#head full of TV static waiting for a signal

[thebrainrotsreal]

When I tell you I am still so speechless over this episode.

When I tell you I am thinking about Mark who we know really ingrained Nolan's speech back in s1, only see that Nolan looks like he meant every word. That Mark was replaceable, his mother was just a pet. When I tell you I'm constantly thinking about Mark, who only saw his father cry over a planet he's only known for months, and not the family he's had for years. When I tell you I'm thinking about Mark finally calling Nolan 'dad' again only to be immediately choked and yelled at. When I think about the parallels of s1's fight and this one.

#invincible season 2 #invincible spoilers #invincible show #invincible s2 #invincible series #nolan grayson #mark grayson #invincible fanart #my art! #staring into the abyss about this episode #head full of TV static waiting for a signal #invincible #invincible rotating in my mind #procreate art #procreate #digital artist #digital art #fanart #and listen: I know Nolan had cried over both but Mark never saw him cry over earth or him or anything #Nolan is complex and damn he is so god damn interesting to me but MAN is Mark being pulled through the emotional shredder #and a physical one #BEHOLD! an art tag for my art :] #the brainrotsreal's art tag ✧˖°:*♡

[megid0nt]

I have this idea stuck in my head that I haven't really articulated yet so I'm going to endeavour to here:

It's kinda weird how much of our time now is spent interacting with some corporation's platform. And I don't mean in the "we don't own our copy of Bambi like we used to on VHS, now we are just allowed to view it by Disney on their platform," bc that's oft cited and oft bemoaned (for good reason). No, I mean that the part I find insidious is the intermediary becoming a visible, everpresent individual that is inherently part of the experience.

Like, imagine it's 2003. You wanna watch Pokemon: Jirachi - Wish Maker, which you have a DVD of - cutting edge! You're very cool. It's the only DVD you own. You have a CRT TV, a DVD player, and a DVD. It's 2003 so when the DVD player isn't playing it's got this plain blue screen that it's outputting, and when you turn your TV on your room is awash with Blue, the colour of waiting for you to do something next. You insert your DVD, and bada-bing bada-boom suddenly you're watching previews. There's still this intermediary there, this DVD player, but the only purpose it really seems to serve is to take some data you have on hand, process it, and re-encode it into a format you can work with (analog video on a lil yellow plug for your TV), just like the vcr before it, cassette players, CD players, and damn near every multimedia tool I can think of except, like, Dreamcast and the Satellaview.

But lets say you don't have your data on hand - that's fine, you turn on your TV and you get static, or you get whatever input is coming from your cable box, or whatever input is coming from your antenna. There's not really much of a digital user interface (sometimes your cable box might have a TV Guide built in!) because there doesn't need to be; there just needs to be a box for data processing, a box for presentation, and the user interface is you plug them together with cables. Maybe adjust the tint.

Yesterday I was sick in bed, and I didn't really have a brain in my head, and I just wanted to turn on a noise box. My first instinct is turn on the TV - if nothing else, I'll get static. But now....

Now I turn on a TV, there is a menu. My television has an operating system. It's turned from a box that shows a video signal to a box that shows a video signal, harvests my data, sells my data, runs an application platform, connects to the network, sells more of my data, and demands interaction. Gone are the days of me being able to pipe audio into the RCA audio jacks on my TV and use it as speakers, because my Sleek, Modern, FUTURISTIC! tv mutes RCA audio if there's no video signal.

And they try to brand this future as something bright and beautiful! Look, your television is no more just a Box that you Look At! Now you INTERACT! It's got all your favourite movies built in, if you'll just give your money to Disney, if you give your money to HBO, if they decide it's profitable to have your favourite movies at all, if their whims align. It's no longer about having the correct box to connect to your TV to re-encode the data you'd like; it's about the TV being itself a black box full of other black boxes sending and receiving data both locally and to and from the internet as a whole. It feels as though you are no longer trusted to connect your own boxes, although the more dreadful answer is of course that it's more profitable for the company that made your TV to give you the selection of boxes they can make the most money off of. (And this isn't even getting into the fact that they can just. Put advertisements that I cannot disable on the main home screen of a device I paid $500 for.)

But.... I run a shoutcast web radio station! I am a big fan of just being able to look at a URL and listen to some music, I'm very guilty of musical indecision and love the freedom that an unseekable shuffle gives, and to be quite honest the future is now and I have no problem with resources being available primarily online. And, especially with the ever increasing filesizes of higher and higher resolution and framerate video, yeah! It makes a good amount of sense to not require users to keep all of their own media data, either in hard drives or in disk binders.

But you may not. There is no app for my TV that allows me to connect to an arbitrary shoutcast stream, and even trying to search for internet radio nowadays just shows you iHeartRadio, Pandora, and the other corporate algorithmic recommendation engines that are an insult to the concept of radio. There's no repository of media from which the public can pull. There's no stability to any of it anymore! It's all platforms on top of platforms, with every piece of the pie you might have once been allowed to interface with, tweak, replace, or even just hold in your hand being replaced gradually with nebulous black boxes of software that you're not even able to stop automatically yelling noises at you. Fuck.

I don't have a good resolution to this. I know I can, for now at least, make my TV start up to a given input, so one of these days I'm probably going to set up a media center computer as the base input and do my best to circumvent all but one of those platforms, but that doesn't change the fact that I am in Roku's grasp, that there's no escaping the quagmire that is capitalist-interest-driven software development, that everything just feels that little bit less friendly and like a fun adventure to interact with, or that I fear might never feel in control of my own electronic devices (even one as simple as "Show the video signal from this cable") ever again.

#if roku removes dlna support from their media player though. I'm replacing every roku device i own with either a dumb tv or a raspberry pi. #long post

[gigagendergt]

Apocalypse, pt 1

Hi! I’m a long-time lurker in the g/t community and a long-time writer as well. This is a story I’ve whipped up that will hopefully turn into something interesting. It won’t have nsfw or vore, and not all the big guys will be monstrous. (You’ll see some g/t hopefully next chapter.) Nice to meet you! 

Read: Part One, Part Two, Part Three

It started with the nightmares.

People woke up screaming, falling out of beds— people woke up sleepwalking to strange places, abandoned parking lots or odd doors in basements or out into the woods with the full moon shining. The experts claimed mass hysteria, some group hallucination, like the dancing plagues or Salem witch trials. The government assured calm despite the disappearance of the President. The Vice President’s references to God grew more and more with every passing day.

“We remain one country under the Lord,” she said from the TV, voice crackly with static— the signal seemed to come through disrupted, and so were the phone lines and radio and internet, though no one knew why— “and one country we remain. We must be strong for each other.”

People tried. They huddled together in their houses, whispering over communal meals. Shortages abounded. Some neighbors teamed up to try and feed the poor— others stockpiled, vanished into their houses with cans of soup and dried beans, didn’t answer the doorbell or the knock if someone came asking. Those who could sing or play an instrument would go out on the balcony and perform to empty windows and miserable people and those miserable people would be a little happier, if only for a few minutes.

It lasted like that for a while, and then the demons came.

—

Demons weren’t their official name, of course. Scientists classified them, called them by a variety of more mundane terms— UBO was one of the early ones, standing for Unknown Biological Organism, before the scientist that coined it went mad, got into his car on a Tuesday morning, and drove it into the Mississippi. (That more than anything else made people call them demons.) The Vice President referred to them as plagues and harbingers and vowed to bring the rage of God down on their heads, and so demon fit well enough, if only to mock the governmental response.

“Hundreds of us dead every day from those bastards,” I heard a man complain once, “and they keep promising us the wrath of God. Well God’s been gone for two thousand years, and I’m not waiting for him to come back.”

There were people that believed the whole demon thing, of course. Apocalypse cults and churches and preachers on the street. Christian moms and veterans, too, tended to fall into that category. The rumors only grew wilder now that the TV’s were out and we had to rely on broken radio transmissions and old-fashioned newspapers. Cameras couldn’t capture a demon’s picture. They were here to wipe out the Earth. They were biological lab mutation from some foreign country. They were monsters created from our own sin. They were human, once. They were killing only sinners. They were killing innocents and families. They could be stopped if you prayed. They could be stopped with fire. They could be stopped if you hid in a deep bunker and never came out. They could be stopped if you painted your door with lamb’s blood like old Jerusalem. They couldn’t be stopped.

The rumors went on and on, always conflicting each other. I never knew what to believe.

That was, until I saw one.

—

It was a Wednesday night and it was boring. I’d been crammed into the apartment with Viraj and his girlfriend for too long, and they were sick of me. I wanted some air. I took a walk, even though it wasn’t something people did much at night anymore. I knew the places to avoid and the places to stick to— I grew up here, in this small town with the old colonial buildings on what passed for main street and the monuments to names no one remembered and the brick shops. I cut through an old path and was out by the river in seconds. The Mississippi stretched long and deep out before me. It was always beautiful.

I hated the politics around the Mississippi, the old-age names and the history and the confederate references to battles lost a hundred years ago, but the river itself seemed to transcend all that. It was older than the people who’d built cities on it and it was older than the people who lived here before them. I didn’t know much about myth, but looking at that river made me wish I did. I wondered what the river was to the Native Americans, and if it had a different name.

I guess it didn’t matter, I thought. Even if I learned the name, I’d never get it. It wouldn’t roll right off my tongue. It wasn’t for me.

I got dark skin from my Dad, but it felt weird to call myself black. I never knew what “being black” was  supposed to feel like. My Dad didn’t stick around and my Mom was super traditional, an old-school Catholic. She didn’t even let me watch Harry Potter as a kid. I’m about as white as it’s possible to get without looking it.

 I looked out at the Mississippi, and I felt empty. I didn’t even feel like I had a name.

I knelt down to take my shoes off. It felt like a baptismal moment, like maybe if I walked out into the water I’d find the answer. I started untying one of my shoelaces.

I still don’t know how it happened. There was this tremendous noise behind me like a nuclear bomb, and I staggered and whipped back around and in the main section of town there was some massive form I couldn’t even make out in the darkness. I remember trying to process the scale, trying to make it make sense in my mind. I felt like the silhouette had to be close until I saw the flashes of light at its feet and realized they were buildings.

“Holy shit,” I breathed.

The perspective snapped into focus and it had to be— fifty, sixty feet? More? The form was hunched over and it had claws instead of hands, long claws, too long, thin and spindly and unnatural. It turned and I saw the flash of what looked like eyes but patterned over its face and body, clustering in groups like boils.

It opened its mouth and shrieked, and I pressed my hands over my ears and cowered close to the ground. Even far away it was deafening.

Then it spoke, and that was worse.

“-Persecuted, but not forsaken-

-struck down, but not destroyed-

-why would trust be given freely-

-what had broken the heart-

-overseen the destruction of planets-

-chalchiuhtotolin-

-I never knew myself and so I destroyed-

-to damage and degrade the amygdala-“

It spoke in a thousand different voices: some male, some female, some in between, some speaking english, some speaking languages I recognized, some speaking languages I couldn’t even perceive or shape out words, some just screaming. It gibbered and babbled and shouted and I pressed my hands so hard over my ears that it began to ache and pushed my forehead into the ground like an ostrich trying to stick its head into the sand. My vision pulsed into a gray tunnel and closed up.

I must have blacked out.

When I woke up, I wished I’d stayed unconscious.

#gt #gt writing #g/t #g/t writing #giant/tiny #gianttiny #monsters #oh boy are there monsters #post apocalypse

[venushasvixens]

Ch. 9 Home? - Life is but a Dream (Spike Spiegel x Reader)

[A/N] I promise I’m going to get to requests. Enjoy the chapter!

WARNING: implied child abuse? (Nothing happens but it can still be uncomfy)

The soft creak of the second story window was the only sound in your shared bedroom. Having been sent upstairs and denied a meal for the millionth time this week, you were desperate for anything to eat. It wasn’t like the orphanage was barely surviving, but honestly you think the caretaker had something out for you. Always picking on you, calling you names, and finding any excuse to punish you. All around known as the caretaker’s personal punching bag.

“Now I can see why you were dropped off here.” She would say, before taking the plate of food from in front of you and dumping it into the trash.

With your lips sealed shut, you trudged up the stairs, sad little eyes tearing up. Any back talk would result in something far worse. The wilts on your back still stung days after your punishment, an example and demonstration of the cruelness of life.

Like a rabid animal, you were willing to receive any kind of punishment just to quiet the pain in your stomach. Grateful for the bushes located underneath your second story window, you swung your legs over the ledge, preparing to jump. With a small humph, you landed softly on your feet. Leaves and small branches pricked at your thighs as you wobbled out of the bushes. You gripped the small pouch of coins in your pocket, running your fingers over the opening of the bag.

A childish dream that a few coins were your ticket to everywhere and anywhere. The city you lived in was labeled as UN-1889, which was far into its development to retain its old name. Unofficially called “Yun” by the locals, it also held the record of absolutely nothing exciting or entertaining. Crime was moderate, chain restaurants and shopping centers were the place of excitement and that was it. Vowing to leave and never come back, you made sure to keep that promise by collecting and stashing away any money you could get your hands on. In the end, the most you had in your possession was enough to buy half a ticket, and you were ready to blow it all off in a matter of minutes on something that will only last seconds.

You spotted the bright, blue neon lights of the only local diner in the area. Parents looking to adopt will do nothing but rave about this place. Hearing just how good the food sounded compared to the gruel you were forced to eat every day, it made your mouth water and your stomach do flips. Jogging up to the entrance, you quickly opened the door to the diner. Air condition hit your dirty, sweaty face, cooling you down instantly. Much to your surprise, there was not one patron in the diner. Leaning against the counter was a middle aged woman with her hair pulled back tightly in a bun. She stared at the TV in the corner, sighing deeply. As the door closed, your presence was made known.

One look was all it took for her to know everything about you.

“Oh great, another one.” She mumbled from where she stood. “What do you want?”

“Food. I’m hungry.” You replied annoyingly.

“Have any money?” She asked, standing up straight.

You dug into your pocket, grabbed the bag of coins and held it out to the waitress. Snatching it out of your hand, she emptied the contents onto the counter. Shifting through the coins lazily, she huffed.

“Kid, this isn’t even enough for a plate.” She poured the coins back into the bag, tossing it back at you. “Door’s over there.”

Too tired and weak to fight, you slumped your way out, disappointed and embarrassed.

“Hey wait!” You heard someone shouting. You turned around, seeing another woman popping out from the kitchen. Her soft, platinum blond curls bounced as she walked out to stop you from leaving. Ringlets of silver hung from her ears and wrists, clanking softly as she motioned you to come closer. “Are you from the orphanage down the street?”

You nodded vigorously.

“I know how she treats those babies over there. You come on over and get yourself something to eat.” She said, tapping on the counter.

“I don’t have enough for-“ you started. She waved her hand, her signal for no ands, if, or buts. As you pranced over, you heard the waitress groan.

“Lou, you can’t be serious.” She muttered.

Lou held her hand up. “I don’t like seeing children go hungry. It’s not right.”

“Pick whatever you like.” She smiled, handing over a menu to you. Everything looked so delicious and tempting. You only see people like this on TV. It seems so fake, portraying kindness in a sickening, sweet way. It was enough to hurt your teeth.

You watched in adoration as Lou passed you a basket of warm rolls, butter shimmering off the golden buns. Forget manners. You gobbled down the bread in minutes, hiccuping softly. You weren’t focused on trying to quiet your hiccups down, just to fill your empty stomach.

“My goodness, slow down.” Lou chuckled, placing a cup of water next to you. “What’s your name, baby?”

“It’s (Y/N).” You replied, mouth still full of bread.

“(Y/N). Now is that your actual name or was it given to you by that devil woman?”

“It’s my actual name. They tried to change it, but decided to keep it.” You said, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Lou handed you a few napkins. “I swear that lady does not like anything or anyone. An all around horrible person.”

You nodded sadly, trying to dissipate the knowledge that you were probably going to receive the harshest punishment you have ever had in your short life when you came back “home”. As your stomach was dropping at the thought of your imminent demise, Lou slid your plate of food in front of you. Eating a basket of rolls wasn’t enough at all. This food looked better than anything you consumed at the orphanage.

While Lou and the waitress babbled and bickered, the static and switch of the TV in the corner was the only noise in the room. Eventually the waitress decided to settle on the local news. Expansion of some parts of the city, a deadly crash near the asteroid belt, and so on and so on. Suddenly, the screen flashed with the words BREAKING NEWS splayed on the screen.

The news reporter quickly tapped through her data pad, smiled and addressed the viewers.

“Good evening, we bring to you some breaking news. The criminal Kedo, who was wanted on both planets Earth and Ganymede for the murders of multiple people, has been caught right here in UN-1889.”

The reporter then drone on about his crimes, and how he left his trail. You chewed slowly, hanging onto every word. Crime was at a middle to low level, but you have never seen something as large as this.

“It has been reported by BIG SHOT, a new TV program broadcasted specially for bounty hunters in the solar system, that Kedo’s bounty had jumped from 500,000 woolong to over a million woolong.” Your eyes widened. To a small child, one million woolong was a whole lot more than what it actually was. You were probably never going to see that sort of money in your lifetime. All the possibilities of having that much money ran through your head. The first was getting the hell out of this city.

“We are informed that the courageous bounty hunter, or huntress, known as Lady Jo, caught Kedo red-handed in hiding right here in UN-1889.” The reporter stated.

The screen switched to live coverage at the police station, cameras flashing and reporters clamoring to get a closer look at the infamous criminal who was now being led into the building in handcuffs. His hair disheveled, eyes scanning his surroundings like crazy, fitting a perfect description of a crazed murderer. The cameras shifted their attention to Jo, standing proudly with her hand resting on her holster.

Intrigue and fascination filled you. You couldn’t help but watch in awe of her. Her auburn hair was curly and volumized, laying softly on her shoulders, eyes a striking green that shone like emeralds in the harsh lights of the TV crews. The waitress scoffed at her outfit, which consisted of a revealing button up white shirt, tucked into black leather pants, with a matching jacket. She was truly a sight to see.

“Can you believe that? She’s not a cowgirl, she’s a goddamn model.” She said.

Lou snorted. “You know, I used to have an outfit just like that.”

You smiled back, finishing your plate. Not wanting to take your eyes off the TV, the silverware clattered loudly onto the plate.

“I’ll tell you what, there is absolutely no honor in being a bounty hunter. They’re rude, selfish, and I hate every last one of them. Especially Lady what’s-her-name right here.” The waitress nagged, taking your empty plate.

“They can do a way better job than actual law enforcement.” Lou retorted.

You didn’t pay attention to their conversation. If there wasn’t any honor I’m your choice, so be it. Your new bottom line was set into place. One million woolong was going to be a possibility for you, one way or another.

-

Jet sat at the navigation console on the bridge, pressing buttons at a lightning fast speed. On his right side was the computer TV, playing some late night television as background noise. Faye stood near the windows, smoking a cigarette and looking out into the nighttime sky. There was something that must have been discussed.

As she opened her mouth to speak, Jet sighed and got up. “I went ahead and placed our coordinates for our next bounty back on Mars. Should only be a week.”

“Dinner was a little off, don’t you think?” Faye said, ignoring Jet.

Jet’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying something about my cooking?”

“What? No. I meant with-“

“With Spike and (Y/N)? Then yes, there is something off with them. I’ve noticed it since we got back home the other day.” Jet said.

“So much more talkative, that’s for damn sure. Couldn’t keep up with it.” Faye replied as she descended the steps to the navigation console.

“The big baby wasn’t all too happy about her staying with us. So I wonder why he’s acting all buddy buddy with her.”

Faye chuckled, a sly upturn of the mouth growing on her face. “Hmm, sounds like someone is jealous.”

Looking up from the console, Jet scoffed. “I’m more than happy that I’m not playing therapist anymore. Everyday it was, “did you see the way she did this” or “did you see the way how she did that”. At that point, I should’ve started charging Spike.”

Faye had given some deep thought since dinner. The outline was in plain sight. A touch on the back. A squeeze on the shoulder. A tap on the thigh. It thrilled Faye to be the only one to know of the growing tension between Spike and (Y/N), to be the one to hold a secret without being told of it. But in the midst of the excitement, there was another feeling circling, weaving it way into her head. Jealousy.

It hurts to see couples walking by, hand in hand, romantically flaunting each other openly. Bothering Faye for a second, she knew she didn’t have to go home with them. But now that it was only a few feet from her, it was going to be a problem.

If the game doesn’t go as planned, someone has to interfere to ensure a win. And Faye did not like losing.

The computer TV turned to static as Jet flipped through the channels, trying to find the right program to end the night on. Settling on tonight’s showing of Big Shot, he leaned against the console, pondering about dinner. A conversation consisting of 100 words and more between Spike and (Y/N) was non-existent for the time that she had been staying on the Bebop. One afternoon alone, and suddenly they’re two peas in a pod.

We’ll just see how it goes, Jet thought.

A big red WARNING sign displayed on the screen, waking Jet and Faye right up.

“Folks, it seems we have an important message to relay to all bounty hunters in the solar system from the ISSP.”Punch said, his playful, exaggerated facade never faltering.

“Go ahead, we are all dying to know!” Judy replied, apparently cheerful about a serious topic at hand.

