodnight, y/n,” Tyson reciprocates your smile, walking a few steps backwards before finally turning around and heading to the elevator. Your eyes linger on his toned thighs and maybe even his butt under the cotton of his joggers as he walks the all too familiar way hockey players walk, before finally entering your apartment.

JT’s sitting on your couch this time around, rather than you sitting on his, a too large glass of wine perched in his hand as the two of you catch up. He’s been busy with morning skates and a string of back-to-backs with a road game sprinkled in the middle. It’s getting to be that part of the season where it’s ‘all gas, no breaks’ as he likes to say. They had an earlier than normal game today due to it being a national broadcast on a Sunday, so the two of you ordered take out from one of your usual spots and parked your asses on your couch for the night.

“I feel like we haven’t had best friend time in so long,” JT groans, sipping down the remnants of his wine before standing up for a refill.

“Not all of us can travel the continent on a regular basis,” you chirp with a laugh, one JT matches. The tv show murmurs in the background, it’s one you completely forgot about as JT relates stories and updates on his sisters to you.

“I still can’t believe Jesse graduates soon,” JT starts. “Like, soon when we go to Boston it won’t be the annual family trip since two of the kids are actually in the same city for a change.”

“But that’s so awesome for her, you have to remember that. How’s her season going?”

“They’re doing good, winning games and taking names, she’s really stepped into her captaincy role.” The smile on JT’s face is contagious, causing you to mirror it. You had only met his family a handful of times, only whenever they made the trip out to Denver every now and then. His sister’s, even if you didn’t talk to them regularly, were like your own at this point. JT loved to joke that you were the third sister he never wanted but still somehow ended up with. It was part of the reason he was always trying to set you up with his friends, because to him, if he already knew them, then he knew he trusted them with you. It was more of a joke when it first started over a year ago, but the guy’s he mentioned started to become more serious considerations on your end before you ended up always telling him no.

You were more than okay with being single, being independent, being a woman that never looked for male validation and instead lived life purely for yourself and the people you choose to include with you in that life. JT understood that more than anyone else, that’s why the thoughts you consistently had about Tyson were being shoved deep down inside of you in fear that JT would laugh at the idea and tell you not a chance in hell. It’s why those times you caught each other staring you never did anything about it, or how JT was still unbeknownst to the close friendship you started with him.

It’s why now there’s a silence between the two of you as you take a too-long sip of your wine, a way to stall before opening your mouth and getting JT’s opinion on all of this. You set your glass down on your thigh, your spare hand running along the stem of the glass as you start to speak, avoiding looking over at JT as you do so,

“You know how I don’t date or whatever,” you start, your lip caught between your teeth. You glance over at the redhead on the other couch, seeing him knit his eyebrows as he sets his phone down next to him.

“Yeah,” he draws out, confusion laced in his tone

“Well, I was thinking of maybe getting back out there or something,” you shrug your shoulders, unsure of how to really continue this conversation so you end up on the topic of Tyson being that someone you get back out there with.

“Did someone ask you out?” JT immediately asks with a shake of his head, wondering where all of this is coming from. His full attention is on you now and there’s no way to avoid his eyes as you respond.

“No, I was just thinking about it, I don’t know.”

“Did you, like, have someone in mind?” JT asks, the definitive knit in his forehead still there.

You purse your lips in thought. This would be the time to drop his teammate’s name you think to yourself. His name is heavy on your tongue as you take one more sip of your drink, “Tyson’s kinda cute.”

You say it simply, with a shrug in your shoulders, hoping the ease of your posture radiates towards JT. It doesn’t, just as you expect, a choked out cackle leaving his lips, before he says a harsh ‘no’. The comment deflates you, the knot in your stomach only tightening, mainly because you weren’t really asking him a question and just trying to get that thought out into the open for the first time. JT doesn’t read that as you respond back, telling him was just a thought anyways.

You drop it at that, thoughts running through your head of your close friendship with his teammate, one that’s very close to blurring that line between just friends and something more. It's a problem for another day you think, shoving the thought to the back of your mind as Tyson’s name flashes across your phone screen.

A few more weeks pass of Tyson and you hanging out at JT’s apartment, only for Tyson to follow you to your own apartment before he’d leave for the rink for his game. He slowly began going through his pre-game routine at your place, only to leave with JT under the guise that they would carpool together since his apartment building was on his way to Ball Arena.

Tyson’s cooking his pregame meal in your kitchen, something he had yet to do but when you had told him you had never eaten squash the other day, he made a point to make it his favorite way, even if it meant eating dinner at 4:30. His game day suit was hanging by his coat in your coat closet, you wouldn’t tell him but it was your favorite suit of his. The navy cashmere made the highlights in his dark brown hair pop out and was a nice contrast to his tan skin. He was taking the squash out of the oven, laughing as you made yet another comment on not knowing that was how a squash was cooked.

“What does a squash even taste like?” You ask, peering over the kitchen table to watch him as he places the pan onto the oven to cool down. The bright yellow and oranges of the fruit freak you out a bit, but the smell of garlic and parmesan cheese brings a smile to your face.

“It’s like earthy and nutty, I don’t know. I’m not a Food Network chef.”

The comment has you rolling your eyes with a laugh as you stand up from your chair to retrieve plates and silverware. 

“What are you doing?” Tyson asks with a whip of his head as his eyes follow your movements.

You look at him quizzically, pausing your movements on your tippy toes as you reach for the dinner plates, “setting the table?”

“I can do that,” Tyson starts, reaching out for the plates in your hand and setting them on the counter in front of you. “I’m the one cooking.”

“Exactly,” you reason, “And this is my apartment so I know where everything is.”

“I’m wining and dining you, well minus the wine since I have a game.” Tyson shrugs, tending to the squash on the pan and the veggies surrounding it. “That reminds me, the guys are going out after the game, you should come.”

You move around the kitchen as he speaks, filling up two glasses of water to set on the table. He plates the food as he finishes speaking and sets them on the table. It looks colorful and delicious and you’re shocked he can cook something that seems so complicated, especially since you know JT can only cook a burger and some random pasta dish.

“Well, I am going to the game so I don’t see why not,” you finally answer. You hadn’t gone out in weeks it seemed like, mainly due to your earlier than normal mornings and that you were the only single one out of most of your friends. All of your coworkers lived with their partners and were usually the type to bail on a night out so they could stay home. The few single friends you did have lived on completely different schedules than you, so they were either getting home late from work which was around the same time you’d need to call it a night, or were like you and too worried about early mornings to do anything.

But it was a Thursday, and you had taken the weekend off so it was a perfect time to catch your first Avs game of the season, even if it was already a few days into March and the season was halfway over. The both of you eat your dinner with a few laughs, Tyson telling you about how he forced himself to learn to cook over the past two years of living by himself. He even shared a few horror stories of when he lived with JT and Kerf, giving you plenty of dirt to use as blackmail if necessary. 

“Dinner was really good, thank you,” you acknowledge standing up and grabbing his plate from him.

“You liked the squash, eh?”

“It wasn’t too bad,” you reply playfully. He knew you liked it with how quickly you scarfed it down and the profuse compliments you offered him. As you clear off the dishes and load the dishwasher, Tyson disappears down the hall only to reappear dressed in his suit, save for the jacket and tie. 

“Who are you sitting with tonight? I never asked.” Tyson speaks, making the job of tying his tie look easy as he’s not even looking in the mirror to do so.

“Oh, my coworker, Amelia, and her girlfriend, Gabby,” you respond, leaning back against the counter as you watch Tyson finish up with the details of his suit like putting his cufflinks on and checking his hair in the mirror by your front door.

For a reason Tyson knows too well but ignores, a weight falling off his shoulders as he hears you saying you’re not going with a potential date. But then again, he knows you’re not dating and you more than likely would’ve declined his offer to go out afterward if that were the case. Tyson checks his watch for the time, seeing it’s about time to knock on JT’s door to grab him.

“So, I’ll see you after the game, yeah?”

“Yep, I’ll meet you and JT down by the locker rooms so we can all head out together. Maybe I’ll finally get to meet the infamous Cale.”

The Avs scoot by with a tough division win, one that’s needed to put them in first place in the Central by two points. You’re standing in the hallway of the locker rooms among the other WAG’s that you don’t really recognize due to your lack of knowledge on who’s who. Your nose is buried deep in your phone as you shoot off a text to Amelia telling her to let you know when she gets home safely when you recognize Tyson’s familiar Canadian accent followed by JT’s booming laughter. The two of them reach you, both of them giving you quick hugs before walking to the parking garage.