“Bounty hunters, look out! A mysterious criminal is on the loose, and his target is not the innocent civilians of the solar systems, but our esteemed, hard working hunters.”

“What makes him so bad, anyway?” Judy questioned.

“I’m glad you asked! Some of our amigos already know what we are talking about. There have been multiple reported incidents of hunting vessels being set ablaze with the intent of murder all across the system. The ISSP believes that this individual is ONLY targeting bounty hunters, and no one else.”

“Mysterious you say? Well goodness, looks like there’s no bounty for them yet!”

“Right you are. Until we get a face and a name, no dinero can be placed for the bounty. So be aware, and be safe out there, buckeroos!” Punch finished, smiling alongside Judy. Knowing they were playing a character, it was off putting by the serious news given.

Jet and Faye looked at each other in silence, eyes wide and full of questions.

Happy hunting, amigos.

#fanfiction #faye valentine #90s anime #cowboy bebop #jet black #spike spiegel x reader #spike spiegel headcanons #spike spiegel #see you space cowboy #radio free mars #you’re going to carry that weight

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S3:E3; Chapter Three, The Case Of The Missing Lifeguard - [Pt. 2]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

𝘌𝘭 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘉𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘔𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘋&𝘋. 𝘋𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘙𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦.

📝: guys.... he's finally here 🧙🏻🔮 you'll never believe me but when typing out the "day free of girls" line i literally typed "a day full of girls" on accident and I lost it.

||𝟑𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

"Holy shit, I can't believe we're really doing this."

Max caps the magic marker pen and flips the last name card around, the three friends grinning down at their work before them. Together, Y/n, El, and Max had gathered enough scraps to make a roulette wheel of sorts made up of a piece of cardboard, drawing paper, and an old Coke bottle. In other words, the decider of El's next trip to the void.

Max tosses the pen back on the bed and Y/n manages to fix the glass bottle before it rolled off the cardboard. Her back dug into the wall where she sat next to El but all she could feel was excitement. That and the terrible sinking feeling she had been ignoring all night.

"Ready?" Max asks.

"Ready."

"Remember, you don't have to do this, okay?"

El cocks her head to the side and smiles at Y/n.

"Y/n. I'm okay."

That feeling grew worse with the anxiety bubbling in her stomach. But the look in El's eyes was gentle enough to quell the fears. It was stupid to be worrying. Wasn't it?

"I know, I just mean we're not gonna make you do anything you don't want to do," she looks at Max and she nods.

"Totally," she agrees.

El can't contain the warm smile stretching across her cheeks, and any previous feelings towards the void and going in solidified. She knew before this moment she could trust her friends as she went back in. But it was reassuring to know they were still looking out for her, making sure she felt safe.

"It's okay. I want to,"

Y/n's smile returns and she nods, signaling El to spin the bottle. It twirls with a muted clatter before landing on its first name.

"Mr. Wheeler," the three of them read aloud.

Y/n makes another face at the card and Max scoffs.

"Blech, boring,"

"Yeah," El chuckles, looking to Max. "Boring,"

"Spin again," she encourages.

El reaches for the bottle, a small frown forming as she looks between them.

"Against the rules?"

"We make our own rules," Y/n says simply.

El's cheeks were beginning to hurt from all this smiling.

Nevertheless, she reaches for the bottle, winding it back before spinning it full force. Their eyes are trained patiently on the glass, watching as the glass nozzle slows over,

-"Billy,"

Y/n feels another stone sink to the pit of her stomach like a skipped rock. Unsure, she sends a look to Max who is looking less than thrilled. The redhead scoffs as Y/n rises from the bed to retrieve the radio. After nearly a year of friendship with Max, Y/n had learned more or less what to expect with her best friend's stepbrother, but she also knew not to rule out any surprises. Part of her, a small part she apparently shared with Max, was scared they were sending El into a sure moment of trauma.

She just didn't realize what kind in that moment.

"Okay, look," Max warned, as Y/n made her way back to the bed and began fiddling with the radio. "I should just warn you if he's with a girl or doing something gross just get out of there right away before you're scarred for life,"

"Max," El warned playfully, taking the headband Max had nearby.

"I'm just saying, he's really gross,"

"Max!" El laughed.

"Okay," She chuckled, readjusting herself on the bed. "Shutting up now,"

Y/n manages to find the correct station just as El hooks the headband over her eyes again.

A silence falls over the room. Any muffled voices from the TV Hopper was watching in the other room were drowned out in the static seeping into the air. Y/n and Max watched carefully as the girl's shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath.

When El arrived, she immediately felt cold.

She had developed a sense of time in this place long ago, and she knew her getting here — finding Billy — didn't take long, but it wasn't as fast as it had been when she looked for the boys.

When El arrived... everything felt wrong.

First of all, Billy wasn't anywhere in sight. Not right away.

All that was waiting for her was a car, just feet to her right. The headlights were on, bright yellow beams shining over her legs, staring at her like eyes as it sat watching her in the dark.

El tries to ignore the beating of her heart in her ears as she inches closer to investigate. She tries to ignore the growing urge to turn tail and run. To ignore her instincts completely, leave the void and tell Y/n and Max she was sorry.

But she didn't. She crept closer and closer to the only clue she was given and found her unease growing.

Festering.

The glass of the windshield was hopelessly cracked, dented in like something had hit it. Hard. And when she crept even closer, it was confirmed to her the car was empty. Even more curious, the trunk was open.

El grew closer to the trunk, but before she could investigate further the sounds of fearful whimpers finally reached her ears. It deepened her frown and pulled her eyes deeper into the void. That's when she saw it.

She could barely make him out, he was so far away but it was him.

Billy.

"I found him,"

"What's he doing?" Max asks, sounding as unsure as Y/n felt.

Neither of them liked the look forming on El's face under the headband. She looked worried, and when she finally spoke she sounded it too.

She sounded scared.

"I don't know,"

Everything had become harder to make out. Every step she took to close the distance between her and Billy made the connection worse.

Like something was blocking her.

Whatever it is, it isn't strong enough to block out Billy's coarse and hollow voice.

"Don't be afraid."

"He's... on the floor,"

His back is to El, knelt over the floor. His dark gray tank and jeans nearly working to blend him into the darkness he's hiding in. He was nowhere near even a scrap of light, undoubtedly the reason it took her this long to spot him.

His voice is as chilling as whatever atmosphere she had just stepped into. She was in the comfort of her own home, surrounded by those she trusted to pull her out but it was not enough.

Against Billy's words to this stranger, she felt afraid. Nor did she believe the next words to leave his mouth.

"It'll be over soon."

"talking to someone."

The whimpers grew louder and more frequent. Whoever this girl was, she was crying.

Nothing about this trip made her want to get closer, but El continued on. She was determined now, despite the suffocating fear. She was worried for this girl.

El could barely see her. She too was cloaked in darkness. And she was also obscured from behind Billy's figure.

"Just stay very still,"

El's lungs felt like they were flooding. Her legs turned to led, slowly bringing her to a stop just a few steps behind Billy. Tears had crept into her eyes by the time he rose to his feet, his broad shoulders meeting her eye level.

Her instincts were screaming inside her like an alarm; bright, violent flashes of fear growing more rapid by the second until—

You.

El flinched as he whipped around to face her, sunken, darkened eyes widening as they piercing her own. He had not uttered a word to her but she still heard it. A force so strong and revolted — so concentrated — she could feel the thought in her bones.

You.

He could see her.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

She's too shocked to do anything. Too afraid. But she wasn't prepared to let that stop her. Heather was going to do something, she had to. She would.

But that all died when Billy suddenly stood up, looking almost disinterested in her as an eery, unnatural sound reverberates throughout the darkness before her. Slowly, her head turns to face the dark abyss when she catches movement out of the corner of her eye.

His face is as hard as stone though his eyes hold a flicker of struggle and pain when it all unfolds. Heather may be the only one in binding, but she is not the only one who is trapped. There is nothing at all Billy can do but watch as the large and bloodied mass of flesh stomps forward from the shadows, ready to feast.

Neither is there anything to do to stop the sudden plunge of a million icy daggers into his system as his head is jerked around. His senses had suddenly been dialed up to twenty in the blink of an eye, the skin over the back of his neck tightening when it senses her.

Heather's bloodcurdling screams swallow the silence as his stomach plummets two more stories.

It was the girl.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The headband is torn suddenly from El's tremoring body, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she gulps down shaky breaths of air.

"What is it?"

"El, what's wrong?"

El feels a warm hand gently graze her own, and while it does wonders in putting the icy chill to bed it's not enough to banish the fear flooding her lungs.

It takes great effort for her to meet her friend's watery eyes, but when she does, it's impossible to ignore the grave look El casts over Y/n.

"El?"

||𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

- 𝗙𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗛𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞 -

"You sure you don't mind me leaving?" I ask as I stand to collect my papers.

Y/n smiles at me from where I left her on my couch, surrounded by notebooks and dice.

"Of course not," She says, sitting up to help gather our things. "You know if El called me up, you wouldn't let me miss out either. Besides, I've been meaning to see Max."

How was she so understanding?

"Thanks," I grin. "We're still on for tonight though, right?"

She grabbed my face again and pulled me in for a kiss. I nearly forgot to breathe until she broke away, smiling warmly at me.

"Wouldn't miss it,"

- 𝗘𝗡𝗗 𝗢𝗙 𝗙𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗛𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞 -

I stare down at the gameboard, my eyes trailing over my notes. They were littered with Y/n's annotations and doodles in red ink, giving me the encouragement I need.

She should be here.

She worked just as hard as I did to make this happen, she should be here to see it.

"If Mike says he wants to hang out, just the guys, I say run," she told me. "Someone should get to see this campaign. I'm okay with missing out if that's what it takes."

I gave her a look, testing her own words. But she seemed sure. I could tell with just one look, she wasn't giving up.

"It sounds like Mike needs you, anyway," Y/n broke out in a grin and handed me my papers. "And who better to solve any problem than Will the Wise?"

I thumb her notes and I can feel the indents of the pen made on the paper by her handwriting. Down in the corner of the page, I notice something I hadn't before. It was a hasty doodle of Y/C/N looking up at me next to the words, 'Safe Travels to Kuzaton, Sir Will!' And then a smaller, cruder doodle of Y/C/N holding a fireball in her hand as she winked. 'PS. Inform me if your companions are in need of a little persuasion'

I laughed, remembering her promise in Castle Byers. Carefully, I tear the page out and fold it into my pocket for safekeeping before looking up at my friends.

They were still passed out; Lucas was on the floor, Mike on the couch, with a can of Coke still in his hand.

I sigh, trying my best to hold onto the encouragement Y/n had given me. But I couldn't go off of it forever. Of course she was going to support me, she always has.

Just like they used to.

And now everything was a mess. I try to let go of the anger but it's sticking to me like sap; I can't just brush it off. They had been ignoring me all summer. And before that, I wasn't myself because of what happened the year before. It's the first time I realize the last time we were all like this was before the Upside Down. Now that everything had settled down, and El and Max have been around, Dustin's isn't even here and everyone else is too caught up in each other.

Y/n was the only one to notice me. And now, even she's not here.

I actually begin to consider her offer but I shake the thought away. I can't run to her, even if she could kick their asses. This was between them and me.

They just forgot what they're missing.

I rise from my seat and feeling rather brave, I turn the volume up on the boom box before pressing play.

The tavern music blasts throughout the basement and Mike and Lucas jump awake.

"What are you doing?" Lucas says, peering up at me as he squints against the lights.

"Yeah, Will, can you turn down the music?" Mike cries.

"Please address me by my full name," I declare.

I refuse to go meet their eye, showing them I wasn't going to let them walk all over me anymore.

"What?"

I slam the staff into the ground, glaring at Mike. "My full name!"

"Oh, god, okay," Mike sighs, rubbing his eyes. "Will the Wise, can you please turn down the music?"

"That is not music. That is the sound of destiny! I have seen into the future and I have seen that today is a new day. A day... free of girls!"

"What is happening right now?" Lucas asks, his eyes still stuck shut.

"Will, come on," Mike groans.

Ignoring him, I dip down to the board, admiring the work that had taken so long.

"A tribe of villagers are under threat from an evil force from the swamps of Kuzaton,"

"Will, it's so early,"

I glare at him, slowly rising.

"Is it?" I ask. "Is it early, Michael? Tell that to the villagers crying for your help. Children so frightened they cannot sleep. Are you truly going to let them perish? Or are you going to come to their rescue and become the heroes you were always meant to be?"

Lucas, who had been blinking through sleep my entire speech, peers up at me as he raises his hand.

"Can I at least take a shower first?"

||𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

The clouds above our heads were growling with thunder, threatening a heavy storm as the three of us made our way to Max's house to investigate Billy.

"It's gonna start pouring soon," Max says, voicing my thoughts. "We should be at the mall, or watching a movie or something,"

Poor El. It had taken so long to calm her down last night. And it took promising her we'd go check out it later today. So here were are. Traveling up Cherry through the hot, muggy air, and a bad feeling still in my gut.

"You guys don't believe me?" El asks, growing sad.

I shared a worried look with Max before both of us nod our heads quickly.

"Of course we do!"

"And we're sure you saw some super weird stuff, totally," Max continues. "We're just a little confused. I mean, did you really contact Y/n through there once?"

El didn't seem as receptive as she had been, and I jumped in, nodding. "Yeah, last year when everything was going on with Will and Dart. Granted, I thought had I had been dreaming at first but I put the pieces together. Plus, El, didn't you say Mike has sensed you before?

El, who had been thoughtfully watching her feet as she walked, gears turning in her brain, suddenly looked up at me with a strange look in her eye.

"How did you?"

"How did I what?"

"Put your pieces together?"

I thought the question was strange, as I still don't understand what this has to do with Billy but I answered anyway.

"I don't know, I," I shook my head, feeling a thoughtful frown forming on my face. "Well, I realized I wasn't even fully asleep when it happened, I was wading in and out. I remember trying to stay awake cause I thought you were in my room, but you weren't. It felt really weird, actually, like I was dreaming with my eyes open. But I remembered what you said and I decided to take a chance." I shrug, hands in my pockets. "And I was right. It was you,"

But it still doesn't make sense.

"That was supposed to happen though, right? You said you had a way, I figured you knew I'd see you."

El slowly looked back up at me, looking almost concerned.

"I didn't," she admits.

She didn't know? But that day I found her... She said she could reach me. And if it's true, how come I'm the only one who can see her?

"I'm still worried," El admitted.

I brought my head to look at her, and I realized I was beginning to fall behind. I scurried a few steps across the pavement and back to their pace when Max tried again.

"Well, we'll check it out. But I'm sure it's going to be fine. A misunderstanding, I mean,"

Judging by the look on El's face, she wasn't letting up. Not that I can blame her. I'm not exactly feeling too great about this either.

"How do you know that?" El asks. She shakes her head like she's trying to forget what she heard. "What about the screams?"

"I know, but," Max sighs up at the sky, growing uncomfortable as she turns back to El. "here's the thing. When Billy is alone with a girl, they make like, really crazy noises,"

I grimace.

"They scream?"

Now I'm trying not to laugh.

"Yeah, but, like," Max darts her eyes past El, flashing me a panicked look. I shrug, looking back down at the ground as I try not to chuckle. "happy screams,"

El only seems more confused.

"Happy screams? What is happy screams?"

Max looked at me again, silently pleading. I shrug, not about to give El the talk. And judging by Max's expression, she wasn't about to either.

She just sighs.

"I'm just gonna lend you my mom's Cosmo,"

The chuckle finally breaks loose just as we reach the front of Max's house. "Yeah," I snort. "Hop won't freak out at all,"

Max rolls her eyes at me and they rest on the empty lot.

"His car's not here," Max says, all thoughts on the previous conversation forgotten. "You really want to do this?"

Finally looking back at El, I watch her expression carefully and the knot in my stomach burrows itself deeper. I haven't seen her this worried in a long time.

Since last year. And the year before.

I'm beginning to understand the bad feeling in my stomach now. The same one I had for the past two years.

I just hope it's wrong.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Learn About Unconscious Bias:

Why Gaza Needs Our Help

How To Be An Ally

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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#cosmic #cosmic 3 #will byers x reader #will byers x fem!reader #stranger things #stranger things 3 #the case of the missing lifeguard #3x03 #st 3x03

[sparkkeyper]

And They Flew Anyway

Summary: It’s 1969 and Crowley and Aziraphale sit in a pub watching humans make their own history.

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

It was a raucous night in the London pub.

Indeed, Aziraphale had chosen this one specifically because of the excitement pouring out of it. He didn't have a television in his bookshop and if he was going to experience what was certainly a significant moment in Earth's history, he wanted some suitably celebratory surroundings. His search for the prefect venue (which consisted chiefly of picking a district of bars and restaurants and walking the streets with all his senses extended until he'd found the happiest, liveliest pub with a TV set) had resulted in a pub that would have been rather spacious if it wasn't packed to the brim with Sunday night patrons. A football match had apparently concluded not long before, and a sizable group of young people in the corner were drunk and rowdy in celebration of whatever team had won.

Football notwithstanding, there was a swarm of people crowding up towards the bar where the television was located. Aziraphale's eyes landed on the back of one head in particular, the haircut not so different from when he had last seen it in a Bentley in Soho two years prior. "Crowley, is that you?"

The demon turned, face spilt in an enormous smile. "ANGELLLL!" he crowed loud enough to be heard on the street outside, and Aziraphale winced, as though that in itself was enough to summon Gabriel. But Crowley was already bounding towards him, stumbling gracelessly around the people in his way and beaming like a bonfire. "Fancy runnin'in'ina you 'ere! Wonderful, marv'lous, just in time!"

Aziraphale couldn't help but smile back at the enthusiasm as Crowley clapped him excitedly on the shoulder. "And just how drunk are you, exactly?"

"Oh, unbelievably drunk," Crowley confirmed gleefully. "Hideously drunk. Only way to be, night like tonight! Least until the main event. Got your work cut out for you if you wanna catch me up. C'mon! C'mon, got good seats, right by the telly!" He flung an arm around the angel's shoulders and Aziraphale let himself be dragged over to the bar, not the least bit put out by this unexpected company.

The counter was packed full of people, but two barstools and a few cubic feet of space seemed to grow out of nowhere for them to sit comfortably. "Oi, Rico!" Crowley called over to the bartender. "One for my mate, same as me! Put it on mine!"

"Oh! Well thank you. What are you drinking?"

"I have *no* idea." The demon knocked back another mouthful of whatever was in his glass.

Aziraphale accepted the drink - some pinkish cocktail - from the bartender graciously and bit back a protest against 'my mate', figuring Crowley was drunk to the point that admonishment wouldn't stick. "So. Red letter day for downstairs?"

Crowley pulled a face and waved the notion off, swaying unsteadily on the stool. "Nahhhh. Nothin' t'do with it. Red letter day for...monkeys! Humans! Mad li'l tail-less monkeys, they are." He gestured at the television set where a pair of news anchors were discussing details. "They're tras'iting...tra'smit...they're sending the broadcast all the way from America. Got Cronkite and everything."

That was indeed true, Aziraphale saw. The conversation in the pub hadn't decreased a bit in volume, but he could tell that it was shifting more and more away from football and towards the news programme.

"Angel, d'you know how long I've been waiting for this? Six centuries. No wait..." The demon paused to count on his fingers. "- ty. Sixty centuries. Ever since Adam looked up at th' night sky and went 'wha's tha' thing, then?' I've been waiting for th' humans to get to see it up close." He raised his arms to encompass the ceiling, sloshing half his drink from the glass and nearly smacking the man next to him in the face. "She put all that beautiful, magnificent stuff waaaay up 'n the sky, way up where they could never touch, and stuck 'em down on th' ground. Gave 'em feet 'n legs 'n stuck 'em down in the mud and said 'here, you can look at it I guess but tha's it'. And humans, they looked up at the stars and said 'that's bollocks, d'You know how bollocks that is?' and got to work mapping th' sky 'n figuring out rotations and then! And then!" He grabbed the angel's shoulder hard enough to bruise. "They built a set of wings out of a metal capsule and a bunch of maths and wires and they called it Eagle! I mean, mostly I think it's the Americans being ostentatious but come on! Eagle! And they said 'nuts to Your limitations' and they went and flew anyway!"

His eyes were shining, and Aziraphale thought he had never seen Crowley so proud. "They do have incredible ingenuity."

"Blessed right, they do! W'as the time?"

"Nearly eight, I think."

"Blimey, it's soon. Hang on, I wanna 'ppreciate this." The demon ducked his head, hands gripping the counter. He let out a pained grunt and an obscenely undignified belch as he forced the alcohol from his system, and Aziraphale rolled his eyes just a little. Crowley scrunched up his face in disgust and washed down the taste of suddenly-not-drunk with another sip of the cocktail.

"They made this leap so quickly," Aziraphale observed as the anchormen began to look more flustered. "It's only been, what 70 years or so since they started toying with motorised flight?"

"Tenacious, this lot." Crowley side-eyed him. "You didn't have anything to do with this, did you?"

"No," Aziraphale answered truthfully. "In fact I was specifically told to leave the research alone."

"Same."

The whole pub was focusing on the television now as radio broadcasts came in. Radio signals from space - Aziraphale could hardly believe it. If someone had told him a hundred years ago that humans would get to this point so quickly he'd have laughed in their face.

"I was at the launch, you know." Quiet awe coloured Crowley's voice as he watched the screen. "Hopped a flight to Cape Kennedy earlier this week. Oh, it was brilliant, angel; you should've seen it."

The broadcast switched away from the anchors to an indoor studio somewhere. A model lander was being lowered slowly, awkwardly onto a model set, with the caption "CBS News Simulation" beneath it. But with the accompanying radio transmissions, it didn't take too much human imagination to make the visuals match the audio.

The murmuring of the patrons around them died slowly with each minute that passed until the entire room was silent, watching the screen. Even the drunkest of the football fans recognized the weight of what was happening.

"Four forward," crackled the radio signal. "Four forward, drifting to the right a little. Okay, down a half."

Aziraphale risked a glance beside him. Crowley was wholly focused on the television set, stock still and not breathing. In fact, the angel would have bet money that he hadn't remembered to breathe in several minutes. His glasses had slipped a bit down his nose so he could see the broadcast unhindered, and his yellow eyes were wide, waiting, desperate: hope and joy and fear raging behind them in a maelstrom.

"Contact light. Okay, engine stop. ACA out of detent. Mode control, both auto. Descent engine command override off. Engine arm off. 413 is in."

"Man on the moon," one of the news anchors breathed, but the pub held its collective breath. It had to be official. If anything went wrong at the last second...

There was were a few moments of radio static.

"We copy you down, Eagle."

"Houston... Tranquility Base here. The Eagle has landed."

"Roger, Tranquility. We copy you on the ground-"

The pub exploded, drowning out the rest of the broadcast. Crowley was on his feet, whooping and hollering with the loudest of them. Aziraphale applauded enthusiastically and clacked his glass against the beer of the gentleman beside him. "Well done, humanity! Well done indeed!"

Crowley was jumping up and down and screaming himself hoarse, hugging whatever stranger happened to get close to him and being hugged by other random strangers in return. One of the drunker football girls kissed him full on the mouth and he didn't seem to care in the least, going right back to his screaming as she moved on to kiss the bloke beside him.

Aziraphale couldn't help but bask for a moment in the happiness radiating from the humans around him. It wasn't hard to find excited people if you knew where to look, but it was rare that one found so many people all deliriously excited about the same thing. He could feel a sizable portion of Europe celebrating tonight.

Crowley grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him enthusiastically, breaking him out of his reverie. Aziraphale thought he glimpsed tears glinting from the corners of the sunglasses. "They did it! Angel, they did it!"

"I can see that! It's very hard to miss."

"Sixty centuries and they made it! Take that, You great cosmic killjoy!" This last was hollered at the ceiling but Aziraphale couldn't bring himself to be cross about it, not with so much happiness humming through the air. "Rico! New round for me and him! Ah Heaven, round for the bar!"

"You're cut off, mate!" the bartender yelled back. But a snap wiped his expression clean as that particular thought was miracled out of his head.

"I," Crowley asserted, downing the rest of his cocktail, "am fresh and ready to go. This party's just getting started. Gonna join me, angel? Betcha the news coverage'll go on for ages."

Aziraphale took the offered refill, already tipsy off the joy coming from both the humans and Crowley. "Oh, why not?"

#good omens #good omens fic #apollo 11 #the moon landing #my writing #it's fun listening to the original radio transmissions

[strange-changes-ln]

“Strange Changes.”

Chapter Two: “The Television Boy.”

…

Roger, is…confused. Very much so. He’s- a mix of emotions actually. They’re all stirred, he can’t tell which he truly feels the most. If he had to pick; confusion. Definitely.

He and Thomas were going to find the trespasser, yes? Well- they were off doing…whatever it was they found fun: and by that, it means making a complete mess. They tried to at least come to a compromise with the thing but it simply wouldn’t budge.

‘See you later’ indeed.

He had- accidentally blew a fuse and immediately started getting aggressive. The chef kept trying to talk, while he was over it at that point.

Then— something hit him? He couldn’t tell what it was, but it managed to knock him onto the floor. He-… kind of blanked out for a moment. The thing that brought him back to reality was Thomas.

“ O-Oh geez- are you okay?? “ He questioned, offering to help the Janitor up. He refused, as he could lift myself up.

..He-uh—he thought he could. Turns out, he fell back down, and he kind of had to help him. It was embarrassing. Roger huffed, whatever took the hit kinda- knocked the wind out of him.

“ I-uh-..I’m fine, yeah. “ He finally answered, having not answering before, due to his own pride in attempting to stand on his own. “ What-…happened..? “ He tried looking in Thomas’s direction, but- he couldn’t really tell. He had to tap Roger’s shoulder to see where his face was.

” That- they flew into you, and- they disappeared right after. “ It sounded, weird. But, lots of things here aren’t normal. Like himself for example. He has long arms and stubs for legs. But that’s not the point.

He rubbed his head, mumbling to himself.

” ..um- are you okay, Janitor?- “ The chef asked once more. “ I could- walk you back, if you- “

“ A-Ah- no, I’ll manage. “ He put on a relatively awkward smile as he tried to exiting the Kitchen areas in general. He did what he had to do, now he’ll depart. On his own. No help. He’s fine.

” Are you sure? “ Thomas kept- asking questions. He doesn’t know if it was the event that occurred earlier, or if it was just the questions, but it was- annoying.

” I’m, fine. I just- need a moment. “ Roger held back a hiss, before just heading off.

. . .

Now, here he is. In the little TV room he likes to make himself comfortable in. The worker just- groaned, and slid down against the door, slumping onto the ground. Honestly? He’s just- so mentally tangled he might not be able to think properly. That- might just be an exaggeration, but- really. It’s beginning to seem…heavier in here. Maybe he’s just tired. Possibly, with the constant swinging of his arms from the lash out, that could be taken into account.

He sighs, no matter. He’ll just- turn on the television, and ignore the slowly…increasing… headache. Right.

Reaching over, and pressing the button, and letting the ‘Veronica’ song play. He likes this song. It- makes him feel…good. He just- likes it, for whatever reason. He just enjoys it. As much as he- really doesn’t understand the lyrics. He stands, takes a few steps up to the television, and sits back down. Just- letting the song go on, and on, resting his head on his arms, which rest on his knees.

It kind of…makes him feel better.

Though, he- slowly begins to drift off, managing to catch himself each time, but slower, and slower. Are you really that tired from just flailing your arm about? It’s fine, just keep yourself awake, sheesh.

But— he’s- tired. Maybe…just for a moment, he can-

No. No, you’re not going to. You have things to do, just- listen to the song for a little bit, then get back t-…

…he’s already out before he can continue his internal rant.

” Hello? Is anyone there? Hellooo? Can you hear me? Uhh- hold on- “

Roger flinched awake, at the sounds of a voice, and…static? What’s… going on?- He lifted his head up, moving his head around the room. Before facing the TV. He croaked a little, slightly tilting his head to whatever may be happening right now.

” Ahh, there we go! Oh- hi there! I’m- woah…uhhh….okay, not what I expected.. “ The voice sounded a little- surprised. They weren’t expecting to see him? Well- who were they expecting to see?? Who are they??

” ..u-uh….where…who.. “ The Janitor spoke, with a low tone, sort of out-of-touch with reality. Was that- a kid, they were hearing? How were they speaking through the TV..? “ ..who…are you..? “

“ Oh- um- right! I’m Mono! It’s nice to meet you, Mr… “ they awaited their response from the other end. They were a boy. He’ll note that.

” …Roger. “ He replied, trying to jog himself into full-awareness and consciousness. It was- kind of difficult.

“ Roger? Ohh, that’s a nice name! Roger. Simple. But in a good way! It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Roger! “ Normally they wouldn’t say this directly to an adults face, but…he feels safer behind a screen. Roger simply nodded, though quite absent-mindedly.

“ ..you…you two, kid. Uh… how’re you speaking through th- “ He put his hand on the television and paused. It…didn’t feel like metal. No…no, it felt like-

flesh?

“ -gHGH- “ Roger jolted, snapping his hand back. What the hell. What the hell?? That- that’s not- what’s it’s supposed to feel like?? Why does it feel like FLESH? “ ..what is going on.. “ He mumbled to himself. He’s- so..- confused, he- can’t- focus! Focus! UGH.

“ Oh- does the flesh bother you? I’m sorry- “ The boy in the TV apologized for the sudden change in material. The worker just- kept silent. His head was faced towards the grounds, subtly shifting it from side-to-side. Flesh TV? Young boy? Mono? Like— Like monotone? He doesn’t understand. Where is all of this coming from?

“ ..I—It’s fine. “ He finally answers. “ ..uh..mm…Mono, was it..? How are you.. “

“ Umm- it’s just an ability I have. I was trying to see if I could- find a friend, but…you aren’t them. “ They sounded…kind of sad for a moment. “ She disappeared, after she…ah-… “ They hesitated to keep talking. Before the boy shook his head, and kept going. “ That’s- that’s not important, I’m just trying to find her. “ Mono smiled sheepishly, having a rather awkward expression. But…Roger couldn’t tell.

” … “ He wanted to know what this friend of theirs did, but he felt that he shouldn’t ask. “ ..Uhh- where was the last place you saw them? “ He resorted to asking that instead. He was met with a moment of silence. Before-

“ ..T-The Signal Tower.. “ The boy spoke, stammering a little. The Signal Tower? Wait- what— what is that again? Has he actually ever heard of that? Uhh….umm-uh………

Shoot, he might not actually remember. He doesn’t want to sound stupid. So, he just went, “ …I see. “ Perfect. “ ..How’s that been? “

” Oh-uh…fine? I’ve just been sitting here. In this chair. “

“ ..That’s…nice. “ Roger slowly nodded. He yawned.

..wait- shoot— he has- things to do, what time is it-?? “ ..u-uh-..do you- know what time is it? “ He nervously questioned, why did he have to let himself fall asleep here??

” ..Oh-uh…it’s..the Evening right now. Why? “ His question was replied too. He didn’t exactly feel thrilled about it.

“ Wh- it was the Afternoon just a while ago!- “ The Janitor stood up, swiftly. Gah- he can’t even remember what he had to do. Think- think- think- think. What did he have t-

Ah- wait- too fast- too fast. He set himself back down for a moment, a feeling of lightheadedness washing over him. He emitted a soft groan. Christ, Roger…

” Woah, woah, are- are you okay?? “ Mono continuously blinked, blurting out, out of concern.

” Yeah- I’m fine, don’t worry about it- Ghh. “ Holding his head with one hand, Roger rested his rather large head on his free hand. “ I- fell asleep, when I had a job t’ do, like an idiot— now I can’t even remember what I had to do, I got up too fast, I feel dizzy, I- “

” Oookay, okay- okay, um- just slow down, i-it’s alright..! “ He waved his hands in front of the screen, now sort of…worried? “ Just- be careful next time, okay? “ He tried to give the blind man a warm smile.

. . .

he couldn’t see it. Roger simply nodded. He was just- startled. “ ..right. I…gotta go, I have- things to do. “ He was reaching to the button that activated, and deactivated the television. But Mono stopped him. He wanted to tell him something.

“ Wait- ah— I don’t mean to be rude about this, but…have you tried moving the blindfold around your eyes? “ The boy pointed towards the skin around Roger’s eyes. He would’ve blinked, but it really wouldn’t have mattered.

“ ..what. So, I could see? “ The man frowned.

” I-I mean-………maybe….? “ Mono shrunk in his seat, feeling both mean, and stupid about saying that.

“ ..That’s…not how that works, kid. But, I could just show you. “

” ..Show me…what?- “

“ How it’s not just the skin that’s blocking my sight. “ Roger seemed to deadpan. The child behind the screen squinted. Skin? Huh. He couldn’t tell. Roger reached for the skin around his head with a hand, and lifted it upwards, revealing-

Voids. Empty, eyeball-less sockets. Normally, it would’ve been the same; the world would be black around him, no real sight. But…not this time. THIS time… he…

He could see. He could see the room’s walls- the floor, the flesh-covered television- the boy. The kid had fair skin, darkened hair, and…voiding eyes as well. His new grasp of sight snapped towards the fleshy TV. It- the muscles pulsed. There were—eyes on it. They stared at him. He backed away, eyeing the ground. Looking back at Mono. Is he- dreaming?

“ ..Are you alright, Roger? “ He asked, the screen static-ing every now and then.

He…eyes his hand. He squints. Just a bit.

“ … “

” … “

” what…? “

#fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #little nightmares chefs #little nightmares #little nightmares oc #roger the janitor #UNKNOWN #Strange Changes

[kieraswriting]

Coffin Chapter Twenty-Five

Masterpost

Patton was sitting on the couch, as this seemed to be a two-person-only type of job.

“Ok! A little more! Just a little! Wait, wait, wait! Here! Don’t move!” Roman groaned. “He moved.”

Virgil was up on the roof, trying to get the antenna to catch a tv signal. With his better hearing, he could hear Roman yelling when the tv actually got a picture that wasn’t mostly static.

They’d been working at it for quite a long time now, and it didn’t seem that they were getting very close. At least they were having fun.

It was quite a while longer before the image was halfway clear, and Roman decided that it was as close as it would get.

And then the three of them sat down to watch a movie.

Patton patted his lap, and Virgil actually tipped over to lay down. He’d been so much more open to touch ever since they started practicing with the thralls. At first, Patton had been very worried that he felt like he owed it to them, but with how much Virgil leaned into his hand as he ran it through his hair, he seemed to enjoy it at least as much as Patton did.

Roman was more aggressive with his affection, grabbing Virgil in a headlock and scrubbing his knuckles over his head. But after clearing it up the first time, where Virgil had thought it was some kind of attack, he was smiling, and even laughed once, squirming out of the hold and tackling Roman back.

They still had to be careful with anything remotely silver-colored, as it made Virgil freeze up just by seeing it, and if they moved towards him with it he would go into a full blown panic attack.

But other than that, the last few days had brought them closer and closer together. A little stir-crazy, but they were managing that pretty well, or at least Patton thought so.

Virgil hadn’t quite figured out how to manage the thrall, but from what Patton heard, it was a pretty finicky thing to manage anyway. And that was what all the practice was for. He’d get it! Patton was sure of it.

Virgil slowly melted more and more into Patton’s lap, his breathing slowing until it was barely there. Apparently vampires didn’t really need to breathe, and the habit of unconscious breathing slowed until it eventually stopped. Emile had explained that to him, and that Remy didn’t breathe at all while he was sleeping, and sometimes when he was awake too. It weirded Patton out, but he was getting a little better at ignoring it.

Once Virgil was completely asleep, and the movie ended, Patton switched to the news.

“—but everyone’s freaking out!” A woman was saying. “I feel like I can barely let my kids out of the house!”

“You understand the reasons why, right?” The interviewer asked.

“Of course I do, but this is still just too freaky! My dad turned out to be a vampire. My dad! He could’ve been assaulting my kids when he came to our house! And what does that mean for me? Am I a part vampire? How am I supposed to get the vampire part out of me?”

“From all reports, it is not possible to be a percentage of a vampire. You either are or are not.” The interviewer said calmly, as if he was reading off of a script.

“Then how are we going to stop the vampires? Who knows how far they’ve infiltrated!”

“I’ve been assured that they are being rounded up very thoroughly.”

“But it just takes one, doesn’t it? And that one could infect how many people?”

The interviewer turned to the camera. “This is why we’re trying to be sure and get every one. If you know, or suspect someone of being a vampire, please call the authorities. There are fool-proof tests, there is no way we will accidentally arrest anyone innocent.”

“Well, that’s good.” The woman said. “But if vampires are real, and we’re practically crawling with them, who knows what else could be? Are werewolves real? Are ghosts? How would we even know?”

“There have not been any confirmed reports of other paranormal creatures, however the government is keeping the possibility in consideration.”

“I should hope so. This is all too dangerous! I don’t know why they’re trying to put any of them to work, it’d be safer to just kill them all.”

Patton felt a minute stiffening in Virgil. He stroked his hand over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Virge, I’ll turn it off.”

Virgil’s eyes opened, and he turned to mostly hide his face. “Thanks.”

“Virgil, none of us think this way. Not for a second.”

Virgil nodded silently.

Patton rubbed more firmly. “We’ll keep you safe, sweetheart. No one’s taking you.”

“It’s… it’s not… you’re… stuck up here.”

“What do you mean?”

Virgil rolled back to look up at Patton. “You’re stuck up here trying to keep me safe. You both just left your whole lives behind, and I’m— I-I’m not—“

Patton put a finger over his mouth. “Don’t you dare say you aren’t worth it. Don’t you dare.”

Virgil bit his lip, his forehead furrowing. He gave a slight nod. “But—“

“No buts, mister. Do you think I would lie to you?”

Virgil shook his head.

“And I say you’re worth every bit of it.”

“I do too,” Roman said, butting his way into the conversation. “You’ve been adopted. I even got Logan in on it. And you aren’t getting out of this family that easily.”

“Roooman, that was a surprise!” Patton protested, but he wasn’t really upset.

Virgil, on the other hand, looked awfully close to crying.

“I—I don’t understand!” He said, his voice cracking. “Why do you even want me?”

Patton was instantly ready with a million reasons, but Roman spoke first.

“I don’t think that’s true. I think you could understand, you just don’t believe us.” Roman put a hand on Virgil’s knee. “But we’re going to stay here, and keep wanting you, and keeping you, and making sure you’re as safe as we can make you, until you do believe it.”

And then Virgil did cry, curling into Patton and reaching out a hand for Roman. Roman grabbed his hand and moved closer, sandwiching Virgil between him and Patton.

•^*^••

Thomas dropped to his knees as the pressure released, shuddering.

“Atta’kid, Tommy!” Remus crowed. “Now you know how to get out of a thrall. A baby one, anyway.”

Dee went straight to Thomas, scanning his face intently. “Are you ok?”

“M’fine,” Thomas said, though really he felt like he was about to throw up.

“Now Dee can try! And you can get out of his, and then he’ll learn how to do it better, and—“

“Shut up, Remus!” Dee growled. “Thomas isn’t doing anything else for a while.”

Remus froze, and then pouted. “Fiiiine, you two are learning, I guess.”

Thomas slowly got up, his legs wobbly. “I can— try again. Just give me a few minutes.”

“No.” Dee said firmly, hovering nearby to catch Thomas if he started to fall. “I’m already regretting letting you try this. No more. Not today.”

As much as his body wanted to quit, and as sore as his mind was, Thomas was worried. He suspected that he and Remus had the exact same worry, that something was coming, and that they wouldn’t be strong enough, wouldn’t be skilled enough. They had to keep practicing. With Remus as a teacher, as crude as he was, and with Dee’s skill and Thomas’s stubbornness, they might just make it. If they didn’t quit just cause Thomas was tired. He felt his own weakness keenly, but he refused to be the weak link that made them all get hurt. Not if he could help it.

“An hour. I’ll rest for an hour, and we’ll try again.”

Dee frowned, far more concerned than angry. “Three.”

Thomas sighed, and turned it into a chuckle. “Two, and we get some dinner. Deal?”

“I’m driving,” Dee insisted.

Thomas was glad to let him have that, and fell asleep almost as soon as the car started moving.

•^*^••

“Come on, you can’t stay inside forever,” Remy said, rolling his eyes behind his glasses.

“It’s dangerous!” Logan insisted.

“For who, babes?!” Remy snapped. “For who? Cause it sure as hell ain’t you. Come on, Em wants to go out and I’m taking you with us before I can regret it.”

“I don’t want you to be going out either!” Logan said. “If someone touched you with silver, or recognized me, we’d be done for. Emile is the safest one, let him go if he wants.”

Remy’s eyes narrowed. “Hand me your silver.”

“What?”

“Hand it. Now. I know you have some.”

Logan frowned deeply, but reached into his pocket and pulled out the bolt he still kept there out of habit.

Remy took it in his hand, rolled it around, and passed it back without changing his expression. His skin was reddish and irritated, but he hadn’t even flinched.

“I drink. Coffee. Every day, babes. I’m not getting us caught over a little silver. Now stop being a wimp and go get in the car.”

“But—“

“Look, I can pass it off as an allergy,” Remy snapped. “If anyone gets us caught it’ll be you, acting all jittery.”

Logan reluctantly walked out to the car, where Emile was waiting.

“Remy, what’d you do?”

“I touched his damn silver, leave me alone.”

Emile glanced between the two of them, concerned, but left Remy alone.

The dinner actually went well, even if Logan was tense. No one paid them any attention, other than the waiter, and even that didn’t seem like too much.

“I apologize,” Logan said, as they got back into the car. “I should… perhaps, be willing to trust you more.”

“Yeah, whatever, I was a prick too. It’s chill.”

Emile may have mostly hidden the proud smile, but the emotion wasn’t at all hidden, making Remy turn and stare out the window for the next while.

“What do you think about popcorn and a movie once we get back?” Emile asked.

“I’d take the popcorn,” Remy said.

“Depending on which movie, I’d certainly be willing to partake with the both of you.”

Remy scoffed, shaking his head with a slight smile.

•^*^••

“They’ve taken my son,” Liam said firmly. “I will see them go down.”

“Good man,” his superior praised, slapping him on the back. “And if there’s any way we can get your son back; you’ll have all the resources at your disposal.”

And with that, he handed over direct command of all the hunters in the state to Liam Hart.