“Who’s jersey you got on there?” Tyson asks with a nudge of his shoulder into yours. You look down at the 19 stitched into your shoulder with a smirk.

“Only the best Av to ever play the game,” you respond, to which JT rolls his eyes. Tyson’s look of confusion doesn’t change as you answer, still pretty keen to the fact that you’ve never really talked hockey with him besides the stories about practices he’d share with you. “Never told you I didn’t like hockey, just said I never went to games.”

“I’ve tried to get her one of my jerseys and she literally told me she’d return it,” JT interrupts before Tyson can respond. You open your mouth to chirp him back but before you can, JT is calling shotgun once Tyson’s car is in view.

The bar isn’t as packed as you thought it would be, given half of the Avalanche roster was occupying more than a few booths. Andre takes a seat across from where you’re sandwiched between JT and Tyson - a seating arrangement you’re not sure how you got in.

The first round of drinks slowly turns into the third, and you’re no longer squished between two bruly hockey players since JT has found a home at the pool table with Nate and Naz. You had finally met Cale, the blush on cheeks matching Tyson’s description of them. You shared book recommendations with one another while Tyson had wandered off to the bar. It’s then you learn that Tyson’s kind of taken him under his wing, despite the very small age gap and that they live in the same building. Your eyes catch him as he chats with the bartender and a dirty blonde that’s close to his height that you very much did not recognize.

She’s all legs and has an award winning smile from what you see from fifteen away. Tyson’s turned away from you, his back facing you, and if you could see his face filled with that smile that’s showing he’s just trying to be polite to the stranger.

It’s then that you start to fully allow yourself to notice not only the physical attraction you feel towards your new friend, but the emotional one as well. It’s not overwhelming by any means, but the pit in your stomach can only be described as jealousy — a feeling you don’t have much experience with. 

You see two new glasses being set in front of them at the same time, assuming that Tyson had bought the stranger a drink. That pit in your stomach only tightens, the smile on your face from Cale’s story falling as you continue to watch them interact. 

The pair only talk for a few minutes before the girl walks away, a defeated look on her face. With he departure, you make your way across the hardwood floor to meet him at the bar, nudging his side lightly as you mirrored his stance. He smiled as you greeted him, noting that this was the first time in hours he got you all to himself. You were just as outgoing as he and JT were, always butting into conversations when you had something to say. 

“I never asked if you had fun at the game,” he asks, voice somehow still soft even in the loudness of the bar. His voice raises goosebumps on your arms, as you hum before responding.

“It was fun, definitely a good game, just a little too much third wheeling for my liking but I’ll take what I can get.”

The comment is a nod to the feeling Tyson knows all too well, one the two of you seem to always share funny stories about with a dramatic use of eye rolls. You ignore the fact that not even a few minutes prior you were plotting that girl’s death, too busy and entranced with Tyson’s presence.

The night continues to pass with just the two of you in your own little world. You find yourself up on your tiptoes, an arm resting on his muscular bicep as you lean up to speak into his ear. His lips move alongside your temple as he speaks, the scruff of his beard against your forehead causing you to giggle. You’re not even sure if JT or any of the other guys are even still around, but your bubble pops as JT calls your name. You turn your body towards the ginger, your hand on Tyson’s bicep not moving as he says that you two should find an Uber soon.

“Okay, yeah, sure. I’ll be out in a sec, Tyson was just telling me a story,” you let him know. JT knits his eyebrows at the comment but walks outside with a few of the other guys all heading home.

“How are you getting home?” You ask Tyson once you’re face to face with him again.

“Cale and I are gonna Uber back, too,” Tyson answers, his tongue swiping over his lips slowly. Your eyes watch his movement as time seems to slow down as the two of you keep your eyes focused on the others. His eyes are squintier than normal from the alcohol and you’re yours match his in that regard. You’re pretty sure he’s about to kiss you and for once, you’re actually going to let that person kiss you.

Tyson’s eyes flick behind you momentarily before you see his body semi-deflate. He steps away, your hand falling off his bicep for the first time in at least an hour as he picks up his blazer that’s draped over the stool next to him and nods towards the door.

“I think JT’s looking for you.”

Sure enough when you turn around, JT is in the doorway waving his phone in the air and pointing at it, silently telling you that the Uber is almost here. Your shoulders fall as the moment you were sure was about to happen is ruined. Tyson walks you out of the bar, into the brisk start of Spring air. You’re too busy thinking about how you most definitely would’ve let Tyson kiss you and next thing you know, your foot is slipping on the ice and you’re yelping in surprise.

Tyson catches your waist before you can even hit the cold pavement, and again, you’ve found yourself in a compromising position as Tyson’s face is mere inches from yours. You blink away the embarrassment as JT’s comment about your almost accident goes unnoticed by the both of you. You regather your stance, muttering a quiet thank you to the brunette before hugging him and waving goodbye with a soft smile.

“Dude,” Cale chastises, “You like her don’t you?”

The comment made by his building-mate has him stuttering over his words, trying to figure out an answer that’s not a straight up lie. Cale takes that as his answer, though, rolling his eyes with a heavy sigh as the two find their Uber.

“Does JT know?”

“No, because nothing’s going to happen,” Tyson answers curtly as he slumps his shoulders in his seat. “JT told me I couldn't try anything and I’m going to try and respect that. Besides, she doesn’t date so it’s not like I have a real shot or anything.”

“I don’t know, man. She seemed to jump out of her seat and end our conversation when she saw you talking to that girl.”

Cale’s comment silences the two of them for the remainder of the ride back to their building. Tyson hadn’t really paid mind to the fact that the second that girl left, you had appeared and stayed by his side for the remainder of the night. He brushes it off, blaming his inebriated mind for the overthinking before asking Cale how they’ll get his car in the morning.

Tyson wakes up to his phone dinging with a string of texts from you, a smile on his face when sees your name across his screen.

y/n: not sure what you did to me last night but this is the most hungover ive been in forever y/n: thank god i dont have work y/n: jt is still sleeping so im thinking of ditching him to go get breakfast y/n: you in? Tyson: im down Tyson: do you think we could swing by to get my car from the bar too? was gonna have cale drive me but if you can that’d be great

Getting ready for breakfast feels all too real as you do your hair and pick out an outfit before finally brushing your teeth. You tap your fingers an obnoxious amount of times against your steering wheel as you drive to Tyson’s apartment, your lip stuck between your teeth as you softly sing along to the songs flowing through your speakers.

Sitting across from him in the diner feels a little bit suffocating, the events of last night replaying in your mind. The path your eyes follow tends to keep going to his lips before you realize what you’re doing and snapping them right back up to his eyes or to the coffee in your hand. Those lips you sure you were close to kissing last night. He orders some obnoxiously healthy omelette bowl with enough eggs and potatoes on it to feed a house of four, while you get classic french toast.

You don’t miss that opportunity to chirp him, the weight finally off your shoulders as you lighten the mood. Tyson never really caught onto your weirdness, thinking it was some side effect of your hangover. 

“Is french toast your favorite food or something?” Tyson asks, mouth a little full as he finishes chewing. You knit your eyebrows in confusion, partly because yes, it is your favorite breakfast food, but why would he think that if he’s only ever seen you eat it right now in this very moment? He sees your confusion, answering your question before you can even ask it.

“You got french toast that one time we went out with JT and Sydney.”

“Oh, it is, actually,” it dawns on you then, even though that morning was over a month ago at this point. It’s sweet that he remembers that, your neck warming at his comment.

“It’s not a big deal,” Tyson shrugs, shoving another forkful of egg into his mouth. And shit, did you actually say that out loud to him? That misstep has your neck heating up even further as you take a large swig of your coffee, mainly so the large mug blocks your face from him.

“Besides,” Tyson starts with a heavy laugh. “You just about inhaled that from what I remember, so it has to be your favorite.”

You drop your jaw in shock from his very true accusation, a slight laugh coming out, “You’re a dick.”

“Hey, at least I’m a dick that paid for your meal,” Tyson acknowledges in a lighthearted tone. You smile at him at that, him sending you one right back. “And before you say you can pay for this one, this is that meal I promised you a while back when we made brownies.”

It dawns on you then, was this a date? Did you accidentally on purpose ask Tyson out on a date? Tyson can sense the wheels turning in your head and drops that topic, instead telling you all about this new artist he’s found on Spotify.

That day’s a turning point for your relationship with Tyson. You end up following him back to his place then, a strange sense of deja vu coming through. The rest of the day is spent shaking your respected hangovers on his couch, your feet perched on his lap, his body naturally leaning towards yours.