#sanders sides #vampire au #vampires #blood #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #emile picani #remy sleep #my own work #coffin #violence #speciesism #vampire virgil #platonic moxiety

[sick-in-luv]

Yandere!Alien (Atlas) Pt1

A/n:Got this idea and just had to write it👽

Warnings⚠️: gore?

'So this is what they meant when they said humans are made of stars' Altas thought,scoffing as his hands dug deeper into the open chest cavity of the man laying in front of him. The smell of iron was heavy in the air as blood pooled around them,staining the overalls Atlas had taken from him

"ꉓꂦꎭꍟ ꂦꈤ! ꀤ ꀭꀎꌗ꓄ ꈤꍟꍟꀸ ꌩꂦꀎꋪ...ꍏꃅ ꃅꍏ!" The man was still alive,his quick breaths coming out gargled as blood gathered in his mouth. Atlas moved his hand up into the man's throat, his fingers wrapping around his larynx.

He pressed his pointed nail into the soft tissue,a glowing green liquid flowing into the mans veins,spreading across his face and neck. Atlas sighed as he watched the man squirm,his strength slowly fading.

"ᖘ꒒ꍟꍏꌗꍟ ꌗ꓄ꂦᖘ ꎭꂦᐯꀤꈤꁅ ꃅꀎꎭꍏꈤ. ꀤ ꂦꈤ꒒ꌩ ꈤꍟꍟꀸ ꓄ꂦ ꓄ꍏꀘꍟ ꀤꈤ ꌩꂦꀎꋪ ꒒ꍏꈤꁅꀎꍏꁅꍟ ꍏꈤꀸ ꌗᖘꍟꍏꀘꀤꈤꁅ ᖘꍏ꓄ꍟꋪꈤꌗ. ꅏꂦꈤ'꓄ ꌃꍟ ꒒ꂦꈤꁅ." True to his word,Atlas moved his hand out of the man only a few seconds later,a satisfied smile on his face.

"There! Ain't that much better?" He said gleefully,testing out his new voice,the slight southern drawl making him pause. "Weird,not what i expected it would sound like after i heard you scream."

Atlas shook his head " well I guess it doesn't matter. Now,lets close you up shall we?" He smiled,moving to stand up and walk back to his landing area to find the tool he needed.

He froze however when he heard a click,followed by something cold and hard pressing against the back of his head.

"M-make one move and I'll blow y-yer goddam brains out!" Atlas sighed and stood up,hearing the person behind him gasp and stumble backwards, falling over and dropping his gun in the process.

Atlas turned around and looked down at the terrified man,blinking in surprise as he saw the striking resemblance between him and the other man who was barely clinging to life behind him.

"D-demon" Atlas heard the man mumble as he picked up his shotgun,pointing it at the 7ft tall blood coved figure in front of him. "Y-you killed my brother"

Atlas frowned,trying to find the right words to tell the man that his brother wasn't dead. He moved forward only to stop when he heard a loud bang,followed by a seering pain in his side as the man pulled the trigger.

👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽

You always loved coming to visit your uncle. His small cabin in the woods was so peaceful,a huge change from the city life that you were used to.

There was nothing but farmlands and forests for miles, so apart from the occasional sound of an animal,it was quiet.

You were alone in the cabin. Your uncle left earlier to go to work,leaving you to do what you wanted until he came back.

Of course, there wasn't much to do,so you opted for sitting in front of the old box tv in the livingroom,eating microwave pizza and trying to solve crossword puzzles

It wasn't much,but it kept you entertained. The TV was only on for backround noise,but occasionally something interesting caught your eye,like when the news broadcaster started talking about a foreign object entering orbit.

It didn't hold your attention for long though,because soon after she said that the signal cut out,leaving nothing but static on the tv. You sighed but didn't bother to try and fix it, only shrugging before going back to your puzzle.

About half an hour and 3 puzzles later you decided to go to bed,seeing as your primary source of entertainment was down and you already finished the last slice of pizza.

After a short shower,you threw on a oversized t shirt and went to brush your teeth,moving sluggishly through your suitcase to find your toothbrush.

After finally finding it along with your mouthwash and hairbrush,you moved back to the bathroom. You desperately tried to keep your eyes open as you moved the toothbrush through your mouth,nearly falling asleep at the sink before a loud bang sounded out outside.

You let out a short scream,your toothbrush slipping through your fingers as you jumped. You scrambled to try and catch it only to loose your footing and fall over backwards,hitting your head on the side of the tub.

You sat there for a second,toes curling in pain as your hands shot up to where your head was throbbing.

The pain subsided after a few seconds,and you cursed your neighbors for thinking it was okay to start shooting at this hour of the night,slowly standing up and making your way back to your room.

"Stupid Clive and his stupid guns. It's 2 am for god sakes. I'm gonna give him a piece of my mind when i see him again that no good little-" you stopped abruptly as you heard something shuffling outside.

"Whaaaatt the fuck" you whispered to yourself,slowly moving towards the front of the cabin to peek out the window. You grabbed a phone on the way,getting ready to call your uncle if it was something serious.

Pulling back the plaid curtain,you scanned the dimly lit porch,holding your breath in anticipation.

Once you were certain that there was nothing there,you let out a relieved sigh,moving to close the curtain and finally go to bed,when a very large blood covered hand slammed against the window.

You let out a scream,your knees going weak, once again sending you towards the ground. You grabbed the phone,filled with adrenaline as you started dialing your uncles number until-

"H-help. Puh-please! I-I need help" you paused putting the phone down and listening. You heard a pained groan followed by a weird chittering noise.

You slowly got onto your knees,peeking out the window,passed the bloody handprint,to see a person laying on the wooden porch,covered in blood.

"Oh shit!" You ran towards the door,not even hesitating as you threw it open,rushing towards the person.

"Oh shit oh fuck a-are you okay? Oh damnit! come on lets get you inside." The man groaned and sat up slowly,and you had to keep yourself from gasping at not only his height,but also the mess of unnaturall, almost glowing neon green hair on his head,almost completely covering his eyes.

"Holy shit." You heard the man let out a pained chuckle "wow your teaching me all sorts of new words"

You raised your eyebrow,wanting to ask him what he meant when he let out another groan. "Ah,lets get you to the bathroom yeah? We got a first aid kit in there i think." You quickly stood up,throwing his large arm over your shoulders and trying to help him up. He must've noticed your struggle, because he let out another chuckle and supported more of his own weight, only occasionally leaning on you as you led him to the bathroom.

It was only when you saw him under the florescent light when you noticed that his skin had a strange greenish hue to it,and he was wearing clothes that didn't really seem to fit him properly. You paid no mind to it as you helped him sit down on the toilet,frantically scrambling to find the first aid kit.

"What happened to you? You look like you were run over." You cringed at yourself. You really didnt mean to sound so blunt but you were still filled with adrenaline from the big ass scare he gave you.

"A silly human shot me with his primative weapon. Unfortunately i couldn't reach my ship in time to grab any of my healing supplies or any proper covering so i opted for finding the nearest form of civilization."

You paused at his words,slowly turning to look at him,first aid kit clutched in your shaking hands. You looked up at his tall form sitting calmly with his hand pressed against the wound in his side,his jet black eyes looking straight into yours.

Wait a minute

Black eyes.

"H-human? Ship? What the fuck are you on about my guy?" He smiled sweetly,showing off his razor sharp teeth. Al three rows of them.

Your eyes widened as you slowly backed away,causing his smile to fade. "Oh! Oh nono no human don't look so afraid! Im not here to hurt anyone! And I'm certainly not going to hurt you after you let me into your home"

You shook you head and stood still,not letting your gaurd down just yet. "How do i know your telling the truth? What are you?"

He made a little chittering noise,moving a bit of neon green hair out of his eyes. "Ah yes. I forgot your species hasn't had any public outside contact yet. My name is Atlas. I am what your kind know as an 'extra terrestrial' or an 'alien' or whatever" he stood up,slowly moving towards you.

He stopped just inches away and bent down to look you in the eye,his own black orbs glistening in the light. "As for the whole truth thing,well I really don't have any reason to lie to you pet."

He placed his large hand over the first aid kit,gently pulling it from your grip and moving closer towards your face,his nose brushing yours. You felt heat rise to your cheeks as he sighed softly.

"Your a good little human right? So i really have no desire to hurt you." He suddenly stood up straight, making you squeal softly. "But i do really need you to help me repair my injuries."

You let out a breath that you didn't know you were holding,before looking up at Atlas,who was struggling to open the box,turning it over in his hands multiple times.

After taking a few more deep breaths,trying to process everything,you giggled softly making him stop and look at you.

"What are you doing?" Atlas huffed and felt around the box again. "Where is the scanning device?? How do you open this stupid thing??" Your giggles turned into full blown laughter as you took the box from him,pressing the small latch and opening the box.

He looked at you in awe for a second before crossing his arms. "Primitive human devices" you snorted as you laughed harder ,bringing your hand up to your mouth to try and stop the noises.

Atlas gave you a deadpan look scoffing and sitting back down on the toilet. Once you calmed yourself down enough,you moved over to him. "Wow i can't belive i was terrified of you a second ago" you smiled pulling down the straps of his overalls.

He scoffed again and bared his teeth. "Oh you should be terrified now little human. Lauging at my struggles. How dare you" you laughed again,before lifting his shirt amd kneeling between his legs to be eyelevel with his wound. "My name is (Y/n) by the way. Not "little human" you stared in slight surprise at the odd dark blueish color of his blood before grabbing a rag from the box and covering it in rubbing alcohol.

Atlas made a noise as you pressed the alcohol covered rag onto his wound,leaning back to grant you more access.

He hummed as you continued to clean the wound,a small smile on his face. "I'll call you whatever i want little human" you looked up at him,confused at his happy tone.

"Doesn't this hurt? Why do you look so happy?" Atlas chittered again and looked down at you "I like the burning."

You blushed a bit and opened your mouth to say something before a loud knock came from the front door.

"Damnit what now?" You stood up slowly,throwing the rag in the sink. "Just be quiet,they'll think no ones home." You grabbed a bandage from the box and went to bend down again and finish fixing his wound before a familiar voice stated yelling at the door as the banging continued.

"(Y/n)! You in there? It's Clive! Ya gotta get out here i think that thing made its way into your house!" You raised your eyebrow and looked back at Atlas.

"Thats the human who shot me. He must've followed my blood the cretin." You sighed and put down the bandage "I'll be right back okay? Just lemme go take care of this."

You only got so far as the bathroom door before you felt arms wrap around you,pulling you back. "No! Your MY human. I wont allow that disgusting cretin anywhere near you."

You looked up at Atlas,who had his teeth bared. He was starting intensely in the direction of the front door,where the banging now turned frantic,along with the voices.

"Atlas just let me get him to leave. I won't be long i promise."

He looked down at you,his eyes gleaming dangerously. You squimed a bit,feeling his grip falter as you pulled out of his arms. "I-ill be right back okay?"

You pushed him back into the bathroom,closing the door behind you and making your way over to the front of the house.

"I'm coming Clive calm down." You sighed as you opened the door,putting on your best 'just woke up' look. "What do you want? Its really late."

Clive looked panicked. His flannel shirt was covered in a mix of dark blue and crimson and he had a shotgun in his hand.

"(,Y/n)! Thank God your okay! I was bouta break down the door cause i thought somethin' happened to ya. Theres somethin'out here. A demon or somethin'. It killed Marcus. It killed my brother" you stared at Clive as he sobbed,not sure what to do.

He couldn't be talking about Atlas right? He said it himself,he didn't come here to kill humans. You looked back at the bathroom and saw Atlas standing there,a feral look on his face. "Fuck" you whispered moving outside and closing the front door.

Clive calmed down and looked at you confused. "S-sorry Clive. I haven't seen anything. But if you want I'll call the cops for you okay? Or the ranger?" Clive ignored your frantic words and tried to move passed you to the door

"Are ya hidin' it in there? You are arent ya? Let me in there (Y/n). I'm going to kill that fucking thing!" You moved in front of him

Trying desperately to stop him from going in.

"Wait Clive you can't just-" you squeaked as he grabbed your arms trying,throwing you to the side and opening the door,his gun ready.

He moved into the house and you scrambled to get up and stop him,only to be pulled back down,a hand covering your mouth.

You looked behind you and saw Atlas glaring at the door,his sharp teeth bared. He picked you up and threw you over his shoulder,you groaned a bit as his shoulder knocked the wind out of you,and Clives frantic footsteps could be heard rushing back towards the porch.

Before he made it out the door,Atlas had already started running across the open field in front of the house.

You heard Clive yell something before running out after you,but at this point it wasnt likely for him to catch up.

"A-Atlas where are we going?" He let out a grunt and stoped,putting you down but not letting go of your arm. "We're going to my ship. That stupid human ruined everything. And he has the gull to blame me for his brothers death? Honestly."

You stumbled after him,desperately trying to keep up. ""S-so you didn't kill his brother?" Atlas scoffed. "Of course not. That idiot just got on the way before i could

Heal him."

You raised your eyebrow as he finally came to a stop,letting go of your arm and dashing towards the green and blue pod that stood on a scorched plot of grass. "What do you mean heal..."

Your question died in your throat as your eyes landed on what you recognized to be Clive's younger brother Markus,laying on the blood stained grass with a blank look in his glassy eyes. His chest was ripped wide open,displaying all of his organs.

"He got in the way of my ship before i could grab the device i needed to heal him. I never meant for him to-" Atlas looked up from his pod,having already found what he was looking for to heal his wound,only to see you backing away,tears slowly dripping down your face.

"Hey. Whats the matter? Huma-" Atlas was cut off when you turned around and started running back towards your cabin. He let out a low growl before sprinting after you,catching up in a matter of seconds and grabbing your arm.

You struggled as he turned you around,trying to get you to stop squirming. "Listen! I didn't kill him!" You struggled more as you heard Clive's voice in the distance,screaming for you.

Atlas growled again and pushed you to the ground,pinning your arms to your sides. "I didn't kill the human,but if you don't stop struggling right now I AM going to kill that one."

You instantly stopped,looking up at him with tearly eyes. "Wonderfull" Atlas said,picking you up once again and carrying you towatds his ship as Clive came into veiw.

"I didn't lie to you human." He started,gently placing your shivering form in his ship. "I didn't come to this dirt planet to harm any humans." He got in next to you and you could only watch as the ship fired up,flashing bright blues and greens before slowly starting to hover,just as Clive showed up.

"I came here to find a pet."

#yandere #yandere boys #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere x reader #alien #aliens #teratophillia #aliens man

[zrtranscripts]

Home Front, Mission 11: Turn Your Radio On

Calibrations

~

[static]

SAM YAO: Five? Five, it's Sam. Are you receiving? I'm getting your headcam feed. I'm glad you're safe. Well, safe as anyone can be, hiding in a camping store in a mall full of zombies. We've got an emergency, Five. We need you. Better warm up, do some jogging on the spot. You've been lying low for weeks, you need to stretch those muscles.

It's the comms. We've had them down for maintenance. We were just bringing everything back online when the super horde trampled Abel's main radio repeater tower. We've set up signal boosters to compensate, but comm range has been crippled. You're at the very edge of our reach. We can't contact half our runners in the field. You can help, Five, but... you're gonna have to leave that store. Are you willing? Yes, that's my Five.

There's a phone mast on the mall roof. Janine says you can find equipment to convert it into a replacement repeater. First, you need to open that store's shutters to get out. They're controlled by a crank handle by the door, remember? Now grab the handle and move it up and down. You know, the same movement as those bicep curls you practiced with tin cans. [shutters rattle and creak] Yeah, that's it. The shutters are raising. Keep going, Five.

No, the crank's jammed! The shutters are too low to fit under. Uh, keep pulling the crank, Five. Try and work it loose. [crank squeaks] Hurry, Five. I've got cams in the mall. No zoms outside your store, but there are plenty in a nearby clothes shop. The noise has them shambling your way. [shutters clang] Yes, that's it! The crank's unjammed. The shutters are inching up. [static] Oh no, signal boosters are burning out. Five, keep working that crack until you're sure you've raised the shutters enough, then slip under them. Find the uh, the Screen and Share electronics store somewhere on that floor. You've got a few minutes before the zoms catch up, but try and be quick. Once you get there – [audio distorts and fades]

~

PETER LYNNE: Oh Five, how are we? It's Peter, still here in the Princess Louise cinema. Oh, uh, Sam's signal boosters died. But lucky for you, some of us are stranded in the field with radio gear. Sam had us make our own boosters so we could be backup operators. So I've got cam feeds on my cinema screen. I can see you searching the mall. So that is the electronics store on your left. Head in there. [door opens] Oh. Seriously, this store is a complete mess, and looks like part of the ceiling's collapsed. Um, right. Sorry. Five, the gear you're looking for, that's on the back shelf. So it's behind the massive pile of rebar and broken TVs, so you're going to need to move the rubble to get through.

Right. Use your legs to lift. And you know, doing squats should probably help. I mean, you know squats. Come on now. You plant your legs hip-distance apart and then you bend your knees like you're sitting on an invisible chair. So uh, make sure that you're doing one squat for each piece of rubble you shift. Get squatting.

See? There we go. Gorgeous! Best looking chair I've seen in years. That's it, Five. Just throw the rubble aside, no one's using it. Right, we're halfway down, Five. Speed up, come on. Um, I do actually see some shamblers heading towards the store. They're coming through the food court and they've not stopped at Claire's for earrings, so probably hurry on that one. [fox growls] Yeah, I am sorry about that growling, Five. See, you know – easy! I am holed up with a fox and those zombie moans are pretty loud on our end and that's woken the poor thing up.

That's it, Five. Well done, shifted the pile. Right, grab one of the big yellow boxes on the shelf behind. They're the ones labeled Valmont Inc. Home Broadcasting Kit. [zombies moan] Hello, fans. Yep, that's uh, zoms pouring into the store. So right, fire exit on your right. Duck through. [door opens] That's it! Right, okay. Lock the door behind you. Oh, I can tell you're on quite a nice balcony, actually. I mean, it'd be a decent view if it wasn't so foggy.

And uh, that stairwell just downwind of you, that's gonna take you to the roof. Okay, I'll accept that the zoms might break that door down. So the collapsed wall by the stairs, Five. Uh, pick up some more rubble and you're gonna use that to block the door. That's a good idea. And when it looks secure - trusting you on that - head up the stairs. Come on, a little more squatting can't hurt. Come on. Yeah, see? There we go! Great, keep going. [fox growls] Oh, for God's – no! No, listen to me. Stay away from the cable! Uh, sorry, Five. All the noise is freaking out my fox, and he - I don't know if you've had a fox, but he bites things when he's nervous. Uh yeah, no, that door, uh, get that door blocked and then get to the roof. No, bad fox! Bad fox! Drop it – [audio distorts and fades]

~

[static]

SAM YAO: Five, Five, are you there? It's Sam. Yeah. Oh, great. Uh, Peter's having um, technical difficulties. Listen, Janine's setting up better boosters at Abel so we can transmit to the relay once you get it working. She's not done yet, but I wanted to check in. Oh! Oh good, you found a stairwell. Outdoor fire escape, right? That should lead up to the roof. Take the stairs at your own pace, Five. It's misty out. I guess we've all had a lot of practice stair stepping lately, eh?

Uh, Five, turn to the left. Yeah, look through the windows you're passing into the mall. Oh, I was afraid of that. The zoms inside can see you, and they're stalking you, heading up inside the mall while you head up outside it. You need to outpace them or they'll catch you on the roof. Speed up. Start tackling those stairs as fast as you can.

Yeah, that's it. Keep pushing it, Five. The zoms are slow, but the mall has super fast escalators. They're whisking the zoms up right behind you. Great, you're pulling ahead of the zoms, Five. Keep going. Oh God, they're creepy. They're scratching at the windows until you're out of sight, then shambling after you.

Okay, Five, you've got a good lead on the horde. You can slow down. Take the rest of the stairs at whatever pace you like. Huh, that's weird. I'd swear the floor you just passed isn't on the blueprints. What's that, Janine? Okay, right on it. Uh, Janine says I've got to go offline so she can do some calibrations. I'll try and get Peter back so he can take over. In the meantime, get to the roof, find the phone mast there. You're doing great, Five. Just keep going.

~

[static]

JODY MARSH: Five, it's Jody, coming at you from my warehouse den. Peter's still offline. I’m the backup backup operator. Uh, hey, you're on the roof and the fog's clearing, nice. Look at all those rooftop solar panels. The phone mast’s on your left, big metal spike on a little concrete platform. Quick, take your broadcast kit out of the box. [kit pieces jingle] So uh, it's your basic metal tube covered in dials. See the yellow cord on the underside? You need to connect that to the control panel at the base of the mast. They must have been doing rewiring up there when Z-Day hit. Those are live electric cables all around the mast, no room to sit or stand next to it. You'll have to stretch into a planking position to reach the panel.

Get on your knees in front of the cables, holding the end by the yellow cord in your mouth by its side. Lean forward to rest your arms on the platform under the mast. It's just wide enough. Adopt a planking stance. Support your weight on your forearms and toes, keeping your back straight. Now shuffle forward until your toes are almost touching the cables. Right, your face is near the panel. Use your nose to nudge open the latches keeping its outer case shut.

[cables zap, latches click]

Hold that stance. Hold it. Keep going with the latches. Okay, that's a quarter of the latches open. Don't risk using a hand, Five. You could lose balance, and those are live cables under you. Nice. Keep it in place. Halfway done, Five, you're doing great. Stay strong. Zoms shambling onto the roof. They're on the far side, headed your way. Don't panic, Five. You've only got a few latches left. Great, the case is open!

Okay, lean your head forward, stick the cord in that shiny red socket. That's it, Five. Now on your feet. The kit's um, designed to hijack any transmitter it connects to. It was a selling point, apparently. Turn it on. Uh, set it to um, send and receive Abel frequency 1. [buttons beep] It'll take a few minutes to configure.

Those zoms are almost onto you. We need to get you off that roof. They're blocking every way down except... see that railing to your far right? There's a platform below you can jump onto. Trouble is there are loads more live wires that way. You'll have to leap between them, do some fancy footwork. Think of it as dancing, Five! It's less scary that way. Go on, toward the railing. Get dancing, go!

~

JODY MARSH: That's it. You're at the railing. Jump off the roof now. You okay, Five? That was a rough landing. You're on a window cleaning cradle suspended beside the building by cables. Good job Sam gave us detailed recon notes on that shopping center. Hey, now that the fog’s gone, you can see for miles. The town around the mall, the countryside. The uh, zillion zoms on the pavement below. We'd better get you inside fast. Really fast. Your landing jarred the cradle. It's coming free of its cables.

Okay, don't panic. Think, Jody, think! Oh yeah, great. That's really helpful. Brace yourself, Five, the cradle’s listing. Move your head, look around. There must be some way in! Wait, that window on your left, it's boarded up with plywood. I bet you could punch through it. Quick. Into a jabbing stance, one hand shielding your face, the other eye level, ready to strike. Get punching now. Punch it, come on! Come on, Five, hit those boards. Give it some welly. That's it, belt it! Oh no, my signal booster's overheating. Hurry, Five! Quickly, get through. Keep going, Five, you're getting through. Belt it! Come on, nearly there! That's it, the boarding smashed. Climb through the window, Five.

That was close, Five. The platform's crashed down right behind you. Sometimes I think you're the only runner luckier than me. Better get the lay of whatever shop you've climbed into. Run a perimeter circuit of the room. I've really missed this, Five, working together. I've been stuck in this warehouse for ages, zonked out on painkillers for my sprained leg, which is feeling way better, by the way. Being on a mission again, it's almost like old times, right? I'm losing reception. I can't resolve your head cam feed anymore. I hope that signal [?] works, Five. I guess we'll find out – [audio distorts and fades]

~

SAM YAO: Five? Five, come in, it's Sam. You did it! That kit hijacked the roof mast for us. Comms are back to full strength. Signal from the Spectrum Mall is green. I repeat, Spectrum is green. You saved the day, Five, just like you always do! Five, are you actually jumping for joy? Yeah, yeah well, I don't blame you, actually. I might join you. Oh yeah, looks like you found your way into the mall’s big games and comic shop. And hey, the door's already barricaded shut. Most of the zoms are still up on the roof. You should be safe there for a while.

I knew you'd come through, Five. You just sit tight until we find a way to get you out. There's a vending machine right by that shelf of Demons and Darkness books, so you won't be bored or hungry. And now the comms are working, we can start the indoor exercises again! Hey... Yeah, but can't I...? But I was just...! All right. [sighs] Janine says I have to go offline for a bit so she can run some systems checks. In the meantime, get some rest. Pick a couple of Demons and Darkness manuals to take from that shelf so we can all have a nice long game when you get home. Stay safe, Five. Keep this channel open. I'll be back really soon, and that's all thanks to you.

~

#zombies run #zr home front #zrhf 11 #turn your radio on #zr transcript

[calumcest]

if these walls could talk (they’ve seen way too many things)

[ao3]

before i begin i have to give two huge thank yous: firstly to @miguelclifford for beta-reading this fic, for her comments, ideas, motivation and general company/conversation over the past few days and also for writing that excellent malum fic the other day yes i’m still thinking about it this fic is completely indebted to you and your wonderful mind and secondly to @5sosnsfw for letting me scream in agony about this fic for the past 4 days because i just could not stop writing no matter how much i wanted it to END and for being so incredibly supportive of every single thing i do you are truly both such wonderful individuals and this is the first time in my life i’ve been glad i wrote That Fic because i would not have met u otherwise

-

The announcement comes late, at eight p.m., interrupting radio and TV broadcasts and flashing up on phone screens.

Due to the current pandemic, the state is now on mandatory lockdown for three weeks. All citizens have until midnight to return to their places of residence. Those outside after midnight will be subject to severe penalties. Further information to follow.

“You have to leave,” Ashton says. “You have to go.” Luke blinks. “They’re locking down the state.”

-

luke gets stuck at ashton's during lockdown

-4 hours 

The announcement comes late, at eight p.m., interrupting radio and TV broadcasts and flashing up on phone screens.

Due to the current pandemic, the state is now on mandatory lockdown for three weeks. All citizens have until midnight to return to their places of residence. Those outside after midnight will be subject to severe penalties. Further information to follow.

Ashton sees it when his phone lights up obnoxiously, distracting him from the song he’s halfway through perfecting on drums. He picks it up, annoyed, intending to turn it around so it can’t distract him anymore, but the notification catches his eye. 

“Shit,” he says, reading the notification a second and third time, just to make sure. “Shit, shit- Luke!” He scrambles to his feet, throwing his drumsticks onto the floor with a loud clatter,  taking the stairs back up to the ground floor two at a time, clutching his phone. “Luke!”

“Yeah?” Luke’s voice is muffled by walls, but Ashton can hear it’s coming from the living room, so he slams open the door, wincing a little at the sound the handle makes when it hits the wall. Luke, sitting cross-legged on the sofa, Star Wars playing on the TV, throws him a look of surprise at the urgency clearly written all over Ashton’s face. 

“You have to leave,” Ashton says. “You have to go.” Luke blinks, and Ashton doesn’t miss the brief hurt that flashes across his face. “No, not like that, I’m not kicking you out. They’re locking down the state.”

“What?” Luke asks, confused. Ashton thrusts his phone into Luke’s face. Luke scans the notification, eyes widening, and stands up so abruptly he sends Ashton’s phone flying onto the floor. “Shit, shit, sorry, I-”

“Fuck, don’t worry, get your stuff together,” Ashton says, picking his phone up and electing not to tell Luke about the new crack running from the top left-hand corner to the middle of the screen. 

“Shit, Ash, I can’t,” Luke says, forehead creased, running a hand through his hair. “I’m never going to make it that far in four hours with everyone else on the road.”

“Well, you’re not if you just fucking stand there, are you?” Ashton says, agitated. “I’ll get your stuff from down here.” Luke hesitates for a moment and then nods, running out of the room, and Ashton hears him thundering up the stairs to the guest room he’s been staying in.

Ashton swears under his breath as he tries to remember what the fuck Luke actually brought with him. He picks up the hoodie that Luke had slung over the arm of the couch, wrestles his phone charger out of the wall, and tucks the notebook full of lyrics Luke had brought for Ashton’s approval under his arm. Twisting on the spot, he looks around the room wildly for anything he might have missed, and decides it won’t be anything important if he has missed something, nothing that can’t be replaced- 

“Oh, shit,” he mutters, spotting Luke’s laptop, and clutches it close to his chest. That’s got to be all the important stuff now, he reckons, so he sprints up the stairs to the guest room to see Luke shoving all his stuff haphazardly in his bag.

“Bathroom?” Ashton asks, dropping everything in his arms on the bed, and Luke shakes his head, grabbing the hoodie and stuffing it in his bag. Ashton nods, running to the bathroom to grab Luke’s toothbrush, toothpaste – he hadn’t brought any mouthwash, had he? No, just the toothbrush and toothpaste – and is halfway back to the bedroom when he remembers Luke’s fancy electric razor and rushes back to the bathroom to grab it.

“Fuck,” Luke says, when Ashton gets back in and crams the bathroom items into Luke’s already overflowing bag. “Fuck, check the traffic, I have to pee.” Ashton pulls his phone out as Luke runs out of the room, getting up his Maps and calculating the route to Luke’s house.

Shit.

Six hours.

“Luke!” he shouts. “Luke, you have to leave now, bro. It says six hours.” The toilet flushes, and Ashton hears a faint “ Six ?” over the sound of the tap running. The door to the bathroom flies open, revealing an incredibly harassed-looking Luke Hemmings, hands dripping with water.

“I don’t have six hours,” Luke says.

“You can make it across the state line in four if you leave now,” Ashton says.

“Not if the traffic increases!” Luke sounds panicked now.

“Well, get a fucking move on then!” Ashton says, equally panicked. Luke nods, pushing past Ashton with wet hands to grab his bag from the guest room, and sprints down the stairs, Ashton in tow. 

“Fuck, where’d I leave my car keys?” Luke mutters, patting his pockets frantically.

“Put your shoes on, I’ll look for your keys,” Ashton says, grabbing Luke’s bag off him and shoving his hand in to feel around the bottom. It only takes him about ten seconds, by which time Luke’s straightening up, shoes on, and he slaps the key into Luke’s hand and runs to the door to open it. 

“Shit,” Luke says, running to his car and chucking his bag in the passenger seat, shutting it with a slam. “Bye, Ash, thanks for having me, love you, all that.” 

“Love you,” Ashton echoes. “Get home safe. Let me know. I’ll stay up.” Luke nods, pulling his car door shut, and doesn’t even bother putting his seatbelt on before backing out of Ashton’s driveway. Ashton feels his heart clench with both fear and worry, and watches Luke roar down the street until he turns the corner.

Fuck.

 ------- 

  -3 hours 

“Shit, Ash,” Calum says, when Ashton calls him half an hour later, having had a cup of tea to try and calm his nerves. “Is he going to make it back?”

“I don’t know,” Ashton says, biting his lip. “I fucking hope so. He should make it across the state line by midnight, depending on traffic.” There’s a distant mumbling at the other end of the line, and Ashton hears Calum informing Michael about what’s going on.

“…if he didn’t fucking live in Vegas,” is all he catches Michael saying, and, not for the first time, Ashton wholeheartedly agrees.

“Put me on speaker,” Ashton says. He hears some tapping, and then the static becomes a little more tinny. “Mike?”

“Hey, yeah,” Michael says, and Ashton can imagine the crease of worry between his brows. “So you said he should make it across the state line before midnight?”

“Depending on traffic,” Ashton reiterates, biting his fingernails – a habit he’d kicked, like, seventeen years ago.

“And if he can’t?”

“Well, I don’t know, maybe they’ll be lenient?” Ashton says.

“In America?” Michael sounds sceptical.

“You have a point,” Calum says.

“At least you two are together,” Ashton says, trying to focus on the positive. “Look after yourselves, yeah? Stay indoors.” He can almost hear Michael rolling his eyes.

“Right, like we have a choice,” he says.

“You know what I mean.” 

“Yeah,” Calum says, in that soothing voice he uses to calm them all down. “Try not to worry, Ash. He’ll be alright.”

“Will he?” Ashton says, ripping a hangnail off. It fucking hurts, but he’s kind of glad for the distraction.

“If I can get stranded in Bali and Michael can get stranded on his own in America Luke can handle being stuck in California,” Calum says.

“Yeah, but it’s a lockdown,” Ashton says.

“Even better,” Michael says. “He can’t do anything stupid.”

“Where would he go, though?” Ashton’s nervous train of thought is interrupted by a beeping, signalling someone’s trying to get through, and he holds his phone away from his ear to see it’s Luke. “Shit, he’s calling me. I’ll ring you back.” He doesn’t even wait for Calum and Michael to answer before picking up Luke’s call. 

“Luke?” he says.

“Ash?” he hears, Luke’s voice echoing and distant in his car. “Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, I can hear you,” Ashton says. “Where are you?”

“I won’t make it,” Luke says. “The I-15’s totally backed up, I can’t even get onto it. Everyone’s trying to leave.” Ashton’s stomach drops.

“Fuck,” he says. “Can you get back to mine? You can stay here. 

“Are you sure?” Luke says. 

“‘Course,” Ashton says, the knot of worry in his stomach tightening. If Luke can’t even get onto the I-15, what if he can’t make it back to Ashton’s?

“Alright,” Luke says. “I’ll call you when I’m near, then. Fucking hell, what the fuck?”

“What?” Ashton asks anxiously. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, sorry, some guy just cut me off,” Luke says. “I’ll call you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ashton says. “Drive safe.”

“Will do,” Luke says. “See you soon.” The line goes dead, and Ashton swallows, dialling Calum back.

“What’d he say?” Calum demands, picking up after half a ring.

“He’s not going to make it,” Ashton says. “Can’t even get on the I-15. He’s coming back here.”

“To LA?” Calum asks.

“Yeah, to mine,” Ashton says.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Calum says, and Ashton can hear the relief flooding his voice.

“I know,” Ashton says. “I hope he can get back here.”

“Of course he will, he’s got three hours. He’ll be alright, Ash. Breathe.”

“I’m breathing,” Ashton grumbles, but the knot in his stomach loosens a little at Calum’s calming tone.

“Want me to stay on the phone?” Calum asks gently. Ashton thinks for a moment, and then shakes his head, momentarily forgetting that Calum can’t see him.

“No,” he says. “I think I’m going to, like, clean my house, or something. Burn off this nervous energy. Thanks, though.”

“No worries,” Calum says. “I’m here if you need me.”

“Thanks, Cal,” Ashton says, exhaling and hoping that Calum can’t hear that it’s a little unsteady. “I’ll text you when he gets here.”

“Alright,” Calum says. “I’ll tell Mikey. He’s not going to say it, but he’s really fucking worried.” Ashton snorts. Typical Michael.

“I’ll talk to you later, yeah?” he says.

“Love you,” Calum says.

“Love you,” Ashton echoes, and there’s a click as Calum hangs up.

Fuck.

 -------

  0 hours 

Ashton hoovers the entire house, dusts the living room and is halfway through dusting the kitchen, trying his best not to look at the clock (which by now has ticked past eleven p.m.), when he hears the faint sound of a car getting closer and closer. He throws down the duster, runs to the front door and yanks it open just in time to see Luke’s car pulling into his driveway. The tension in him dissipates entirely when Luke steps out of the car with his bag slung over his shoulder, raking his fingers through his bleached curls. Ashton almost sinks to his knees in relief.

“Hi,” Luke says, sounding tired but smiling nonetheless. Ashton pulls him in for a fierce hug, shakily breathing in the scent of warmth and Luke . Luke hugs back immediately, dropping his forehead on Ashton’s shoulder and inhaling deeply. Ashton’s not sure which of them is more relieved that he’s back. 

“C’mon,” Ashton mumbles after a moment. He doesn’t want to let go but is starting to feel the cool March breeze make the hair on his arms stand on end, and he shivers involuntarily as he stands aside to let Luke past. 

“Huh,” Luke says, wandering back into the living room. “This is cleaner than it was four hours ago.” Ashton snorts.

“Had to find some way to pass the time,” he says.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Luke says, an edge of nervousness in his voice. It kind of breaks Ashton’s heart a little bit, that even after all these years Luke still doesn’t quite believe he’s good enough.

“Fucking hell, Luke, of course not,” Ashton says. Luke grins, eyes crinkling around the corners, and Ashton can’t help but grin back.

“Looks like I’m your new roommate, then,” Luke says.

“Perfect time for me to house-train you,” Ashton says, dodging the swat Luke sends his way. “I’m going to call Cal back, let him know you made it here. They were worried about you.”

“Were you all on the phone talking about me?” Luke says.

“Yeah, about how fucking stupid you are for buying a place in Vegas when everyone else lives in LA,” Ashton says. Luke pulls a face.

“I don’t like LA,” he says.

“Well, you’re going to have to learn to,” Ashton says, pulling his phone out of his pocket and dialling Calum. The phone rings once, and then there’s the scrambling sound of someone answering.

“Ash?” It’s Michael. “Is he alright?”

“Yeah,” Ashton says. “He made it back.” Michael swears under his breath.

“Thank fuck,” he says. “Calum was really worried.”

“Yeah, sure, Calum was really worried,” Ashton says pointedly. Michael never picks up Ashton’s calls after a single ring.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Michael huffs. “I’m going to tell Cal. Tell Luke he’s a fucking idiot for buying a house in Vegas.”

“Will do,” Ashton says. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Michael says, and Ashton hears a distant Cal, baby - before the call cuts out.

“What’d Calum say?” Luke asks, throwing himself down on one of Ashton’s sofas and kicking his shoes off. Ashton frowns.

“It was Michael,” he says. “He said you’re a fucking idiot for buying a house in Vegas. And put your shoes in the hallway.” Luke rolls his eyes, but gets up and pads out to the hallway, shoes in hand.

“I told you, I don’t like LA,” he calls, and Ashton follows him, leaning against the doorframe as Luke slots his shoes neatly in Ashton’s shoe rack.

“Well, you’re stuck here now,” Ashton says. “Might as well get used to it.” 

“Well, technically I don’t need to get used to LA, since I can’t leave the fucking house,” Luke says, stifling a yawn. “Actually, I think I’m going to head to bed. I’m fucking exhausted.”

Ashton nods, still wired from the adrenaline.He knows he’s going to crash in about half an hour and should probably get his teeth brushed and skincare done before that happens.

“I should sleep too,” he says, watching Luke stretch and yawn and thinking it might be the cutest thing he’s seen all day. “You know where towels are, and everything.” Luke nods, holding the back of his hand to his mouth as he yawns again. “Alright, well. See you in the morning, then,” Ashton says, starting upstairs as Luke goes to retrieve his bag from the living room. 

“Night, Ash,” Luke calls back. “And- um. Thanks for letting me stay. Again. It means a lot.”

“Shut up, Luke,” Ashton says fondly, pausing on the stairs. “You know I love spending time with you.” There’s a moment of silence from Luke, and Ashton takes another step before he hears a slightly shy-sounding: 

“Not as much as I love spending time with you.” 

Ashton grins, rolling his eyes and blaming the curl of warmth in his stomach on the remnants of adrenaline, and heads upstairs.

 -------

  9 hours 

When Ashton wakes up the next morning, he immediately rolls over to check his phone. He’s got about fifty texts in the group chat, a bunch from his mum asking him to call and tell her he’s okay, and a couple of notifications from his news apps.

California state lockdown explained: 5 things you need to know.

CA on lockdown – citizens can only leave their house for food.

California lockdown: What does it mean for you?  

He clicks on the first one and quickly scrolls through the news article. As far as he can tell, he can only leave his house to go grocery shopping and get medication. Fucking hell.

He scrolls over to the group chat, quickly skimming through the messages – Luke and Michael bickering about cereal, Calum trying to talk about the lockdown, Luke and Michael turning to squabbling over the lockdown – and then clicks out of his messages and into his FaceTime, dialling his mum with no expectation of her picking up, since it’s half three in the morning in Sydney so she should be at work. To Ashton’s surprise, however, she picks up after two rings.

“Ash!” she says, sounding tinny, looking dark and pixelated. “Thank fuck you’re alright."

“Hey, mum,” Ashton says, frowning. “Aren’t you at work?" 

“I am, but I had to talk to you, sweetie,” his mum says, moving into some light, and Ashton can see that she’s in her work uniform. “Are you alright? Have you got enough food? What about the other boys?”

“I’m alright, mum,” Ashton says, aiming for soothing. “I’m home, and they’re letting us out for food anyway. Luke couldn’t make it back to Vegas, though, so he’s staying with me.” His mum makes a sound of motherly distress. 

“Oh, no,” she says. “Poor Luke. Poor Liz – I’ll have to give her a ring tomorrow. What about Mike and Calum?”

“They’re alright,” Ashton says. “They’re at home.”

“Well, at least you’re all safe,” his mum says, sounding relieved. “It’s fucking scary, isn’t it?” Ashton shrugs, the duvet rustling as he moves.

“Kind of,” he says. “I don’t know. I don’t feel like it’s going to be any different than normal. Especially for Michael,” he tacks on as an afterthought. His mum laughs. “How about you? What’s it like in Australia? Are you, Harry, and Lauren alright?”

“Oh, it’s not nearly as bad,” his mum says. “I’m worried about the people in here, though – I don’t want to be bringing anything in. I’m keeping watch over Harry when he washes his hands after going to the loo.” Ashton snorts.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t trust him,” he says. He opens his mouth to add something else, but is interrupted by his bedroom door slamming open. Luke’s standing in the doorway, grinning cheerfully, holding two mugs of coffee. 

“I made you coffee,” he says. “Oh, sorry, are you on the phone?” Ashton nods, turning the phone around so Luke can see his mum.

“It’s mum,” he says, and Luke brightens, waving at the camera.

“Hi, Anne!” he says. “How are you?”

“Hey, Luke!” Ashton’s mum says. “Ash told me you couldn’t get home.” Luke nods as he walks over to the bed, setting the two mugs down carefully on Ashton’s bedside table. Ashton loves him. 

“Yeah, I tried driving back last night but couldn’t even get on the highway,” he says, sitting down on Ashton’s bed.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Ashton’s mum says. “At least you’re with Ash – I’m sure that’ll make your mum feel better.”