Your head’s full of what ifs as you drive the short way back to your apartment, thoughts surrounding the feelings you’ve been ignoring when it comes to why Tyson looks at you the way he does or why he’s always sending you Tik Tok’s about your newfound inside jokes. Your friendship with him is easy, he’s an easy guy to catch feelings for and an even easier guy to fully allow yourself to do that with.

The thought of your friendship with JT clouds your thoughts, though. Unsure of what you should even do considering how quickly he shot you down when all you said was that his friend was cute. You don’t think much of it, knowing that the feelings that are starting to show need to be reciprocated for you to even face that next set of problems.

Soon you’re catching yourself focusing on the number 17 jersey skating around the ice instead of 37 when you have the time to watch their games. Tyson’s eyes are the ones you’re always finding in a room and he’s the one always refilling your drink without a thought. He’s the one you text after a particularly rough day, and he does the same when the Avs snap their eight game winning record. He’s slowly taking that spot as your best friend over from his teammate, a spot you’re sure is slowly turning into more.

It’s another one of those nights where he’s the one you're constantly looking for. This time back at Andre’s apartment with the guys and few significant others as you celebrate yet another Avalanche playoff berth.

You’re drinking far less than the crowd surrounding you, fully buzzed on the atmosphere that is clinching the number one seed in the division with still so much time left in the season. Unlike the group of people that have the day off the next day, you have work, but the thought of missing this night for your two best friend’s wasn’t an option when Tyson texted you as soon as he made it to the locker room after the game was won. Tyson’s hand seems to never be empty, but you soon learn he’s been nursing the same beer since he got to Andre’s. There’s a heavy feeling of contentment washing over him as he celebrates his fourth straight playoff appearance, alongside setting a Central Division record for the fastest team to clinch.

The air between you two has that same fuzzy feeling it’s had for a few weeks now, ever since you had gone out to breakfast with him hungover. The high from the win still filling his veins, that same high radiating towards you as you continually find your way back to his side throughout the night.

Tyson catches you slipping out the door as the sun is just about finished setting and follows you a moment later. You’re leaning against the railing with your arms folded atop of it. It’s the easiest thing in the world for Tyson to step in behind you and place his hands on either side of yours, bracketing you against the cool metal. 

The wind blows through your hair, causing you to push some strands back behind your ears as you breathe heavily with Tyson’s new presence.

“You doing alright out here?”’ Tyson asks, one of his laying to rest on top of yours, you fingers interlocking with his.

“Yeah, just wanted to take advantage of Andre’s view,” you respond. Andre’s place had everything, the view of downtown Denver, the suburbs stretching outside of the skyscrapers, but he also had the best view of the mountains you had seen from a complex downtown.

The silence continues between the two of you, the sound of the Denver traffic beneath you filling it out. Tyson’s chest moves behind you with a heavy breath before breaking that silence,

“I talked to my mom this morning.”

“Yeah? How is she?”

“She’s good, but, uh, I called her to tell her about this girl,” he trails off, his chest inflating behind you again as the nerves start to tighten in his stomach. You remain silent, there’s an unspoken understanding that this is something he’s been wanting to get off his chest, something that you too feel the weight of.

“I wanted to tell her about this girl and ask her for advice because it’s complicated since she’s best friends with my best friend who’s also my teammate and I didn’t know if I should put my feelings aside for the sake of my friendship or if I shouldn’t let my friend telling me I couldn’t ask her out stand in the way of my feelings for her.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, the sudden knowledge of the weight his words have. His grip around you had tightened as he spoke, causing you to turn around in his arms slower than you would’ve liked to as your eyes find his. His hands move from the railing to rest on your hips, his grip a little tight yet still soft. Your fingers toy with the hem of his cotton t-shirt, one that accentuates his arms more than you’d like to admit.

You’re not naive, you know that this is that tipping point in your friendship that you’ve been avoiding, yet at the same time anxiously waiting for. He’s right there in front of you, all wide eyed with that playful little glimmer in his eyes and that smile that’s always plastered on his face when he’s with you. It’s the confidence in his smile as he speaks that contradicts the doubt in his eyes and the understanding he has where he knows he needs to take this all slow. He’s not just trying to win you over or get you to bed, he’s trying to show you that he’s what you deserve, that the feelings brewing inside your stomach are two sided.

All of those things are conveyed in the little things and how he hasn’t made any unwarranted moves on you and how he’s always reading the situation before trying anything.

It makes you truly let the feelings you have bubble to the surface as you open your mouth to finally respond, “I don’t think you should ignore your feelings.”

It comes out as a whisper, one where the breaths of air hit Tyson in the chin from how close you two are standing. Nothing else needs to be said, your heart racing in your chest at that first admittance of feelings. Tyson searches your eyes for any sense of doubt, making sure he’s interpreting your words correctly. His hand moves to the junction of your neck, his thumb brushing against the hollow of your cheek. Your hands trail up his sides, brushing the stray curl that’s fallen onto his forehead back in place. He leans into your touch, his nose softly brushing against yours as you close your eyes. His breath fans over your mouth and the hair on his upper lip tickles you before his lips are landing on yours. It’s slow and soft and full of fire as you kiss him back.

You pull apart breathless a few moments later, a smile on your face as you bite your lip. His smile is wider than yours, a sense of smugness behind it. His lips find their way to your forehead, placing a soft, lingering kiss there as he wraps his arms around your body and pulls you tightly to him. A few more heavy breaths are shared before his fingers trail back to your jaw, his thumb running over your bottom lip before pulling you in for another kiss.

His touches are welcome and the chill you felt earlier is gone with his presence, your stomach tightening in a million knots at the man standing before you. Everything he feels is portrayed in his soft eyes and those several moments over the past couple of months where it was just the two of you, getting to know one another much more than you thought you ever would with one of JT’s teammates. The space he gave you as he let you explain your fascination with living the life you did, one with no obsession with social media or what other people thought and one where you carefully curated the people you choose to surround yourself with.

Tyson had slowly worked his way into your heart, one that now had his name written all over it. You smile at the thought, still lost in chocolatey, brown eyes and the way he’s looking at you like the gorgeous view of the Smoky Mountains isn’t right behind you.

“We should go back inside,” you say, breaking the little bubble the two of you had just created. Tyson understands, knowing where the two of you were, knowing who’s just on the other side of the door. Neither of you make any moves to go back inside, and you bask in the cool weather, enjoying the other’s warmth before finally opening the door to the rowdiness that is a bunch of professional hockey players.

JT beckons for you when he sees you come back inside, too drunk to ask where you’ve been for the past fifteen minutes. He’s dragging you to the kitchen, begging you with his eyes to make the room a round of drinks. Tyson smiles at you from a few feet away, silently telling you he’ll find you eventually. He does, making his way to you when everyone’s drink needs are met, his presence causing your stomach to tighten even if he is standing a few feet away from you. 

Both of you lay off the drinks for the rest of the night, already tipsy enough from your drinks earlier and in a silent agreement that there’s more to talk about between the two of you once the crowd thins and everyone's on their way home. JT disappears into thin air it seems like until he’s practically yelling that he’s called an Uber for you two.

“I think I’m actually gonna stay for a little longer,” you answer, eyes drifting over to where Tyson is talking with Cale and Andre. He sees you glance over at him, sending a smile right back your way causing you to blush before telling JT he’s fine to head home and that you’ll text him when you get home.

The room starts to clear out after that, Andre’s front door opening and closing every few minutes as Uber’s are called and before you know it you’re in the back of a Kia Sorento, laughing at the lie Tyson told Cale that led to him getting an Uber by himself and your hands tightly intertwined on your lap.

You find out a few months later that he didn’t lie, he just told him that he had finally gotten the nerve to kiss you.

The elevator ride up to his apartment is full of giggles, those giggles only continuing as he fumbles through unlocking his front door. He tells you to stop making fun of him under his breath, a blush spreading from the tips of his ears to his nose.

He’s pulling you inside once the door is unlocked, causing you to lose your balance from the pull. Your laughs quiet down as he stares down at you, that smile you're familiar with nowhere to be found as he licks his lips. He’s pulling you in with those big, brown eyes of his and then you’re kissing him wildly, barely a few feet into his home.

“We should talk about this,” you mutter against his lips, not fully wanting to break away from him. He’s connecting your lips before you can continue, too addicted to the feeling of finally having his lips on yours.

“What is there to talk about?”

“Us, what this is,” you respond between kisses.

Tyson pulls away this time, resting his forehead against yours. He knows the logistics of all of this needs to be worked out, but right now he doesn’t want to think about how he’s making out with JT’s neighbor or his inevitable murder if JT finds out before one of you can tell him.