“Well, at least someone’s happy about it,” Ashton says, earning himself an elbow from Luke. Ashton’s mum laughs.

“Listen, I’ve got to head back to work now, sweetie,” she says. “I’m so glad to hear you’re alright, though. Stay safe, please.”

“Will do,” Ashton says. “Speak to you soon, alright, mum? Love you.”

“Love you, Anne,” Luke says.

“Bye, boys, love you,” Ashton’s mum says, waving, and then Ashton’s screen goes blank.

“She’s so sweet,” Luke says, stretching out next to Ashton.

“Did your mum call?” Ashton asks, and Luke nods.

“All she wanted to know was that I wasn’t on my own in Vegas,” he admits, and Ashton snorts.

“Yeah, I’m not surprised,” he says. Luke scowls. 

“I can live on my own," he says, indignant. "I can cook pasta. And make coffee.” As though he’s just remembered, he reaches over to the bedside table and hands Ashton one of the mugs. He looks so proud of himself that Ashton’s heart melts a little.

“You just have to press a button on the machine,” he says, but he’s grinning as he takes a sip. 

“Actually, I have to press, like, three buttons,” Luke says. “And then put in two teaspoons of sugar and a splash of milk.” Ashton doesn’t think his stomach should be full of butterflies at the fact Luke remembers that, but whatever. It’s early, and he’s probably still half-asleep. 

“Fuck, you’re right,” Ashton says, slapping a hand to his forehead. “Sorry, Gordon Ramsay, I take it back. That’s a Michelin star operation right there.” Luke scowls again, and swats Ashton’s arm lightly. 

“I can’t believe I’m stuck with you for the next three weeks,” he says. 

"You’re stuck with me ?” Ashton says. “Sorry, whose house is this?” A grin unfurls on Luke’s lips.

“It’ll be mine by the time I’m done with it,” he says.

 -------

  1 day, 13 hours 

Luke wanders into the basement while Ashton’s drumming the next afternoon. He stands idly in the doorway, simply watching until Ashton finishes the song and pulls off his headphones. 

“You good?” Ashton asks, breathing heavily. Luke nods, sitting on one of the beanbags on the other side of the room.

“Just wanted to hear you play,” he says. “I’m bored.” Ashton rolls his eyes, but sets his headphones to one side.

“You’re already bored?” he says. “We’ve got three more weeks of this. Minimum.” Luke groans, tripping his head back and thunking it against the wall.

“Don’t remind me,” he says, closing his eyes. “Play something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, Old Me,” Luke says.

“Why don’t you get a guitar?” Ashton suggests. “Play with me.” Luke shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says, not opening his eyes. “I just want to watch you, for a bit.” Ashton cocks his head.

“Yeah?” he says, feeling something oddly warm coursing through his veins. He really should get aircon for the basement. 

“Yeah.”

“Alright,” Ashton says, reaching for his headphones.

He drums his way through Old Me, and then Thin White Lies for the hell of it, only setting his headphones aside when Easier comes on shuffle, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand and throwing Luke a glance. He’s staring at Ashton. It’s a look that Ashton’s never seen on his face before, eyes following the heavy rising and falling of Ashton’s chest.

“You alright?” Ashton asks. Luke blinks, snapping himself out of whatever headspace he was in, and nods.

“It’s hot in here,” he says.

“Yeah, I haven’t got aircon down here yet,” Ashton says, a touch apologetically. Luke cocks his head.

“You’re pretty hot too,” he says.

“Yeah, sorry,” Ashton says sheepishly, grinning as he wipes his forehead again. Gross. He needs to wash his hands. “I’ll shower after.” Luke catches his eye, and Ashton’s not sure if he’s imagining the soft pink blush creeping across his cheeks.

“I didn’t mean like that,” Luke says, and he sounds a little unsure of himself.

“What?”

“Never mind,” Luke says, all in a rush. “I’m going back up. Gonna try and write.” Ashton frowns but nods, watching Luke as he pulls himself up from the beanbag and starts back up the stairs.

Ashton doesn’t think any more of it, because Luke often says things that don’t make sense, just puts his headphones back on and scrolls to Red Desert.

 -------

  1 day, 18 hours 

“I’m hungry,” Luke announces at half-past six.

“Okay,” Ashton says, focused on the screen in front of him. Why can’t he fucking overtake the bastard next to him?

“Ash,” Luke says, and there’s a definite pout to his tone.

“Yeah?”

“I’m hungry.”

“You’re twenty-three, Luke,” Ashton says, eyes still not straying from the screen. “Do you need chaperoning in the kitchen, or something?” There’s a moment of silence from Luke, and Ashton throws him a brief glance to see his expression. He looks a little torn. 

“I just thought it’d be nice if we ate together,” Luke mumbles after a moment. Ashton can’t help the smile that unfurls on his lips, accompanied by a warm feeling in his stomach. 

“A day into lockdown and you’re already getting domestic,” he teases, sensing Luke’s embarrassment and wanting to push a little further. He sees Luke scowl in his peripheral vision.

“Fuck you,” Luke says, but he doesn’t mean it. “I’ll go and make myself dinner, then.” He stands up to leave, but Ashton reaches out and catches his leg as he walks past, making him stumble and fall into Ashton’s lap. Ashton squawks, trying to wrestle his controller out from underneath Luke, but it only makes Ashton’s car spin in circles on the track, and the race finishes just as Ashton gets his controller back in his hands. 

“Look what you did,” Ashton says accusingly, pointing at the screen. 

“You did that yourself,” Luke says, blinking up at Ashton from his lap. “You’re not very good at videogames.” Ashton flips him off.

“C’mon,” he says, pushing at Luke’s back with his knees. “I’m hungry now, too.” Luke stands up obediently, holding out a hand for Ashton to pull himself up with, and he tugs with such force that Ashton almost stumbles into Luke. 

“Jesus, when did you get that strong?” Ashton mutters, steadying himself, and Luke grins bashfully. 

“I told you, I’ve been working out,” he says, heading to the kitchen. Ashton follows in his wake, frowning. 

“Yeah, but not like that,” he says. “What are we making?”

“What have we got?”

“Uh…I can make a Thai curry?” Luke nods enthusiastically, hopping up on the counter and letting his legs dangle. “You’re helping me though, dickhead. I’m not a maid.”

“C’mon, Ash,” Luke whines. “You know I can’t cook.”

“Well, lockdown’s the perfect time to learn,” Ashton says, bustling over to the fridge and taking out the ingredients he needs. “You can cut up the chicken.” Luke wrinkles his nose but hops back off the counter and saunters over to the cutting board Ashton’s just placed out, pulling the chicken breasts out of the container and grabbing a knife. 

“How big?” he asks. Ashton looks over from where he’s chopping spring onions.

“Little strips,” he says.

“That’s not a size,” Luke says, frowning, but he starts chopping anyway. Ashton watches him from the corner of his eye just to check that he’s cutting it properly, taking in the way he’s furrowing his brows in concentration, biting the corner of his lip where his lip ring used to be absent-mindedly. He misses Luke’s lip ring.

“You ever think about getting your lip re-pierced?” Ashton asks, and Luke looks at him in surprise.

“Not really,” he says. “Why?” Ashton shrugs.

“It was cute,” he says.

“Maybe I’ll have to get it re-pierced, then,” Luke says. “If you think it’s cute.” Ashton scowls, certain Luke’s taking the piss.

“I’m trying to compliment you, arsehole,” he says, finishing with the spring onions and moving on to baby corn. “Can you get the coconut milk and curry paste out of the fridge?”

“I’m trying to let you,” Luke says, pushing the chopped chicken further up the counter to make room for the coconut milk and Thai green curry paste. Ashton’s not really sure what he means by that, so he chooses to ignore it. “What now?" 

“Rice,” Ashton says, nodding at the cupboard above Luke’s head. Luke reaches for the one next to it. “No, the one right in front of you. No- Luke, the one right in front of you. To your right. Right, Luke, that’s left. Ri- yes, that one. Top shelf. Jesus.”

“I’m not good at directions,” Luke says, reaching up for the rice. Ashton’s eyes fall to the sliver of skin that gets exposed as his shirt rides up, smooth and pale.

“You need to buy shirts that fit you,” he says.

“My shirts fit me,” Luke says indignantly, as he tugs the hem down. “See?” Ashton rolls his eyes fondly. 

“Put the kettle on,” he says, leaning over the hob to grab the cutting board with the chicken on and scraping it into the pan. It sizzles satisfyingly, and Ashton pokes it around with the spatula, leaning back against the counter. Luke watches him wordlessly, eyes following Ashton’s hand as it moves back and forth.

“You have such long fingers,” he comments after a moment, just as the kettle boils. He reaches over and fills the pan with the rice, without Ashton even having to prompt him. 

“It’s a gift,” Ashton says, drumming his fingers on the spatula.

“To who?” Ashton cocks his head. 

“Whoever I decide,” he leers, waggling his eyebrows up and down and expecting Luke to laugh. Luke, however, bites his lip and looks steadfastly away from Ashton to the rice. Ashton decides not to comment, just adds the curry paste and stirs it around a little before adding the coconut milk. 

“This smells good,” Luke says, after a while.

“Shocking,” Ashton deadpans. “Something that takes more than two seconds to cook actually smells good?” Luke grins.

“I’m looking forward to eating your cooking for the next three weeks,” he says. Ashton flicks a drop of coconut milk at him, and Luke flinches away with a quiet squeal.

“I’m not your maid,” Ashton reiterates, dumping the onions and baby corn in the mixture and turning the heat down to a simmer.

“Shame,” Luke says, grinning. “I’d love to see you in a maid outfit.” This time Ashton lets the spatula go and rounds on Luke, darting his hands out to tickle him before Luke has time to pull away, and Luke shrieks, collapsing in on himself with giggles and pleas for mercy. Ashton doesn’t relent, feeling Luke’s legs buckling and grabbing him around the waist with one arm to steady him as he keeps tickling, until Luke’s pleas start coming out more gasped and sincere, at which point he lets go and lets Luke sink to the floor, breathless and red-faced. 

“You’re a bastard,” Luke says, between pants, but he’s grinning. Ashton holds out a hand for Luke to pull himself up on, and Luke takes it, wobbling a little as he stands upright. He makes to let go of Ashton’s hand, but Ashton holds on, using it to pull Luke close to him and wrap his arms around Luke’s broad shoulders. Luke immediately hugs back, slotting his chin into the crook of Ashton’s neck, and Ashton grins as the soft, warm scent of Luke goes straight to his head. 

“I would look sexy in a maid outfit, though,” he murmurs, and he feels Luke’s laugh reverberate through his entire body.

“You look sexy in anything,” Luke mumbles, pressing a kiss to Ashton’s shoulder. Ashton’s grin widens. 

“Even my blue jumpsuit?” Luke groans.

“Okay, except in the blue jumpsuit,” he says, and Ashton squeezes his waist, making him squawk and jump away. Ashton steps back to the hob, stirring through the curry and deciding it’s probably done now. 

“Grab us some plates,” he says, nodding at the cupboard with the plates in as he turns off the heat – that, at least, Luke knows. Luke nods obediently, fetching two plates out of the cupboard and traipsing into the dining room to put them on the table. 

“D’you want a drink?” he calls, as Ashton grabs some heat-protecting mats and carries the rice and curry into the dining room.

“Yeah, just some water,” Ashton says, passing Luke on his way back to the kitchen. He settles down in his seat, inhaling the aroma – Luke’s right, it does smell fucking good – and waits for Luke to return with his glass and a jug of water.

“I’m so fucking hungry,” Luke says, eyeing the curry with the look of a man who hasn’t eaten in weeks, not a man staying in a house with a fully-stocked fridge. 

“You can wash up,” Ashton says, helping himself to a big serving of rice and curry.

“You can dry, then,” Luke counters. Ashton opens his mouth to respond, but his phone buzzes next to him, and he glances over to see another news notification.

CA lockdown expected to last three months.

“Oh, fuck,” he says.

“What?” Ashton slides his phone over to Luke, whose eyes widen as he reads the notification. 

“Shit,” he says. “I don’t- I don’t fucking have anything with me. I literally have, like, four pairs of underwear here.” 

“We’ll have to go clothes shopping,” Ashton says.

“The clothes shops are all shut, idiot,” Luke says. Oh, fuck. 

“Oh, shit,” Ashton says. “Uh. Is Target still open?”

 -------

  3 days, 16 hours 

Two days later, they’re standing in Target, having queued for forty minutes just to get into the store. 

“I don’t like any of these,” Luke says, pulling a face as he fingers the arm of a plaid shirt.

“I think we’re a bit beyond shopping for taste,” Ashton says, grabbing, like, seven black shirts and chucking them in the shopping trolley. He throws in some pink, red, and blue ones for good measure, too, because Luke can’t be dressed in all black every day. “Are any of these jeans going to fit you?”

“Probably not,” Luke says, but he thumbs through the sizes and throws five pairs of black jeans in the trolley anyway. Ashton takes two out and replaces them with blue jeans. “I’m going to have my ankles out for the next three months.” 

“Raunchy,” Ashton says, sweeping some white shirts in. “You’re making me swoon.” Luke scowls as he throws in a bunch of socks, and they move to the next aisle, where Luke immediately brightens as he spots the brightly coloured, patterned button-down shirts. 

“I like these,” he says decisively, picking up a few and holding them against himself.

“Well, there you go,” Ashton says, grabbing a bunch and putting them on the pile of clothes in the trolley. “You pick out some shirts you like, and I’ll go find underwear.” He rounds the corner into the next aisle, and picks out five different packs of briefs for Luke, carefully selecting the most obnoxiously patterned ones he can find (and one pack of black ones). He goes back into the last aisle to find that Luke’s cleared out half of the rack of the patterned button-downs, and rolls his eyes as he throws the underwear in the shopping trolley.

“Are we done?” he asks. Luke nods, and Ashton pushes the (considerably heavier) shopping trolley in the direction of the tills. 

“Hang on, I want chocolate,” Luke says, and disappears off to the left before Ashton even has time to protest about having to haul the fifteen kilos of clothes onto the conveyor belt on his own.

“Get me Skittles!” Ashton shouts after him, because it’s the least Luke can do, which earns him judgemental looks from two middle-aged women nearby, and starts unpacking the trolley onto the conveyor belt. This poor cashier.

“Good afternoon!” the cashier chirps.

“Sorry about this,” Ashton says apologetically, as the cashier takes in the mountain of clothes with wide eyes. “My friend couldn’t get back home before the lockdown, so he has to buy himself an entirely new wardrobe for the next three months.”

“No worries, sir,” the cashier says cheerily, and starts scanning.

“I got you two bags,” Luke says, skidding up to the conveyor belt. “And I got myself a good amount of chocolate, because the less we can go outside the better. I got you some chocolate too.”

“Thanks, Luke,” Ashton says, and Luke grins at him as he dumps the seven hundred items in his arms on the conveyor belt behind his new clothes

“Stocking up?” the cashier asks, and Luke laughs, a little embarrassed. 

“Trying to butter my friend up,” he says, batting his eyelashes at Ashton, who narrows his eyes as he starts on his second bag of clothes.

“For what?” he says suspiciously.

“You’ll find out,” Luke says. 

“No, no, I don’t like that,” Ashton says. “What have you done?” 

“Nothing!” Luke says indignantly. “Well. Not yet.”

“Not yet?”

“That’ll be two hundred and thirty dollars, sir,” the cashier says. 

“Fucking hell,” Luke says, digging around in his pocket for his wallet. “I’m going to have to stream CALM like, five hundred thousand times.” Ashton laughs, bagging up the sweets and chocolate and dropping it on top of the five bags of clothes.

“Thanks,” he says to the cashier, Luke echoing him, and they head back to the car.

“What did you do?” Ashton demands, as soon as they’re out of the store. Luke stares at him, wide-eyed and innocent.

“Nothing!” he says, but there’s a glint in his eyes that Ashton doesn’t like the look of. “I haven’t done anything. Yet.”

“I have zero qualms about kicking you out of my house if you fuck with my kit,” Ashton warns, loading two bags into the car.

“Michael and Calum would take me in,” Luke says dismissively, pulling a bar of chocolate out of the bag of sweets and hopping into the passenger seat.

“They wouldn’t be allowed,” Ashton calls, dropping the shopping trolley back off at the return point they’d thankfully parked close to. “Plus, I don’t think you’d want to third-wheel them for the next three months.”

“True,” Luke says, when Ashton gets into the car. “Honestly, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend three months cooped up with than you.”

“Funny,” Ashton deadpans, looking over his shoulder as he reverses out of the bay.

“Who said I was joking?” Luke says, a touch defensive, but when Ashton turns to look at him, he’s buried in his phone.

Whatever, Ashton thinks, debating for a split second whether or not to ram into the woman who just walked obnoxiously close to the back of his car. Luke says strange things sometimes.

 -------

  6 days, 10 hours 

Ashton’s woken up on Friday morning by the buzz of low voices, muffled by the walls. He blinks blearily, trying to get the sleep out of his eyes, and rolls over to check his phone. There’s nothing particularly exciting, so he decides to be productive, get out of bed, and make himself a coffee before his shower.

He realises the voices are Michael and Luke’s when he gets close to the kitchen, bare feet padding silently on the tile, and he’s about a foot away from the door when he hears his name.

“-tell Ashton,” Michael’s saying, voice tinny from the internet connection, so Ashton does what any sane person would do when they hear their name come up in conversation between two of their best friends – he eavesdrops.

“I can’t,” Luke says, and he sounds distressed. “I’m telling you, Mike, I’ve tried. I’m trying. I can’t just say it.”

“Why not?” Michael asks. 

“I don’t have the balls,” Luke says. There’s a staticky sigh from Michael. 

“Well, you can either keep dropping hints that he refuses to take, or you can tell him,” Michael says. Luke groans, and Ashton hears the scraping sound of a chair on tile. 

“How the fuck am I going to survive three months here?” he says, and Ashton’s stomach drops.

Of course, it’s not exactly the most unexpected thing in the world, but it still kind of stings. Ashton probably wouldn’t want to spend three months cooped up in a house with Michael or Calum, but he’d thought things were different with him and Luke. He’d never had a problem with the idea of spending three months together, twenty-four hours a day, and he’d just assumed that Luke felt the same. But it stands to reason, really – nobody really wants to spend three months straight with only one person, do they? It’s not something he should take personally (even though he definitely is) – just because Ashton can’t get enough of Luke’s company doesn’t mean the feeling is mutual. 

“…still think you should just tell him,” Ashton catches Michael saying, and tunes back into the conversation, stomach still unpleasantly heavy. 

“I can’t,” Luke says. “What if he says no? And then I’m stuck here for three months?”

“He won’t,” Michael says reassuringly.

“You don’t know that,” Luke says, and he sounds upset now. “Fuck, Michael. How the fuck do I end this?”

“You tell him,” Michael says. “Or, like, you just keep feeling like this until the lockdown’s over.” 

“Fuck,” Luke says, and Ashton decides he’s had enough, he’s going in for his fucking coffee, fuck Luke Hemmings and his backstabbing. He pushes the door open, and Luke jumps, immediately looking fearful.

“Morning,” he says, aiming for cheerful, but Ashton hears the edge of anxiety in his voice.

“Morning,” Ashton returns, trying for a smile. “Hey, Mike.”

“Hey, Ash,” Michael says. “I should probably head now, anyway.”

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Ashton says, breezing past Luke into the kitchen and busying himself with turning on the coffee machine so he won’t have to look at him. “Just making a coffee, then having a shower. Won’t be a minute. Sorry for interrupting."

“It’s your fucking house, dude,” Michael says, amusement clear in his tone. “I really should go, though. Cal’s got some elaborate obstacle course set up for Duke, and I’m planning on tempting him awry with treats.” 

“You’re such a dickhead,” Luke tells him, but the edge of anxiety is still in his tone and he doesn’t seem fully focused on Michael. Ashton wishes the coffee machine would hurry up.

“Well, someone’s got to keep Calum on his toes,” Michael says. “We’ll talk soon, though, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Luke mumbles. “Bye, Mike.”

“Bye, Ash! Love you,” Michael calls. 

“Love you too,” Ashton shouts back, and then there’s silence. 

“Hi,” Luke says, suddenly at Ashton’s shoulder, and Ashton’s going to implement a wear-shoes-on-the-tiles rule so that he can hear Luke coming. 

“Hey,” Ashton says, eyes on the coffee machine.

“Are you alright?” Luke asks, touching Ashton’s elbow gently. Ashton shrugs, the motion displacing Luke’s hand.

“Look, it’s okay if you don’t want to be here,” he says eventually, when it becomes clear Luke’s just going to wait until he has an answer, and figuring it’s best to get it over with sooner rather than later. 

“What?” Luke sounds genuinely shocked, and Ashton tears his eyes away from the fascinating drip-drip-drip of the coffee to Luke’s face.

“I know it’s not ideal, being stuck together for three months,” Ashton says, and a look of hurt flashes across Luke’s face.

“Oh,” Luke mumbles, averting his eyes. “I- sorry. I’m imposing, aren’t I?”

“What? No, Luke, I- fuck, no. I just…I heard you talking to Michael,” Ashton admits. “About, like, how you can’t be here for three months with me.” Luke’s look of hurt immediately turns to one of sheer terror.