“Let’s worry about the consequences tomorrow, because right now I can’t keep my hands off of you,” he reasons, dipping his head down to place his lips right below your jaw. “And if the way you’re kissing me is any sign, then I’d say we’re on the same page about how we feel.”

You moan as Tyson’s teeth nip at the skin, his tongue poking past his lips out onto your neck and goosebumps are popping up all along your skin.

You give into him then, too intoxicated in his warmth and the taste of Bud Light on his mouth. It’s a conversation for you in the morning when you’re both nursing your hangovers over a cup of coffee. Your lips move along his hungrily, his hands gripping your face before sliding down your sides and squeezing your ass through your jeans. You tug your fingers through the long curls behind his ears, him pushing you against the nearest wall with a thud and a rattle of a picture frame.

Your lips move along his softly, the passion and fire laced in it enough to cause a wave of electricity through your veins and down to in between your thighs. He’s towering over you with his big personality and his wide shoulders and you feel like you need to get impossibly closer to him as you pull him in by the fabric of his t-shirt. His hands fall to the wall on either side of your head.

“God, I’m never gonna stop kissing you,” Tyson huffs out, causing a quick chuckle to run through your body. It’s quick because as soon as the words are out of Tyson’s mouth, his lips are already back on yours.

“You’re gonna have to stop kissing me if you want to fuck me,” you mutter out, a sly smirk on your lips as you watch Tyson’s eyes grow darker at the insuination. The hands that were bracketing you against the wall slide down to your jaw, his thumb running over your bottom lip again before pushing past your lips. You keep your eyes on his as you suck on the digit, your tongue swirling around it. His resolve slips away from you for a moment, before his other hand drags down your side until his fingers push under your top, the warm fingers ghosting over the skin of your ribs.

His breath is heavy against you, the growing bulge causing his jeans to tighten around him. You’re feeling bold then, as you feel him against your stomach with his thumb still in your mouth and his hand tight around your jaw. He’s frozen in front of you as he watches your eyes, that stupid smirk finally wiped off his face as your hands move under his shirt, your nails scraping against the tight muscles. You hold back both a comment about his abs and a moan at the feeling, all the hard work he’s put into his body clearly paying off as you push his shirt up his chest and over his head.

Your nails drag back down his chest and torso before looping in the waistband of the boxers peeking out from his jeans. His thumb falls from your mouth, the wet digit leaving a trail of your saliva on your chin as you work on pulling his jeans down. His head tips back with a low groan as his member springs free and you sink down to your knees, his hand finding purchase on the back of your head while the other is used to brace himself against the wall.

Tyson sucks in a breath as your hand reaches out to grip the base of his cock, tugging softly a few times as you lick the tip. His mouth waters at the sight of your lips wrapping around the head, your eyes looking right back up at him. You hum around him as you swallow him down, the vibrations causing a groan to escape from Tyson’s mouth. He feels euphoric, even if you haven’t had your mouth on him for more than 60 seconds. His hips involuntarily thrust forward at the wet feeling your mouth gives as you hollow your cheeks around him. 

Tyson continued to moan above you as you moved your mouth along him, both of your hands digging into the flesh of his thighs. Tyson’s hand is heavy on the back of your head, not using it to push you deeper onto him, but to ground him as he starts to see stars embarrassingly fast in his eyes.

He pulls you off him then, pulling you up to your feet to stand in front of him once again. There’s a dribble of saliva mixed with his pre-cum on your chin and he wipes it away with his thumb before pulling you in for another harsh kiss. He pushes the two of them to his bedroom, never breaking the kiss as he sheds your shirt and pushes you down onto his bed. You giggle again, the hunger in his eyes all too real as he crawls over your body until he’s hovering over you.

“You’re so fucking beautfiul,” he whispers into your ear, causing shivers to shoot down your body. He runs his hands along your bare sides up to your breasts as he kisses down your neck. His hands brush along your lace covered nipples, making you sharply inhale a breath and arch your back against him. He pulls the fabric down to expose your breasts, his lips still nipping at the skin on your collarbone. He looks down at you again, a sensual look in his eyes that you mirror. His lips attach to one of your nipples, the other being tended to by his fingers as twists and pulls the bud between his thumb and forefinger.

Your hands find purchase in the curls atop his head, pulling at the strands as he breathes a huff of cool air onto your npple before switching to the other one. He makes his way down your body painfully slow, a trail of kisses being left down your stomach until he reaches the waistband of your jeans. He tugs them off just as quickly as he stripped you from your shirt, his eyes locking on the sage green thong you’re wearing and the very obvious wet patch between your legs. He’s impatient from the brief blowjob you gave him and the fact that he’s been imaging this exact moment for far too long now. His fingers dip into the strap of your underwear, his eyes finding yours and asking if this is okay. You respond with a resounding yes as he pulls the underwear off of you.

His lips leave kisses along your thighs, throwing them over his shoulders as his mouth finally makes his way to your center. His beard is rough against the skin of your thighs, a sensation only causing you to whine as he breathes over your clit.

“Tyson,” you whine, causing him to smirk before pressing his tongue to your entrance. The cool, wetness of his tongue has you catching your breath and fisting the sheets underneath you. Tyson moaned against you at the taste as he licked over you a few more times. His lips wrap around your clit, this time causing a full, throaty moan to release from your mouth. One of your hands found its way to his head, holding him impossibly closer to you, the other finding his hand as he interlocks your fingers together.

His tongue dives into your opening, fucking into you as his other arm wraps around your thigh so he can rub his thumb at your clit. His tongue licked around you entrance, alternating between that and fucking into you. His thumb stayed on your clit, rubbing circles hoping to get you to that tipping point, the one you felt nearing with every pass of his tongue over you. Your back arched off the bed, your hips pushing further into Tyson’s face as you felt your high near. Tyson continued at the same pace, pushing you over the edge as you moaned out his name.

He continued to lick softly at you, his thumb slowing down on your clit as he lifted his head up to kiss at your collarbone. The kisses he leaves along your inner thighs gives you time to catch your breathing, your chest still heaving from your orgasm. It’s short lived as his thumb on your clit slides down to your entrance, spreading your wetness around before pushing a finger into you. 

His lips make their way back to your clit with the same smirk he had on his face a few minutes ago, wrapping his lips around the bud as he moves he added another finger. You clench down him at the feeling, moans and heavy breaths of air escaping your mouth as Tyson worked his fingers against your g-spot and his mouth worked over your clit. Your hand squeezes his, the pressure becoming too much so soon after your first orgasm. It doesn’t take long for you to groan out his name again as you clench down on his fingers, your second orgasm rushing through you.

He stays down there a moment longer, but you pull him up by his hair, just wanting his lips on yours and his body hovering over you. His beard is wet from both his spit and your juices, and it has you licking your lips and craning your neck upwards. You pull him in with both of your hands, licking into his mouth and tasting yourself on him.

The kiss is heavy, his hands running along your body trying to memorize every dip and curve, the heavy weight of his member on your hip. His curls tickled your forehead, the kiss turning soft as he splayed a hand on your cheek to pull you in tighter. The head of his dick brushed over your mound, a shiver running through you at the feelings, your hips bucking up towards his with a small whine.

You reach your hand down between your bodies to tug on him softly, a whine leaving Tyson’s lips, one that’s swallowed by your kisses. It’s unspoken between the two of you as pulls away from you, only to push your hand away from him and give himself a few tugs as he settles heavily between your thighs.

You share a look, one that’s gleeful and full of smiles as he licks his lips and slowly pushes into you. You moan and whimper at the feeling of him inside of you, your hands clawing at his shoulder blades to pull his body flush against your own.

“You good?” He asks, referring to if you’re ready for him to start moving.

“Yeah,” you whine, looking into his eyes smiling, “I’m good.”

There’s a pause as you answer, both of you understanding the double-meaning behind your answer. It’s more than just telling him you feel good physically, but that you feel more than that when he’s with you.

He leans in to kiss you again, starting a slow pace as he thrusts into you. He moaned out at how tight you were, how well you were taking him as he kissed you. He picked up his pace, thrusting into you harder and faster, with more purpose as he rested on his elbows above you, looking into your eyes. You always got lost in those eyes of his, as he hit your g-spot you tilted your head back, your eyes fluttering closed. They weren’t closed for long as Tyson grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him once again.

“I wanna look at you,” he muttered as he leaned back down to kiss you. Your moans filled the room as the layer of sweat started to thicken on your bodies, his chest rubbing against yours. He lifted your thigh and pushed it against your chest, the new angle causing the knots to tighten in your stomach as you felt you high nearing. Your lips found their way to his neck and down to the dips of his collarbone. Biting down into the flesh as you moan out again, Tyson’s pace quickening as he feels you clenching around him.

“I’m so close,” you moan out, Tyson hitting you deeply. He could feel himself getting close too, his hips starting to stutter as he moved inside of you. Your breasts bouncing as he pounds into you, your eyes screwing shut as your orgasm starts to wash over you. Tyson swallows your moans as he kisses you through your third orgasm.

His breaths are heavy as his orgasm comes soon after yours, spilling into you as he slows his pace down and gently lowers his body weight onto yours. You two stay like that for a few moments, catching your breaths and basking in that post-sex afterglow. He removes himself once you’ve both settled, a whimper leaving your mouth at the newfound emptiness. He disappears to his bathroom, coming right back with a washcloth as he cleans you up. You thank him as he runs the cool, wet cloth over the insides of your thighs, pulling him back for another quick kiss before he disappears into the bathroom once more.

When he gets back, he lays down next to you, pulling your body snug against his. His chest is warm and still a little sticky from the sweat. Your fingers draw aimless patterns along his bare chest, his lips leaving a soft kiss on your forehead and you feel the upturn of his lips when he pulls away. You smile up at him then, leaning up and puckering your lips, asking for a kiss. He obliges with a soft hum and rubs your arm gently before you’re falling asleep against him, a few drops of drool falling onto his chest.

The morning rolls around too quickly for your liking, the curls on Tyson’s head ticking the back of your neck. Neither of you are in a rush to move as he smiles against the bare skin of your back, a few kisses being placed there as you hum and hold his arms tighter to your torso. He’s up from bed moments later, a sweet kiss lingering on your lips as you watch his naked form emerge from bed and pull on a pair of sweats. Your eyes watch over the ripples of muscles between his shoulder blades, down his back and over his ass before he’s running around his apartment in search of your thong.

He remerges with it draped over his finger, a smirk on his lips before he flings it at you, causing a giggle to erupt from your stomach. You pull them on, a large t-shirt being tossed your way to drape over your shoulders. You follow him out to his kitchen then, a small pit in your stomach at the realization of the conversation that needs to be had, the small bubble you’re in at its popping point.

You jump onto his island counter, the coolness of the granite sending shivers down your bare legs, his back to you as he starts the coffee pot. He’s just in a pair of sweats, bright red lines on display on his back. You squeeze your legs together as you cross them, the actions of your late night antics running vividly through your mind.

He presses the warm mug into your hands, his now free hand pushing open your legs to step between them. He’s so close then, probably the closest you’ve really been to him with a sober brain. The heat from his torso radiates towards you, warming not only your skin but your insides as well as you smile at him. He’s still got that wide, goofy smile plastered on his face, the one you’ve grown to love and to look forward to seeing.

Tyson’s hands move to rest on the counter on either side of you, the close proximity between your faces causes you to set your mug down and move your hands to his shoulders.

“What’s going through your mind, pretty girl?” The new pet name has you mentally squealing, your chest tightening as your cheeks heat up.

“Just how last night I was so adamant to talk about everything, but now I’m not so sure I want to break our little bubble,” you start, the huff of breath air coming out softly as you avoid his eye contact, even if he is a few inches away from your face.

It’s hard to concentrate on relaying your feelings to him and fully opening up to a man for the first time in a long time with him standing right there in front of you, in all his shirtless glory — the defined lines of his pecs and abs, the veins protruding from his arms, and the few purple bruises you’d left on the dips of his collarbones. It’s always been hard to think straight around him, you realize, with the way his presence gives you a comforting buzz and that warm, fuzzy feeling in your stomach.

Tyson’s quiet as he watches over you, he licks his lips in thought, a silent hum of agreement coming out. He’s in the exact same boat, the outcome of this conversation not one he’s too scared of, knowing that the way he feels is reciprocated, but rather what the next step is with the best friend you two share. He’s leaning closer into you, a small smile as he places another soft kiss on your lips. It’s one you get lost in, gentle and blissful as your lips move slowly against his. He pulls away first, something he wasn’t able to do last night, before finally being able to put his thoughts into words.

“I just want to make sure we’re on the same page with this. We’re taking a big risk doing this behind JT’s back and I want you to know, no matter what, the risk is worth it with you,” he starts, voice soft and still scratchy from the morning. “And I know you don’t date because you put yourself first and if that’s what you want to do then I’m okay with that, too.”

Your heart melts at the words, your hands cradling his face. Tyson’s always been better with words and feelings than you have over your short friendship with him. The metaphorical door is already wide open in front of you, it’s just a matter of taking that one more small step through it with Tyson, or shutting it and never turning back.

“I don’t date because most people don’t like having independent girls as their girlfriend’s. I put time into myself to be the best person I can be, not only for myself but for others and they don’t like that stuff,” you start to explain, your hands falling from his face to hold both of his hands. “I like you, a lot, Tys, and I want to be with you.”

He smiles wildly at that, the doubt draining from his eyes as he opens his mouth to respond.

You interrupt him though, with a huff of air as you continue speaking, “But JT’s my best friend and I don’t want to hurt him either.”

And Tyson fully understands where you’re coming from, because he’s been struggling with that for the past few months ever since he met you. He thinks back to that conversation on the plane all that time ago and how JT firmly told him to not try anything, but now as he really thinks about it, he’s not sure he meant it because of him and that it was more so because he cared for you and didn’t want to see you get hurt in general.

You can see in his eyes that same wide open door you’re thinking about, the one where you get to explore a relationship with the quirky, optimistic, competitive guy in front of you. The guy that matches your level of confidence as you, the guy that lets you be stubborn and lets you live out that stubbornness because he’s the most patient person you’ve ever met.

The decision’s easy as he stands in front of you, putting the ball in your court, your lip caught between your teeth. He’s waiting for you then, waiting for you to walk through that door or close it and walk out of his apartment. He’s hopeful, knowing that last night wasn’t a fluke and that all the kisses you’ve already shared are real and full of passion and those feelings you’ve been dancing around.

That’s when you give in, wrapping your legs around his torso and pulling him into you with that toothy smile of yours as you place your lips on his hungrily. It’s a kiss full of teeth as he smiles against you, his hands coming to cradle your face as you kiss. It’s much more addicting now that you’re sober and you fully agree with Tyson’s comment from last night about how he’s never going to want to stop kissing you.

You decide later that day that there’s no rush in telling JT, instead opting to see how things go between the two of you for a few weeks. Those two weeks are full of plenty of quality time, a coincidental home stand falling during that time meaning you get him to yourself before facing the reality that is how much he travels. You’re sure you can handle everything the new relationship can throw at you, the honeymoon phase lasting long as the two of you skirt around how you’ll tell JT whenever that time comes.

“I need to leave now if I want to leave for the rink and not see JT,” Tyson warns, prying away from your warm body in bed. You whined in response, wanting to have his warmth for just a little while longer. You let him escape from your grasp, only after asking for one too many kisses. You follow him out into your kitchen, watching him as he pulls on his shoes and finds his keys.

“You sure I can’t get you to stay for at least a cup of coffee?” You muse, giving it one more shot to spend time with him before your work week starts. You make your way to where he’s lingering in your entryway, looking extra cozy with his hood over his messy head of curls. You wrap your arms around his middle, slipping your hands under the cotton of his hoodie to feel his skin against yours. 

He leans down to place a soft kiss on your lips, giggling when you follow him as he pulls away, “I really need to get going.”

“Fine,” you hum. “I’ll see you when you get back from Dallas?”

Tyson nods his head with a hum in answer, finally pulling open your front door to get to his car downstairs in the garage without running into JT. But luck isn’t on his side this morning and he gives you one more goodbye hug and kiss in the doorway before shutting the door behind him and coming face to face with a certain redheaded teammate a few feet down.

JT’s eyebrows are knitted as he takes his key out of the lock. His mouth opens a few times in confusion before any words come out. “What was that?”

Tyson doesn’t think he’s ever been at such a loss for words as he is right now. He looks between the door he just shut and his friend a few times, trying to wrap his brain around what this scene looks like. It’s not even 8:30 in the morning on Sunday, and to anyone, this looks like the start of a walk of shame.

“Uh, y/n and I were hanging out and we fell asleep so she let me sleep in her guest room,” Tyson lies. He hopes it’s convincing, his voice didn’t waver but his hands flailed around a little more than normal when he talks and he scratched his beard, something he always does when he’s nervous.