“You…uh, what did you hear?” he asks, aiming for nonchalant, but the complete draining of blood from his face gives him away. Ashton would feel pretty guilty if he were caught saying he didn’t want to spend time with Luke to Michael too.

“Enough,” Ashton says, and it comes out a little bitter. He clears his throat, and tries again. “Like. We can figure something out. You can have the upstairs floor, or something. I’ll stay in the basement.” 

“What? Ash, fuck, no- it’s your house, and-”

“Well, for the time being it’s your house too,” Ashton says.

“No, I’m- look, I meant what I said the other day,” Luke says, carding a hand through his sleep-tousled curls. “There’s no one I’d rather spend three months stuck in a house with than you.” Ashton frowns.

“Luke, it’s okay,” he says. “You don’t have to, like, lie to me, you’re my best friend and-” 

“No,” Luke interrupts. “I mean it, Ash.” He sounds so sincere, looks so earnest, that Ashton has no choice but to believe him. Luke’s a shitty liar, and Ashton always knows when he’s not being truthful. 

“Okay,” he says slowly, because if that’s the truth, then- “Then what was all that about?” he asks, inclining his head back towards Luke’s phone on the table. 

“That? Uh,” Luke says, eyes widening. “Nothing.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” 

“Okay, something, but not that,” Luke says, looking a little guilty. “Definitely not that I don’t want to be here, ‘cause I do.”

“Okay,” Ashton says after a moment, and with a little difficulty, because Luke’s allowed to keep secrets from him, even if it hurts. “You promise? Because I don’t want you to be uncomfortable here.”

“I’m not,” Luke says hurriedly. “It’s nothing like that. I promise.” The knot in Ashton’s stomach loosens considerably, and he nods.

“Okay,” he says again, and this time he even manages a smile. 

“Are we good?” Luke says anxiously. Ashton slides his arms around Luke and pulls him in for a tight hug, resting his cheek on Luke’s shoulder and pecking a kiss behind his ear. 

“We’re good,” Ashton says, savouring the way Luke’s arms automatically slip around Ashton’s waist and pull him tighter, flush against his body, so that Ashton can feel Luke warm against every inch of him. 

“Mm,” he says, sighing contentedly. “I could stay like this all day. Wouldn’t need to pay my heating bills.” 

“I think my neck would hurt from leaning down to your height,” Luke says, and Ashton pinches his arm.

“Dickhead,” he murmurs, and then he’s interrupted by the coffee machine beeping obnoxiously. Reluctantly, Ashton disentangles himself from Luke, reaching over and turning the machine off.

“I’m going to get dressed,” Luke says, and if Ashton’s not mistaken, he’s blushing slightly. Weird.

“Yeah, I’m gonna take a shower,” Ashton says, blowing on his coffee to cool it down a little.

“Can I watch?” Luke says, voice innocent but eyes mischievous. Ashton’s not really sure what to do with that. 

“You want to watch me soap up my balls?” he says, raising his eyebrows as he takes a sip of his coffee. Luke shrugs, a little pink-cheeked.

“Could always just do it for you,” he suggests, and Ashton, mug still in his mouth, aims a kick at his shin which Luke doesn’t quite manage to dodge in time. “Ow, fucking hell.” 

“Don’t mock my ball-washing routine,” Ashton says, pointing at Luke accusingly. “Never had any complaints so far.” 

“I was offering ,” Luke says, and Ashton rolls his eyes. 

“Sure you were,” he says, starting in the direction of the bathroom. “Go and get dressed. I’m going to shower.” 

“Leave the door open,” Luke calls after him, and Ashton laughs. 

“Fuck off,” he shouts back, smile evident in his voice, expecting to hear Luke laugh too, but he’s silent. 

Weird. 

 ------- 

  1 week, 1 day, 18 hours 

It only takes about a week for Ashton to remember why they have a blanket ‘don’t let Luke choose the movie’ rule. 

“No, Luke, I’m not watching fucking Frozen with you,” he says, for the fourth time in about two minutes. 

“Why not?” Luke demands, pouting slightly. Ashton tries not to think about the exact hue of his pink lips. 

“Because - y’know what, actually, I don’t think I need to justify myself on that one,” Ashton says. “Can’t we watch, like, Family Guy, or something?” 

“Wanting to watch Family Guy definitely requires justifying,” Luke says stroppily. “Or possibly a lobotomy.” Ashton scowls at him.

“Alright, how about Pulp Fiction?” 

“That’s so fucking long,” Luke groans.

“Oh, fuck, I forgot,” Ashton says, slapping a hand to his forehead. “We’re so busy. We have so many plans. We couldn’t possibly watch a three hour long movie.” Luke scowls, and throws a cushion at him.

“I have a suggestion,” he announces. Ashton throws him a wary look, chucking the cushion back at him. 

“If you say Frozen again-”

“Frozen 2,” Luke says, a smug look on his face, and Ashton’s had enough. He launches himself across the coffee table and onto Luke, landing haphazardly in his lap and reaching out to tickle him. Luke squeals, bucking his legs into Ashton’s arse uncomfortably, and squirms underneath him, trying to get him to stop. Ashton wrestles Luke back with his spare hand, pinning his arm to the back of the sofa as he gets his legs on either side of Luke, positioning himself so that Luke can’t move his legs. He doesn’t relent with the tickling until Luke’s red-faced and gasping for air.

“You bastard,” Luke says, breathing heavily, but he’s grinning. A curl’s fallen into his eye, and Ashton brushes it away without thinking, catching the way Luke’s breath hitches slightly on the intake as he does it. He hopes Luke’s not, like, developing asthma from the LA air. 

“I’m not watching Frozen,” Ashton says, watching Luke blink at him. He’s got such pretty eyes. “Or Frozen 2,” he adds quickly, seeing Luke open his mouth. Luke closes his mouth again, frowning. 

“It’s the least you can do after attacking me like that,” he says, still a little breathless. 

“Don’t give me reason to attack you, then,” Ashton says, grinning. Luke’s eyes are really fucking blue up close, he thinks. He doesn’t remember his lashes being that long, either.

“What?” Luke asks, and Ashton blinks, shaking himself out of it.

“Huh?” 

“You were staring.” Ashton feels colour rising to his cheeks. 

“I wasn’t,” he says. Luke looks amused. 

“You were,” he says. “What?” Ashton shrugs, not quite sure why he’s uncomfortable. It’s only Luke, after all, and it’s not like he doesn’t compliment Calum or Michael in his head too. 

“Your eyes are fucking gorgeous,” he says, and Luke smiles, a small, shy smile that Ashton hasn’t seen in far too long. 

“Yeah?” he says, sounding pleased, eyes lit up. Ashton suddenly thinks he would compliment Luke until his dying breath if it’ll keep him this happy. 

“Yeah,” Ashton says, tucking yet another stray curl behind Luke’s ear. “You’re really fucking pretty, Luke.” Luke ducks his head, embarrassed, but Ashton can see his grin and the crinkling in the corner of his eyes, and his heart swells at the knowledge that it’s because of him. He loves making Luke smile. 

“You’re just saying that to try and get in my pants,” Luke mumbles, and Ashton laughs. 

“This whole pandemic thing has been an elaborate set up,” he says, rolling off of Luke’s lap and feeling a sudden coolness on his thighs at the loss of contact. He shuffles down the sofa and rests his head on Luke’s lap to make up for it, blinking up at him. Luke leans down a little, a slight smile tugging at his lips. 

“Hi,” he says, voice soft. 

“Hi,” Ashton says. 

“Please don’t look up my nose,” Luke says, and Ashton snorts. 

“Sexy,” he deadpans. Luke grins.

“You look cute like this,” Luke says, and Ashton’s stomach swoops pleasantly. He likes compliments (and apparently, a little voice in his head says, he really likes them coming from Luke). 

“You’re just saying that to try and get in my pants,” Ashton retorts, and Luke’s eyes glint playfully. 

“Is it working?” he says. Ashton huffs out a laugh. 

“I mean, at this rate,” he says, referring to his incredibly long dry spell and hoping Luke gets the gist without him having to elaborate further. 

“Charming,” Luke says mock-angrily, shoving Ashton off his lap and almost off the sofa. “I’m only an option when no one else is.” Ashton, steadying himself on the sofa, looks up, worried he’s actually hurt Luke’s feelings - because Luke can be kind of sensitive about these things - but sees his eyes twinkling. 

“C’mon, baby, don’t be like that,” Ashton jokes, shuffling back onto the sofa and throwing Luke a pleading look, because there’s no room for him to lie down if he can’t curl up in Luke’s lap. Luke sends him a righteous glare, but moves his arms out of his lap, and Ashton wriggles back into it happily. 

They lull into a comfortable silence for a moment, and Luke brings his hand down to stroke through Ashton’s curls almost absent-mindedly, gazing at the TV with a thoughtful expression. Ashton pushes into Luke’s hand, eyes fluttering shut with a contented sigh - no one ever plays with his hair, and he fucking loves it. He could easily stay here for the rest of the day, he thinks. 

“Would you?” Luke blurts suddenly, breaking the silence. 

“Huh?” 

“Would you,” Luke repeats, and it sounds like he’s steeled himself for whatever response Ashton’s going to give. 

“Would I what?” 

“Fuck me.” Ashton’s eyes fly open. “I- as in, like. Hypothetically. Not, would you fuck me, as, like, a request.” 

“Yeah, I got that,” Ashton says. “I- where’s this coming from?” Luke shrugs, fingers scratching against Ashton’s scalp. Ashton can almost feel the heat emanating from Luke’s face.

“Would you?” he repeats stubbornly, despite the fierce blush on his cheeks, not letting Ashton dodge the question. 

The thing is, Ashton’s thought about it a few times. Mostly when he was younger - when he realised he was into boys, when he found out Luke was into boys, when he found out Michael and Calum had been fucking behind their backs since they were, like, sixteen - but he doesn’t think that’s particularly unusual. He’d been a fucking teenager, for Christ’s sake - another human being was pretty much all it’d taken back then. 

But there’ve been a few flashes in more recent years - when Luke’s wearing some particularly tight pants, when he’s sweaty and panting after running around on stage for two hours, when he’s sleepy and his voice is all low and husky. Ashton still doesn’t think it’s that weird, privately, because he’s going through a dry spell and Luke is objectively hot, but he thinks it’d probably be weird to tell Luke that. 

On the other hand, he doesn’t want to tell Luke no, because Luke’s sensitive and would probably take that to mean that he’s the most hideous person alive, or something. And he can’t go for the ‘but we’re friends!’ route - he’s fucked one too many of his friends for that shit to fly. So Ashton’s left with no choice but to tell the truth. 

“Hypothetically?” he says. “Yeah.” Luke blinks, looking almost shocked at Ashton’s answer, as though he’d been waiting for Ashton to say no. Ashton kind of wishes he had, now. 

“Yeah?” Luke echoes. Ashton shrugs, and gazes steadfastly at the ceiling. 

“You’re really fucking hot,” he says, and immediately regrets adding the qualifiers. You’re hot would have sufficed.

“Yeah, but…” Luke trails off. 

“But?” It’s Luke’s turn to shrug, and Ashton waits it out, but Luke doesn’t say anything else. Ashton doesn’t think that’s fair, so he says: “Would you?” 

“Would I?” Luke says, moving his fingers down to scratch just over Ashton’s ear, and Ashton can tell he’s stalling for time. 

“Fuck me, dickhead,” Ashton says. Luke swallows, and Ashton tries not to think about that given the current circumstances. 

“‘Course,” Luke says, and somehow, it’s different when Luke says it. Ashton saying he’d fuck Luke - well, yeah, that’s a given - but Luke saying he’d fuck Ashton? That puts a whole different dimension on things, makes him wonder just how much Luke’s thought about it, what he’s thought about, when he’s thought about it- 

“Yeah?” is all he can muster in response, mind racing. 

“Hypothetically or not,” Luke says, all in a rush, as though he’s had to build up the courage to say it. Ashton doesn’t quite understand what he means, but whatever. 

“So you think I’m fit?” Ashton says, grinning, and Luke scowls down at him. 

“We were having a moment,” he says, but there’s no heat behind his words, and his cheeks are still tinged with pink. 

“We’re still having a moment,” Ashton says. “I think you’re hot, you think I’m fit. That’s a moment.” 

“Why don’t we fuck, then?” Luke says, and Ashton laughs, but Luke doesn’t. 

“C’mon,” Ashton says, pulling himself out of Luke’s lap with a little difficulty. “Let’s actually watch a fucking movie.”

“So...Frozen or Frozen 2?” Luke says hopefully. 

 ------- 

  1 week, 5 days, 14 hours 

Ashton doesn’t think about the conversation again for a good few days. 

It’s not until he’s on FaceTime with Calum, catching him up on the previous few days, that he thinks about it again. 

“So,” he says carefully. “Luke and I had a bit of a...uh, conversation the other day.” Calum’s eyebrows fly up into his beanie. 

“Yeah?” he says. “About what?” 

“He asked me if I’d fuck him,” Ashton admits. “As in, like, hypothetically, not like he was asking me to.”

“And?” Calum says. “What was the verdict?” 

“Well, obviously,” Ashton says, as though Calum’s an idiot. “Who wouldn’t fuck Luke? You’d fuck Luke.” 

“True,” Calum admits. “Although, for the purposes of my relationship, I wouldn’t fuck Luke.” 

“But hypothetically,” Ashton says. 

“Hypothetically,” Calum agrees. 

“He said he’d fuck me too,” Ashton says. 

“Well, yeah,” Calum says, with an air of well, duh. “I’d fuck you.” Ashton wrinkles his nose. 

“Well, don’t,” he says. 

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Calum says, rolling his eyes. “So? You’ve got nothing else to do during quarantine, have you? Fuck him.” Ashton chokes on his next breath. 

“I- what? Cal- fuck, no, are you- what?” he splutters, and Calum grins. “I don’t- he’s not- we- I don’t see him like that! It’s hypothetical!” 

“Sure,” Calum says easily. “Hypothetical. Got you.” Ashton hates him. 

“I hate you,” he tells Calum, who just laughs. “Fuck you. I’m confiding in you.” 

“I’m offering you advice,” Calum says. “Fuck him.”

“No, Cal!” Ashton says. “I don’t want to. I just would.” 

“Why not?” Calum says, and before Ashton has time to respond, adds: “And don’t say because you’re friends, because that’s not stopped you before. Or because it’ll fuck up the band, because I’m fucking Michael, so that ship has sailed.” 

“Ew,” Ashton says, scrunching his face. “I don’t want to think about you fucking Michael.”

“So don’t,” Calum says. 

“I can’t help it when you talk about it,” Ashton says, images flashing up in his mind. “Ew. Ew. Gross.” He pauses for a second, and then, out of pure curiosity, to make sure his mental image is correct, asks: “Michael tops, right?” Calum bursts out laughing.

“‘Course he does,” he says, eyes twinkling. “I’m a massive sub, Ash.” 

“Okay, that I didn’t need to know,” Ashton says. 

“You already knew it,” Calum says. 

“Yeah, but I hadn’t connected it to Michael,” Ashton says, shuddering. 

“Don’t be rude about my boyfriend,” Calum says evenly. “And stop avoiding the question.”

“I’m not avoiding the question,” Ashton protests weakly, because he’s definitely avoiding the question. Calum just raises his eyebrows again, and Ashton sighs. 

“I just don’t see him like that,” Ashton says. “Like. Anyone would want to fuck him. Anyone would want to kiss him. Anyone would want to, like, hold his hand, take him on dates, suck his dick, because it’s fucking Luke, y’know? He’s just-” he breaks off, noticing Calum giving him a strange look. “What?” 

“I don’t want to do that, Ash,” Calum says. 

“Well, I’m not saying I want to, just that I would,” Ashton reiterates. 

“You know whose hand I wanna hold? Who I wanna kiss, take on dates, all that shit?” Calum says. 

“Who?"

“Michael.” Something twists uncomfortably deep in Ashton’s gut. 

“Yeah, well. You would say that, wouldn’t you?” he says, but Calum’s still got that look on his face. 

“Yeah,” he says, tone unreadable. “Guess I would.” He gives Ashton an odd look, one that makes him feel oddly exposed, but then the moment passes, and he’s grinning again. “Hey, did I tell you about the obstacle course I set up for Duke?” 

 ------- 

  2 weeks, 1 day, 16 hours

“Hey,” Luke says, popping his head around the door to the basement. Ashton’s in between songs, scrolling through his music to find something he thinks he might like to learn. “I’m going shopping. Want anything?” 

“I’ll come with,” Ashton says, putting down his sticks and pulling his headphones off. “I’ve got a whole list.” 

“Yeah, I’ve got the list,” Luke says, waving the piece of paper Ashton keeps next to the microwave. 

“I’ll come anyway,” Ashton says. “I don’t trust you shopping on your own.” Luke frowns. 

“Why not?” he says, more than a little petulant. “I shop for myself in Vegas.” 

“Yeah,” Ashton says pointedly, thinking about Luke’s fridge stocked full with alcohol and ready meals. Luke’s frown deepens. 

“Whatever,” he huffs. “I can shop.” 

“For alcohol,” Ashton says, getting up and starting towards the stairs.

“Yeah, what else do I need?” Luke says breezily, stepping aside for Ashton to pass him. Ashton snorts, and shakes his head. 

“Do I smell?” he asks, knowing he’s been sweating. Luke leans in, close enough that Ashton can smell his cologne and fresh linen and soap. It makes him feel a little dizzy. 

“Nah,” Luke says, straightening up. “Let’s take my car, it’s got more space in the boot.” Ashton nods, pulling on the first shoes he can find (which might be Luke’s, given that they feel slightly too roomy), and following Luke out to his car. 

“You got the list?” he asks, when Luke sits down in the driver’s seat, and Luke lifts his hips to fish the piece of paper out of his pocket. Ashton tries not to let his eyes wander, mind flashing back to that conversation. He clears his throat, as though it’s going to push the thoughts away, and Luke throws him a strange look as he passes Ashton the paper. Ashton chooses to stare steadfastly at the list, pretending he’s totally enraptured in bananas, onions, bleach, lube- wait, lube?

“Lube?” Ashton says, before he can stop himself. Luke, pulling out of the driveway, blushes. 

“I didn’t bring any,” he says. “Didn’t know I was gonna be stuck here for three months. And, like. I’m not about to ask you for yours.” 

“What d’you need lube for?” Ashton says, without thinking. Luke bites his lip, blushing an even deeper shade of red, and Ashton realises exactly what the lube is for.

“Are you seriously gonna make me say it?” he asks. Ashton wasn’t going to, not until he’d seen how embarrassed Luke is. 

“Say what?” Ashton asks, feigning innocence. 

“To- for, uh. Wanking.” Luke’s cheeks are single-handedly heating up the entire car. 

“Oh,” Ashton says, conversationally, unable to stop the smug grin that creeps onto his face. “Like, so it’s not dry? Couldn’t you just use spit?” Luke makes a small noise somewhere between a cough and a choke. 

“Ash,” he whines. “You know what.” 

“Do I?” Ashton says, grinning widely. He’s not sure why he wants to push Luke’s buttons like this - he’s pretty sure if Michael had written ‘lube’ on a shopping list he would have just pulled a face and not mentioned it. It’s probably just the amusement of seeing how flustered Luke gets. 

“Oh my God,” Luke mutters. “To finger myself, Ash. Happy?” Something curls low in the pit of Ashton’s stomach hearing Luke - Luke - say those words. 

“That’s not why you upped the number of cucumbers on the shopping list, is it?” Ashton says, frowning at where x1 had been crossed out to say x3. Luke splutters. 

“No, you fucking- I hate you,” Luke says, turning into the car park. “I just- I like cucumbers.” 

“I’m sure you do,” Ashton says, grinning.  

“Fuck you,” Luke says, but he’s smiling too, and the curl in Ashton’s stomach licks up at him again.

(It takes Ashton all the way through the fifty-minute queue and five minutes into standing in the meat aisle of Walmart to realise what that curl of heat in his stomach was. 

Arousal.) 

 ------- 

  2 weeks, 1 day, 18 hours 

“Hey,” Ashton says over his shoulder, as they’re ambling through Target, Luke trailing behind him so they can stick to keeping the sanctioned six feet of distance between themselves and other shoppers. “Should we paint your room?” 

“Huh?” 

“Well, I’ve been wanting to redecorate that room for ages anyway, and it’s not like we have anything better to do.” He turns the shopping trolley into the paint aisle, and rounds on Luke with raised eyebrows, questioning. 

“Fuck, yeah,” Luke says, happily. “That sounds sick.” Ashton grins, and steps around the shopping trolley to the tins of paint. 

“What colour d’you want?” he asks. 

“It’s your house, dude,” Luke says. Ashton’s not sure he likes being called dude by a guy he’d fuck. Hypothetically. 

“Yeah, but I never use that room,” Ashton says, waving his hands dismissively. “You’re literally the only person who does, because everyone else lives in fucking LA.” 

“Are you sure?” Luke says, still a little hesitant. 

“Yeah,” Ashton says. “As long as you don’t pick, like, bright red. That’s bad for the psyche.” Luke snorts. 

“What the fuck?” he says. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” Ashton insists. “I read it somewhere.” 