“I’m pretty sure I just saw you kiss her,” JT explains, voice stern as he completely turns to look at Tyson. “And you don’t just kiss people goodbye.”

Tyson stumbles over an explanation for that, no logical reason coming to mind.

“You were just kissing y/n!” JT exclaims, a rise in his voice as he starts to fill in the blanks. Now he’s starting to connect the dots of your tendency to bail on him on the nights you’d normally hang out and Tyson’s lack of interest in guys’ night or after game celebrations with the team. The giggling he would hear through the wall late at night, the girly squeals, and the few times he remembered hearing the bedpost hit against your shared wall a little too hard for his liking. “You just fucking kissed my best friend after I told you to not get involved with her!”

Tyson moves to close the distance between him and his best friend, but JT takes one back, effectively cancelling it out. Tyson’s opening and closing his mouth, trying to figure out the best course of action for this premature conversation. The two of you had just figured everything out in the past few days, telling JT about your newfound relationship hadn’t even come up in conversation yet.

“How long has this been going on for?”

“Barely two weeks,” Tyson stutters out, watching as JT’s face fills with more anger. “Comph, just let me explain,” he tries again, but JT just shakes his head and heads for the doorway for the stairwell instead of the elevator. It’s a huge flight of stairs given that he lives on the 11th floor of the building. He wants to follow his friend, but knows that space is what he needs and instead presses the button for the elevator and gets in, leaving him alone in his thoughts.

When he meets up with him at the rink, JT’s still avoiding him which is hard considering their stalls are only separated by one other in the locker room. Cale hadn’t even made it to the rink yet, so someone wasn’t even there to put up a wall between the two. Gabe takes notice as he walks around the room after taping his ankles, his eyebrows knitting at the fact that Tyson, who’s normally cheery even this early in the morning and bugging JT, is putting on his pads and skates with his mouth shut. 

It’s something Gabe puts in the back of his mind, just thinking that Tyson had a rough night or morning. It’s during morning skate that Gabe, and almost everyone else, notices something is off between the pair. JT doesn’t chirp him like normal when they take face-offs against one another, he’s not by his side in between drills, and JT sticks his stick out a little too far during a one-on-one, sending Tyson to the ice during a drill that no one should be falling during. Bednar thinks nothing of it, just telling Tyson to stay on his two feet. 

Practice eventually ends but the silent treatment between the two continues. JT’s uncharacteristically quiet to everyone that talks to him, something clearly on his mind. Meanwhile Tyson’s nerves are causing him to not shut up as Cale shares a story about his rough commute this morning.

As Tyson and Cale quiet down, Gabe steps in, pointing between the two of them, “What’s up with you two today?”

“Nothing,” Tyson lies quickly, not wanting anyone else to get involved in this. Even if their captain is just trying to help, Tyson’s not sure there’s anything Gabe can say to help. 

JT scoffs, tying his shoes before standing up, “He’s fucking my best friend.” Cale, who was taking him leisurely time with getting dressed suddenly stands up and crosses the room to where Gravy was, avoiding any possible conflict.

Gabe’s eyes pop out of his head as Tyson responds, “we’re not fucking.”

“So the banging into my wall last night wasn’t you?” JT asks in an accusatory tone.

“Well, we’re not like,” Tyson starts, gesturing his hands in front of his body in a way to finish that sentence, soon realizing he doesn’t want to add fuel to fire by saying he was in fact fucking his best friend last night. “It’s not just that, we’re together.”

Gabe, who thought this was probably a misunderstanding of one of Tyson’s pranks or even just JT not winning a stupid bet, is just as shocked as JT was a few hours agao when he saw two of his best friends kissing. The captain isn’t entirely sure of how to navigate this situation, one that hasn’t really happened in any of his locker rooms. He doesn’t have much else to say to the two of them other than to figure it out and that a girl shouldn’t get between two friends that are as close as they are.

With that, Tyson’s trying to apologize to JT, tell him that there’s more to the story but JT wants nothing of it, and is throwing his jacket on and running out the door. Everything in Tyson’s being wants to follow him back to his place and beg for him to hear him out, but instead he’s racing back to your place, ignoring the fact that he still has to pack for their quick road trip.

Tyson all about sprints up the 11 flights of stairs to your door, knocking on your door with urgency until the door swings open. You move to the side as you let him in, clearly seeing how frantic he is with his flushed cheeks and the excessive knocking.

“JT saw me leave this morning,” Tyson lets out, a little out of breath from his run up the stairs. Tyson’s waiting for you to respond but you’re still not getting it. “He saw me kiss you goodbye and then didn’t talk to me all practice then when Landy confronted us he was just like ‘Tyson’s fucking my best friend’ and I tried to explain but-”

“Tys,” you interrupt his rambling, taking a step forward to reach out to him. Your hands grab his in an attempt to ground him, your thumbs rubbing back and forth on the back of his hands. “It’ll be okay.”

“He literally tripped me in practice today!”

“That’s because he can be a petty asshole. He doesn’t hate you, he probably just feels betrayed because he didn't know any of this was going on.” You try to console him, pushing all of your anxieties and paranoia aside to deal with the panicking boy in front of you.

“Let me talk to him, you need to go home and pack for your road trip since I know you haven’t yet.”

“But,”

“I’ll come over right after and update you, I promise.”

WIth that, Tyson kisses you goodbye as you push him to the elevator with a promise that everything is going to be okay before giving yourself a pep talk and bursting into JT’s apartment next to yours.

He spots you before you can greet him and you can see quite a few different feelings crossing over his face.

“Oh, God, are you here to also tell me that you’re not just fucking my best friend, too?” JT scoffs, causing your heart to plummet into your ass. “I really don’t want to listen to any excuses you may have about this.”

“Stop being an asshole for just one second and let me explain,” you reprimand him, already over the fact that your so-called best friend won’t even hear you out. “How is this any different from the countless times you tried to set me up with your friends? Is this not the same thing?”

It’s a genuine question that shuts up JT, because really, it’s not much different in your eyes. For over a year now, JT’s been showing you pictures of buddies he has from back home or from college or even friends of friends that he’d think would suit you. You had always turned him down because to you, dating wasn’t something you wanted other people to really interfere with, even if some of his friends were young, successful, bachelor types.

“Because it’s Tyson,” JT answers simply with a shrug of his shoulders. You look at him, hands clenching at your sides with the vague and uninterested tone. He’s barely even looking at you as he tidies up his kitchen, something he always did when trying to fill silence.

“What the fuck is that even supposed to mean?” You ask incredulously. “You’ve told me a million times he’s one of the best people you’ve ever met.” You bite your tongue from adding a comment about how he is one of the best people you’ve also met.

“The other guys weren’t professional athletes, it’s pretty simple from how I see it.”

“But you could set me up with your friends from Chicago and New York and Michigan but I find one of your friends here in Denver then it’s off limits? Because he plays a sport for a living? If that’s the case then I shouldn’t be friends with you either.” It’s a low blow, you know that, but it finally catches his attention as he drops the cloth he’s wiping the counter with. His eyes finally connect with yours and it’s then he finally notices how hurt you are by the lack of emotion in both his words and his body language. There are tears in your eyes as you look up at the ceiling to try and even your breathing.

“It's an honor for anyone to have a place in my life JT and that includes you,” you continue. “Tyson understands that. He understands that I'm my own person before anything else but he’s still there when I'm stubborn. I've been single for so long and I truly know what I want, what I deserve to feel and I get that with him.”

You often don’t get this deep with the red head, but his lack of wanting to understand you has you emotional as you think of all the benefits of being with Tyson. The few months of being his friend were a perfect build up to the past few weeks of it being more, of sharing a life with someone else. 

“You know him better than most people and if you can honestly tell me he’s no good for me right now then I’ll end it,” you suggest, your heart beating fast as you wait for an answer. JT has come to be one of your best friends in your life, even if he is just your neighbor, and at this moment it’s hard to think of putting a guy between you. Even if that guy is the first guy you’ve really felt this way towards.

“I’m not gonna tell you that,” JT admits with a heavy sigh. He makes his way across the room to you before continuing. “He’s my best friend, too, and if there’s anyone that knows everything about both of you, it’s me. I guess I just felt like you were hiding a secret from me and we don’t do that, ya know? I just wish you could’ve told me.”

You laugh snidely at that, “Do you not remember like two months ago when I told you I thought Tyson was cute and you shot that down before I was even done talking?”

The wheels turn and the light bulb goes off in JT’s brain as he remembers that conversation from a while back, “I won’t confirm nor deny that I said that.”

The both of you laugh lightheartedly at that, pulling him in for a much needed hug, both of you apologizing to the other. The weight on your shoulders is liften as he pulls away, thankful for the fact that you have such an understanding person for a best friend.

“You want to watch an episode of Psych? I think we can fit one in before I have to leave.”

You contemplate it, knowing that a few miles away Tyson is in his apartment panicking as he waits for some sort of update from you. You know you need to tell him how your conversation just went, but something inside you is telling you that JT needs you to spend time with him to normalize everything.

“Sure,” you smile, walking over to his couch and laying on it long ways, forcing JT to sit by himself in his chair. You pull out your phone to text Tyson, smiling as you type out an explanation.

y/n: just finished talking to jt y/n: everything’s good but i think i need to just hang out with him to make him feel better about everything tyson: you sure? y/n: yes, ill call you when he leaves for the airport💚

Everything gets sorted out when you call Tyson an hour later, calming his nerves as you give him a detailed play-by-play of everything that was said between you and JT. The comfortable silence before you hang up is almost filled with him telling you he loves you, but he knows he needs to talk to JT first and needs to tell you in person, and not over the phone as he boards a flight.

The flight was filled with awkward air as most of the guys saw what happened with Tyson and JT in the locker room when practice ended that morning, and even if they weren’t there for that, they felt the tension between them. It’s not until a few hours later when Tyson’s doing his hair before the game when he hears a knock on his hotel door.

He swings the door open to see JT, his hands shoved in his short pockets as he stares right back at Tyson.

“Can we talk?”

“Uh, yeah,” he responds nervously, stepping out of the way to let his friend through the door. The two of them awkwardly stand a few feet away, that meme about two straight guys sitting six feet away in a hot tub because they’re not gay going through Tyson’s brain.

“I, uh, wanted to apologize about everything earlier. I’ll admit, I overreacted a bit and I shouldn’t have tripped you in practice. It was just a lot to take in, especially because I didn’t really know that you two were that close. And I feel like a bad friend now for not knowing that.”

JT’s apology is way more than what Tyson thought he would get from his friend. He knew yours and his conversation went well, but that didn’t mean he still wasn’t scared JT was going to punch him or yell at him or literally anything that wasn’t an amicable conversation between two adults.

“It’s fine, man. It’s on us for keeping you in the dark on this one and I’m sorry for that. I think we barely knew what was going on until it was all happening,” Tyson starts to explain. He’s trying not to look at his feet, knowing that JT needs to see the feelings in his face, those feelings that are very much real to him.

“And it’s real for you? It’s not a game? Because I swear to God, Tyson.” JT darts, voice stern.

“God, no, this isn’t a game to me JT,” Tyson answers quickly, head shaking in disgust at the thought. “I’m not just trying to bag her and call it some accomplishment or whatever you think this is. If that was the case I wouldn’t even be having this conversation with you and you’d already hate me,” he shudders at those words, unable to ever think he could do any wrong to you. “You told me a while ago that it’s no bullshit with her and I know that because it isn’t for me either.”

JT takes a seat on the bed in the room as his friend speaks, taking it all in. It’s a lot for him to take in, but Tyson really is one of the best people he’s ever met and he has little to no doubt that he’s telling the truth about how he feels. If the tears brimming your eyes earlier in the day said anything, you feel the exact same way. The room is silent once Tyson is done talking, his nerves causing him to be quiet for once as JT figures out his next move.

“I hear one bad bad thing from y/n, then it’s over,” JT warns, Tyson nodding his head along in agreement. “And if the guys start talking about your sex life I will be cutting your dick off.”

“Got it.”

“Okay, now that that’s out of the way, how’d you get her to go for you? I’ve been trying to get her a guy for forever.”

“Easy, have you seen my charming smile?” Tyson jokes with that crooked smirk of his, happy to see that JT is already moving on from that heavy stuff and onto best friend stuff. JT rolls his eyes heavily at the joke, a light ‘shut up’ coming out as he laughs.

Tyson explains everything then, the same wide smile on his face he had when he scored his first hat trick. He tells JT about how he wined and dined you on more than one occasion, how he learned those little, obscure things about you that you caught you off guard whenever he remembered them, and most importantly, just spent uninterrupted time with you, getting to know the ins and outs of your life. To Tyson, getting you to open up to him was difficult yet still a tranquil thing to do. The latter severely outweighed the former, as the sense of serenity he felt with you would always overpower any of those harder moments.

The team returns to Denver two days later, a quick road trip to Dallas and St Louis in the books with the regular season ending within the week. You can see that it’s that time of the year on both JT and Tyson’s face, their eyes a little more sunken in with the back half push, even if they’ve already clinched the playoffs. There’s only a few more games left to round out March and the beginning of April, the guys’ still waiting on their round one opponent.

Tyson heads straight for your place when the plane touches down late Wednesday night. You’d talked to him every day for the past few days, but not being able to see him much after JT finding out caused a lot of anxiety for the both of you. The problem may be solved with that, but seeing the other would just give you that little extra push that this was the right thing to do.

Tyson enters your apartment quietly, dropping his backpack and suit jacket down onto the nearby couch as he navigates his way through your apartment in the dark. The light of your string lights in your bedroom illuminates the hallway, soft sounds coming from your phone as Tyson walks in on you laying on your side.

“Hey,” he gently greets with a smile, pausing in the doorway to admire you. You set your phone down, turning around to face the man leaning against the door frame.

You smile just as wide as he does, responding with just as gentle of a ‘hey’. That anxiety you felt over the course of the last few days instantly dissolving at the sight of the man in your doorway.

“Why’re you standing all the way over there?” You ask with a pout.

“I can’t just look at you?” Tyson laughs, making his way over to you slowly. He joins you in bed, crawling over you like he’s still not dressed in one of his expensive custom suits.

“Not when I haven’t seen you in a few days,” you complain with a giggle, the same pout still glued to your face. He places a quick kiss on your lips in response, giving into your silent ask while also erasing that puppy dog look from your face. You’d only officially been with Tyson a few weeks now, the butterflies still heavily present in your stomach everytime your lips meet his.

“Do you not have clothes to change into?” You ask, referring to the crisp white button down he’s still wearing. He nods his head no against yours,

“Only what’s dirty from the roadie. Besides, I plan on being naked here pretty soon,” he smirks playfully. The comment has you shoving him off you with a roll of your eyes, only causing him to laugh loudly at your reaction. You know he’s partly kidding, using that as an excuse to get up from bed to go to the bathroom.

When you emerge from the bathroom, he’s finally shed his clothes and is under your covers. He opens his arms for you to snuggle into him. You do, resting your head on his bicep as he wraps both of his arms back around you.

“I missed you,” you let out. “Because I didn’t know what was gonna happen when you got back with everything going on with JT.”

“I missed you, too, but I’ve always missed you when we left for road trips,” he responds, letting you in on a little secret that clues you in once again to how real this is and how long it’s truly been going on for. “He’s fine with everything, he just told me we can’t act too much like a couple around him.”

You chuckle at that because of course that was the part JT focused on when they talked. As you look up at him, your heart is full and your head still has that same fuzzy feeling it always has when you’re around him. With him you’ve never really felt lonely, something you often felt even when you were around people before him. Those love songs you once heard on the radio that annoyed you no longer do, and instead you welcome them when they play spontaneously in the car or at the bar and parties or even at Avalanche games. 

The thoughts swimming around in your head have you swinging your leg over him, straddling his hips with his hands on your waist and yours on his ribs. That doe-eyed smile he has is focused on you, a grin spreading over your face at the way everything’s worked out with him. Your heart flutters as he gently squeezes your side, a small squeak coming out. He leans up on his elbows then, admiring the view he has of you. He slowly yet full-heartedly fell for you over the time he’s known you and you can see it in the way his gaze turns soft and as the quirkiness drops from his expression.

You’ve slowly fallen in love with the man underneath you, too, and you lean down to kiss him one more time. It’s slow like they always seem to be with him in scenarios like this, where it’s just the two of you and the sounds of your breathing.

The playoffs fly by quickly with the pace they’re winning at, a WAG jacket wrapped tightly around your shoulders to every game you make it to. A new one is shoved into your hands at the start of the Stanley Cup playoffs, Mel telling you it’s a special occasion that calls for a new jacket, even if it is just for a series and even though you’ve just barely broken in your first one.

You go into that offseason with your newly crowned Stanley Cup Champion of a boyfriend, flying out to Chicago over the summer for JT’s day with the cup and spending a whole week in St. Albert when its Tyson’s turn with it.

And that picture frame you never found a picture for that’s hanging up on your wall by your TV? It’s been occupied now with a photo of you sandwiched between JT and Tyson on the ice after Game 6 against the Tampa Bay Lightning, the Cup on the ice in front of the three of you, faces full of glee with confetti falling around you.

Plus One

The pitter patter of small feet running along the hardwood floors of the hallway, followed by a squeal of ‘daddy’ has you setting your glass down and following after her. Your daughter’s giggle is heard through the house, the familiar sound of your husband dropping his bags by the front door following soon after.

“What’re you still doing up, baby girl?” Tyson chastises the four year old as you round the corner to find the two of them still by the door, your daughter in Tyson’s arms as he gives her a kiss.

“Sage said she wouldn’t go to bed until daddy came home for story time,” you answer for Sage. She only giggles in response.

“How about you go get in bed and mommy and daddy will come tell you a story in a minute?” Tyson asks, playing with her little fingers.

“Okay daddy!” She agrees instantly, running all the way up the stairs and down the hall to her bedroom. The brown curls she got from Tyson bounce as she runs, your heart warming at the heavy resemblance she has to her father.

“How are you doing, baby?” Tyson hums as you give him the usual welcome home kiss, his hand coming to rest on your protruding stomach.

“Good, the back pain is much more manageable now, but I’m still going to the bathroom every hour it seems like,” you shrug as you answer. He’d been on the longest road trip of the season so far, one that means the season is almost over. You’d tried extremely hard this time around to get pregnant at the right time so your next child would arrive during the offseason and not in the middle of the conference finals like your first did a few years ago.

“Soon enough we’ll have her running and occupying all of Sage’s free time,” Tyson muses, the two of you making your way to your bedroom so he could change into comfier clothes. You smile at the thought of Sage finally having a little sister to play with and hopefully become best friends with.

When you don’t get to Sage’s room fast enough, she’s racing into yours and Tyson’s room and plopping down onto your spacious bed. You join her, Tyson following, knowing that she’d much rather be sandwiched between the two of you than in her tiny bed in her own room. She leans into her dad’s side, something she’s always done, but you don’t mind — you love seeing them get so close.

“Did you bring a book, sweetie?” You ask her, taming some of her curls.

“No, tell me the story of how you met daddy again,” she proposes, causing you and Tyson to share a look. It’s her favorite story, one she asks you to relay to her at least once a week, and the one she asks for the most when Tyson’s been gone.

The two of you tell the story to her anyway, taking turns as you tell her how upset Uncle JT was about the two of you dating, all the way to the jokes he made sure to make when he gave a speech at your wedding six years ago now.

#tyson jost imagine #alex writes #nhl imagine #hockey writing #when i post this i’ll be at work lmao i’m really posting it then dipping

[fairestwriting]

Octatrio pining for a singular S/O? Or maybe Jade gifting terrariums to people? I have a lot of Octavinelle ideas ha

pining octatrio scenario for the soul. love these morally dubious fish men. i hope you like my interpretation of this ksdjkskd

prompt: octavinelle pining for the same person.

word count: 1114

Mostro Lounge is as lively as usual, the clinking of glasses and silverware against plates echoing around you as you flip through your textbooks, the white noise helping you focus on the content at hand.

You’d been there for a while today, exams were coming up, and you really didn’t want to mess up this time. It turned out that the lounge was the place where it was easier for you to focus, so you’ve become quite the regular recently.

It wasn’t a place without its distractions, though -- They came every now and then, making you look up from your books and notes, losing your train of thought.

“Excuse me,” Coincidentally, it seemed to be the time for one of these distractions -- Jade Leech walks up to you gracefully, a couple menus in his arms. Was he working today? He hadn’t greeted you yet. “Would you perhaps like something to drink? You’ve been here for quite a while.”

“Ah, I’ve had one already.” You answer almost immediately. Jade and you didn’t really talk that much, but you saw him often, and whenever you did, he’d hover over you like this -- It’s sort of strange, you can never tell what he has going on in his head, unsettlingly. But he’s always so polite, it’s hard to deny that he could be really charming...

Jade chuckles lightly. “Yes, you did an hour and some ago. But that’s a bit too long, isn’t it? You shouldn’t go thirsty.” He speaks, and opens the menu in front of you. “Won’t you choose something for me to bring to you? I’ll give you a discount if it means you take care of yourself.”

A discount? Azul wouldn’t like that. Now that he said it, though, it’d been a while since you had anything to drink. He pushes the menu towards you a little.“W-Well, I guess it’s fine, then.” You mutter, always caught off guard by how he gives you attention. It’s hard to imagine that someone like Jade would, so suddenly, grow fond of you. You flip through the menu shortly before choosing a drink.

“Excellent choice.” Jade praises, still with that unflappable smile. “I’ll be back shortly. Be sure to take breaks.”

“R-Right! Thank you...”

Jade really was... a surprisingly nice guy.

With your evening just a little brightened, you’re about to go back to the books. Before that can happen, though, the second Leech brother rushes towards your table in a flash.

“Shrimpy!” Floyd sing-songs, hopping onto the plush seat in front of yours. “Hi there! I didn’t see you today!”

These Octavinelle students sure are energetic today, you think with a quiet laugh. “Hi, Floyd.” You greet back. “Sorry we can’t talk much, I really gotta study.”

“Eh, that’s so boring.” He whines, but the smile stays on his face as he tilts his head, mismatched eyes watching you closely. "Don't you wanna hang out with me? There's something outside the dorm I wanna show you!"

A tempting offer, really, but all your books glare at you -- You glance at them for a bit, genuinely considering it, but ultimately shake your head

"No, sorry. I'm screwed if I don't do well in these." You say, regrettably. Floyd pouts. "Maybe after the exams though?"

"I wanna hang out with Shrimpy now, though." He whines, cheek resting on one of his hands. Before you notice it, his free hand reaches forward, towards a lock of your hair, and he brushes your bangs off your face casually. Your shoulders stiffen, face heating up. "Pretty please? I promise you it'll be really fun!"

"U-Um." You stutter. Floyd was always touchy, but it never failed to catch you off guard. You have to avert your eyes from his, feeling way too close to just giving in. "S-Sorry, Floyd, I promise that later we'll--"

"Floyd!" Suddenly, Azul's exasperated voice fills the scenario, he marches towards your table. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be at the kitchen today!"

"I don't feel like it, though." He complains. His hand near you lingers just for a bit, sort of cold agaisnt your warm cheeks before it drops. "I worked every day this week already! I'm not doing it today."

"Frankly, you..." Azul sighs, pushing his glasses up with a defeated expression. There's no use arguing with Floyd, everyone knows that, he just does what he wants. "Fine. I expect you to make up for this whenever you're working again, though."

"Yeah, whatever." He giggles "I guess I'm gonna be by myself then, since Shrimpy can't come with me...so sad~"

He's getting up to leave when Azul seems to finally notice your presence, perking up at the sight.

"Oh, my apologies, I didn't see you there!" He says quickly, light pink dusted over his cheeks. "Has Floyd caused you any problems? He can be so troublesome when he wants to..."

"Don't worry about it, he just wanted to hang out." You shrug. Azul nods at that, patting down his jacket like he needed to make sure there were no wrinkles -- He acted so frantic sometimes.

"That may be troublesome, though, since you're studying right now, am I right?" He speaks, taking a step closer to inspect the books on your table. "Are you having a hard time with these? I'm able to tutor you, if you need to."

Being in debt to Azul is never a good idea. "Um, no, I don't really have anything to offer for that. Thank you, though." Somehow, this doesn't seem to discourage him much -- Though he averts his eyes, weirdly, as he adjusts the hat on his head.

"W-Well, it's a simple task, I wouldn't require any compensation for that." It comes out a little mumbly, contrasting Azul's usual poise. He won't look you in the eyes now. "I...If you don't believe me, I'll sign something for you!"

"Ah, well." You mutter, unsure of how to reply. "I mean, I'm doing okay with these, but if I need help later, then..."

His face lights up quickly. "Wonderful. I'll be happy to help." He almost beams at you, a small laugh leaving him after he speaks. "I'll leave you to it now, but if you need anything at all, don't hesitate to contact me!"

"Sure, thank you, Azul." It seems that you'd be able to get back to your studying soon. Hopeful, you pick up the textbook you were looking at before. "You're actually a kind person, huh."

"N-Naturally." And he averts his eyes again, cheeks pinker. "I'll...I suppose I'll leave now. I'll see you around."

"See you!"

You watch him leave for a moment. These Octavinelle students sure were strange, huh?

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst scenarios #twst imagines #azul ashengrotto #jade leech #floyd leech #azul ashengrotto x reader #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #lis writing