“Yeah, probably in a book about kale, or something,” Luke mutters, loud enough that Ashton knows he’s meant to hear it, so he chooses to ignore it. 

“I like pale yellow,” Ashton says. “How about that?” Luke wrinkles his nose. He’s got a really fucking cute nose, Ashton notices. 

“It’s gonna look like someone pissed on the walls,” he says. 

“My bedroom’s pale yellow,” Ashton says, affronted. Luke throws him an innocent smile, and Ashton scowls and flips him off. “Fuck you. My room does not look like someone pissed on the walls.” 

“Whatever you say,” Luke says, and Ashton hates him, just a little bit. 

“Alright, fuck, let’s paint my room too,” Ashton says, still scowling. “God, you’re a terrible guest. You can’t just stay in someone’s house and insult it.”

“You should get some more paintings for your living room and hallways,” Luke puts in, as though Ashton hadn’t spoken at all. 

“Sure, let me just access my bottomless bank account,” Ashton says sarcastically, picking up a tin of paint. “How’s pale green?” 

“I was thinking baby blue,” Luke says, another tin in his hands. 

“Well, I like pale green,” Ashton says stubbornly, because Luke can’t get all the wins here. 

“Good thing we’re decorating two rooms, then, isn’t it?” Luke says, amusement glittering in his eyes. Ashton can’t think of a good retort to that, so he just dumps like, seven tins of the paint in the shopping trolley, and Luke does the same with the blue paint. 

“Have we got brushes?” Luke asks. Ashton furrows his brow, trying to remember. 

“I don’t think so,” he says. “I think I lent them to Cal and Mike when they were redecorating.” Luke nods, picking up a handful of brushes and chucking them in the trolley. 

“Anything else?” Luke says, and Ashton shakes his head. Paint and brushes, that’s all you need to paint a room, right? “Cool. Let’s get out of here. After stopping in the chocolate aisle,” he tacks on as an afterthought. He grabs the trolley and heads off, leaving Ashton to shake his head fondly and follow in his wake. 

 ------- 

  2 weeks, 4 days, 20 hours  

It takes another 3 and a half days until they get all the furniture out of Luke’s room, Luke bitching every time he has to pick up anything heavier than a fucking pillow. The room looks odd when it’s empty, their voices reverberating strangely in a very un-homey way.

Ashton digs out some masking tape and tapes up the light switch, the doorframe, the skirting board, the window frame, anything he doesn’t trust Luke to successfully avoid painting over, while Luke places old newspaper across the floorboards. 

“I don’t get why we couldn’t just move everything to the middle of the room,” Luke whines, stepping over the pouffe that had stood in the corner of his room that’s blocking the doorway rather than picking it up and moving it like a rational human being. 

“Move the fucking pouffe,” is how Ashton responds, and he can almost hear Luke rolling his eyes sulkily. He stomps over to the pouffe and places it about two feet away sullenly. “Because you’re literally incapable of not making a mess of anything.” 

“I am not,” Luke protests, walking back over, picking up a paintbrush and dipping it into the paint. He whips around to face the wall, and paint splatters across the wall, floor, and Ashton in the process. “Whoops.” 

“Exactly,” Ashton says pointedly, and Luke flicks more paint at him. 

“C’mon,” he says. “Before the paint dries out.” 

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Ashton says, but he dips his own brush in the paint and paints a big streak at eye level. It’s oddly satisfying, actually, the smooth movement of the brush on the wall. 

They paint in silence for a while, Ashton working methodically in sections, Luke just painting big fucking streaks here and there with zero regard for whether it’s evenly distributed or not. Whatever, Ashton thinks - he can always go back and fix it later. Plus, it’s Luke who has to live with it, not Ashton. 

(He’s not really sure when this room became ‘Luke’s room’ in his mind, but he finds he’s perfectly fine with it.) 

“We should put some music on,” Luke remarks after a while, and Ashton nods. 

“Speaker’s in my room,” he says. Luke nods, setting down his brush and heading out. Ashton hears a thump and a pained squawk, and figures Luke’s walked right into the pouffe he hadn’t properly moved out of the way.

“I told you to move it!” he calls. 

“Fuck you!” he hears back, muffled by the wall, and grins. Luke walks back into the room a few minutes later, frowning at the phone in his hand, and sets the speaker down by one wall. He fiddles with his phone for a minute then sets it down next to it too, the sound of All Time Low suddenly filling the room. 

“Really?” Ashton says, raising his eyebrows, but he’s grinning. ATL never get old. 

“Well, we’re touring with them soon, aren’t we?” Luke says, shrugging as he picks his paintbrush up again. “Can’t hurt to refresh the memory a bit.”

“Refresh the memory?” Ashton asks. “Luke, you know ATL’s songs better than our own.” 

“Guilty,” Luke says, not sounding guilty at all, and painting a big stripe next to the square Ashton’s currently working on. “Can’t help that they’re better than us.” 

“I don’t know, some of Dirty Work kinda sucks,” Ashton says. Luke makes a noise of outrage. 

“I’m telling Alex you said that,” he says. 

“He agrees with me,” Ashton says.

“He’s just saying that because he thinks you’re cute,” Luke says. 

“He thinks you’re cuter,” Ashton says nonchalantly, dipping his paintbrush back in the tin.  

“He’s wrong,” Luke says immediately. Ashton rolls his eyes but says nothing, not wanting to play into Luke’s insecurities, choosing to fix the uneven bottom of the streak Luke had just painted instead. 

They cycle through a few of Luke’s favourites - ATL, Blink - and then Best Years comes on. Ashton barely even realises until he hears Luke singing softly next to him, completely oblivious as he’s totally focused on painting. It sends something strong coursing through Ashton’s veins - a big fucking rush of love, because Luke’s so fucking talented, and he’s so proud of him, so proud of them, loves Luke and loves seeing him like this, disarmed and candid. 

“I love you,” he blurts, when Luke moves to humming instead of singing. Luke looks at him in surprise. “Fuck, sorry.” He laughs, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. Bit of a weird thing to just come out with like that. “I’m just. You’re so fucking talented, and I’m so proud of you.” A smile unfurls on Luke’s lips, big and happy. 

“You’re adorable,” he tells Ashton. “I love you too, obviously.” And oh, okay, that’s different. Ashton doesn’t usually get a rush of adrenaline hearing that. 

“Yeah?” he says, kind of wanting to hear it again, a little hooked on the high. 

“Yeah,” Luke echoes, and Ashton finds himself a touch disappointed that he leaves it there. 

“I’m glad you got stuck here for lockdown,” he says, instead of the please say it again that’s on the tip of his tongue. 

“So am I,” Luke says, still smiling widely. “You would’ve gone insane on your own.” Ashton throws him a glare. 

“Arsehole,” he says. “I handle being on my own just fine, thank you very much.” 

“Oh yeah?” Luke says. “What about that time we all went home for Christmas and you stayed here? You were texting me every two minutes asking to call.” 

“That’s different,” Ashton insists. “Christmas is a time to be with people.” 

“Sure,” Luke says, a smile curling around his words. “You just can’t get enough of me.” 

“Right,” Ashton says, sarcastically, while his mind tells him yeah, he’s right. You kind of can’t. He’s not quite sure why a little ball of anxiety settles in his abdomen following that thought. “You definitely weren’t third on my call list after Calum and Michael, or anything.” 

“I know I wasn’t,” Luke says smugly, “because firstly, Calum and Michael are always together so if anything, I’d be second on your call list, and secondly, I was with Cal and Michael half the time and my phone rang first.”

“Great,” Ashton says. “All of you hanging out without me. And you wonder why I have trust issues?” 

“You don’t have trust issues.” 

“I do now.” Luke rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. 

They paint quietly for a while longer, listening to Luke’s playlist scroll through - Christ, he still listens to a lot of old emo anthems - until Luke puts down his paintbrush with a dramatic sigh.

“I’m tired,” he complains. “What time is it?” Ashton pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks the time. 

“Ten,” he says, surprised at how fast the time has gone and how little of the walls they’ve actually managed to paint. “Want to move your bed back in here?” Luke pulls a face. 

“I’d rather sleep on it in the bathroom,” he says, because it’s the closest space that could fit the bed that they found, and so naturally, that’s where it is. 

“Well, I might want to shower in the morning,” Ashton says. “Why don’t you just share with me?” 

“You sure?” Luke says. Ashton shrugs. They’ve shared beds so many times before - shared bunks on the bus, even - so how would this be any different? 

“It’s not like we’re not used to it,” he says, which makes him remember something - Luke’s a chronic duvet hogger. “Just bring your own duvet.” 

“I don’t hog,” Luke protests, but he disappears into the bathroom and returns with the duvet in his hands anyway. 

“You better not have picked that up with your paint-covered hands,” Ashton warns, and Luke throws him a sheepish grin. 

“Oops?” he offers. 

“Dickhead,” Ashton mutters. 

 ------- 

  2 weeks, 4 days, 23 hours 

Sharing a bed with Luke at home is strangely intimate. 

It takes Ashton until they’ve squabbled over who gets which side, whether they should turn the main light off or not and what time to set the alarm for until he realises that it’s because it’s not sharing a bed, it’s sharing his bed. 

“Your bed is comfy,” Luke remarks, duvet tucket up to his neck. He kind of looks like he’s been beheaded. 

“You look like your head’s been cut off,” Ashton tells him. Luke grins, tucking the blanket in tighter to maximise the effect. “Yeah, I got, like, some special memory foam mattress topper.” 

“I should get one,” Luke muses. 

“When you finally get back to Vegas,” Ashton agrees. 

“God, my house is going to be, like, so dusty,” Luke groans, turning onto his side. Ashton rolls over to face him. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I bet you’ve never actually fucking cleaned it, have you?” 

“I’ve hoovered before,” Luke protests. Ashton rolls his eyes, expecting nothing less. 

“You’re disgusting,” he tells Luke, who just grins at him. 

“At least I’ve been picking my towels off the floor,” he says. 

“Oh, right, at least you’ve been doing the bare fucking minimum,” Ashton says sarcastically. 

“For you,” Luke says pointedly, and something about the earnest look in his eyes sends the words straight to Ashton’s heart. 

“I’m honoured,” Ashton says, trying his best to ignore the way that his heart’s suddenly in his ears. He swallows, as if that’s somehow going to control his heartbeat, and he sees Luke’s eyes follow the line of his throat. It does nothing to help the pounding in his ears. 

“You should be,” Luke says, still gazing at Ashton’s throat, and it comes out as a murmur. His eyes flit back up to Ashton’s eyes, ocean blue meeting hazel. 

It strikes Ashton, all of a sudden, how close they are. His nose is almost touching Luke’s, maybe all of four inches apart, and he realises with a jolt that if he wanted to, it would be all too easy to lean forwards and press his lips to Luke’s. 

To kiss Luke. 

And, worst of all, he wants to.

A wave of panic crashes over him as soon as the thought crosses his mind, and he pulls back sharply, suddenly. Luke frowns, a little crease appearing between his eyebrows, and Ashton wills himself to not find it endearing. 

“I- uh, I’m tired,” Ashton lies, not even convincing himself, trying to ignore the way his palms are sweating and his mouth is going dry. 

“Oh,” Luke says, sounding a little sad, and Ashton’s heart aches. “Well. Night, I guess.” 

“Night,” Ashton says, too quickly, rolling over so his back is to Luke and switching off his side light. After a moment of silence, he hears shuffling on the other side of the bed, and Luke’s light clicks off too, leaving the room in darkness. 

Ashton tries to even out his breathing, tries to make it sound less shaky, but the panic is rising in him, pressing on his chest and settling like a hangover in his stomach. Breathe, he tells himself, trying to slow his racing mind. Breathe. 

What the fuck was that? Ashton doesn’t think about kissing Luke, not like that. In the odd fantasy, sure, sometimes out of pure curiosity, but not like that, not when it’s real and intimate and Luke’s gazing at him with those baby blues, not when it means anything. He presses the heels of his palms to his eyes, as if it’ll erase the thought from ever having existed in his mind. 

He doesn’t want to kiss Luke. It probably wasn’t about wanting to kiss Luke, it was about the hypothetical possibility. The wanting probably just came as an instinctual continuation of that train of thought. And that’s not weird, because it’s a natural jump to make when there’s a hot man that he’d definitely fuck four inches from his face. It’s probably also compounded by the fact that Ashton hasn’t had sex in, like, well over a year at this point. He’s still a fairly young man, after all - hormones definitely still have to be playing a factor here. 

Yeah, he tells himself, breathing a little easier now. It wasn’t about wanting to kiss Luke - it was just that had he wanted to - which he didn’t - he could have. And there are so many mitigating factors that mean it was a perfectly normal thought to have, given the circumstances. 

He rolls onto his back trying to convince himself of that, or, failing that, to clear his mind and think of anything else, and eventually drifts off into an uneasy sleep. 

 ------- 

  2 weeks, 5 days, 12 hours 

The problem is, Ashton’s never been able to hide anything from Calum. 

The minute Ashton answers Calum’s FaceTime the next day, Calum leans forwards, a crease between his eyebrows. 

“What’s up?” he asks immediately. 

“Good morning to you too,” Ashton says, trying for light and humorous. 

“What’s wrong?” Calum says, ignoring Ashton’s comment as he adjusts his bucket hat. He’s sat in his garden, as he always seems to be these days, hair lighter every time Ashton sees him. 

“Nothing,” Ashton says, looking around to check that Luke isn’t in the kitchen. He isn’t, but Ashton figures he can’t be too safe, so he takes his iPad and carries it down to the basement. Calum’s silent while Ashton walks, just waiting, until Ashton throws himself down on a beanbag and swallows. He can tell Calum. Calum won’t say anything.  

“I think I might be fucked, Cal,” he says, sounding hopeless even to his own ears. 

“Why?” Calum asks, gentle and calming. Ashton puts his head in his hands. He doesn’t want to say it out loud. If he says it out loud, it becomes real. If someone else knows about it, it takes on a form that he can’t control, and Ashton doesn’t know if he can handle that. 

“I don’t- I can’t,” he says, helpless. 

“Is it Luke?” Calum asks knowingly. Ashton just nods. “Oh, Ash.” 

“I don’t know why,” Ashton says. “I- I don’t understand. I don’t think of him like that.” He doesn’t sound very convincing, even to himself.

“It’s okay,” Calum says soothingly.

“I don’t get it,” Ashton says dully. 

“I kind of figured this would happen,” Calum muses, but he’s not gloating, and it doesn’t make Ashton feel worse. “I mean, you two, cooped up in a house together for three months?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ashton says, aiming for affronted, but it comes out wobbly. Calum smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“You two are idiots,” is all he offers as a response. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Ashton says, and a hysterical laugh bubbles out of him at that, because yeah, nothing fucking happened, and he’s already freaking out. “Nothing. I just-” he takes a deep breath. It’s only Calum, he tells himself. Calum knows. Calum understands. Calum didn’t have an easy time admitting to himself that he liked Michael. “I...I think that maybe, I, uh. Wanted to kiss him.” 

The words hang between the two of them for a moment, and Ashton wishes he could push them back down. 

“Okay,” Calum says, calm and even. 

“Okay?” Ashton says, voice about an octave higher. “Cal, I wanted to kiss Luke. Like. We were so close.”

“To kissing?”

“No, just physically,” Ashton says, biting his thumbnail. 

“It’s okay,” Calum says. “It’s okay to want to kiss him.”

“No it’s not,” Ashton says. 

“Alright, why isn’t it okay?” Calum asks. “Let’s break it down.” 

“He’s my friend,” Ashton says. 

“You’ve fucked loads of your friends, Ash,” Calum says, like Ashton knew he would. 

“He’s in the band, though. I don’t want to fuck up the band.” 

“I’m fucking Michael,” Calum says. “We’re in the band.” 

“That’s different,” Ashton says. “You were fucking before the band.” 

“You didn’t know that, though,” Calum says. “Plus, we nearly broke up when we were twenty-one, and you didn’t notice.” Ashton gapes at him. 

“What? ” He’s absolutely aghast, all thoughts of kissing Luke suddenly wiped from his mind. “What the fuck? When?” Calum shrugs. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “Point is, you and Luke didn’t even know. We’re adults. We can get through shit like that.” Ashton doesn’t want to push, but he just can’t wrap his head around-

“I don’t get it,” he says bluntly. “You and Mike, you’re...you’ve never spent a day apart. How could we not notice you nearly breaking up?” Calum raises his eyebrows. 

“Because, like I said, we’re adults,” he says. “Yeah, it’d suck for a while, but we’d get through it. We can all be mature about these things.” Privately, Ashton’s not sure whether Luke can without Calum and Michael making him fall in line. Calum seems to know what he’s thinking, and adds: “Yeah, Ash, even Luke. He might be a whiny brat, but he’s our whiny brat.” 

“Look,” Ashton says, mind still spinning about the idea of Michael and Calum almost breaking up, and him not even noticing. “This is all- this is jumping a lot of steps. I just- I wanted to kiss him, okay? But, like. That doesn’t mean I want to date him.” 

“Don’t you?” Calum asks, cocking an eyebrow. 

“No!” Ashton protests. 

“You don’t want to fuck him?”

“Well, I mean, I would, but-”

“You don’t want to kiss him?”

“I just said I did, but-” 

“You don’t want to hold him in public so everyone knows he’s yours? Take him to shows you’ve got absolutely no interest in just to see him happy? Watch shitty movies with him just to see him laugh? Compliment him until he’s smiling like a fucking idiot? Watch him play guitar for hours on end just because he’s so fucking talented, and you love him so much?” 

“Alright, Cal, I get it, you want to suck Michael’s dick,” Ashton says loudly. “God. You’re a fucking romantic.” Calum laughs, broken up by his terrible internet. 

“I’m just describing things I want to do for him,” he says. “And I can tell you with absolute certainty that I’m in love with that boy.”

“I’m not in love with Luke,” Ashton says. 

“Maybe not,” Calum allows, “but you want to date him.” 

“I don’t- I don’t think I do,” Ashton says carefully. 

“That’s already a step closer than two minutes ago,” Calum notes. 

“Fuck,” Ashton says, panic swirling threateningly in his chest again. “I don’t- I don’t want to date Luke. Do I? No. I don’t.” He doesn’t sound sure of himself, though. He doesn’t feel sure of himself, not after listening to Calum, because he knows, deep down, that he wants to do those things for Luke too. 

But that doesn’t mean anything, he thinks immediately. They’re friends. The line is so fine. 

“Fuck,” Ashton says again. “God, Cal, I don’t know. How do I even know if I like him like that? Where’s the fucking line?”

“It’s tough,” Calum says, a crease between his brows. “Believe me, I know.” 

“How did you do it?”

“I thought about it,” Calum says. “For a long, long time. I mean, I was also trying to figure out my sexuality at the time, which probably contributed a lot to that. But I had to sit down and be honest with myself, stop making excuses and finding explanations or ways out - did I want a relationship with Michael, did I just want to fuck Michael, or was I just confused and frustrated and latching onto him?” Ashton bites his lip. 

“Excuses and explanations?” he asks, and his voice sounds kind of small. 

“Yeah,” Calum says. “You know, ‘oh, it’s just because we’re best friends, I’m a teenager with hormones, I’m going through a dry spell’, that kind of stuff.” He’s giving Ashton a look as he says it, as though he knows those are the exact same things Ashton’s been telling himself. 

“Fuck you,” Ashton says weakly. He doesn’t need to say anything else. 

“Think about it, Ash,” Calum says gently. “I’m always here if you need to bounce off someone.” 

“Thanks, Cal,” Ashton says, and he means it.”I just- I’m scared. It’s Luke.” 

“I know,” Calum says, and of course he knows, he knows better than anyone else. “We’ll figure it out. Promise.” 

 ------- 

  3 weeks, 3 days, 17 hours 

It takes another four days to get Luke’s room painted, mainly because Luke’s a diva who demands snack breaks every half-hour, and then another day after that to convince him to put the furniture back in the room, because Ashton’s sick of manoeuvring around the bed in the bathroom to shower. Ashton doesn’t have time to think about The Situation because he wakes up next to Luke, spends all day painting with Luke, and then goes to bed with Luke. He barely has time to breathe on his own, to answer Calum and Michael’s texts without Luke seeing what he’s typing, so he pushes the thoughts to the back of his mind and resolves for it to be a problem for Future Ashton. 

“Can we put the bed opposite the window?” Luke asks, when they start moving the furniture back into his room. 

“Sure,” Ashton says. 

“And the wardrobe by the far wall, and the desk next to it,” Luke says. 

“And the pouffe?” Luke considers for a moment. 

“To the right of the window,” he decides. “We should get a mirror, too. A floor length one.” Ashton smirks, not even registering the ‘we’. 

“Need something to wank to?” he asks. Luke throws him a mischievous grin.

“Not in this house,” he says, and then before Ashton has time to process what the fuck that means, he’s carrying on. “I think we should do the wardrobe first, because it’s going in the corner, and the bed last.” Ashton nods, filing Luke’s comment away in his mind alongside the other problems Future Ashton has to deal with, and bends down to pick up his side of the wardrobe. 

It takes them a solid hour to move all the furniture back into the room, largely because Luke’s fussy and wants things to change angles, wants the desk moved about thirty times and directs Ashton around with the pouffe so much that he eventually just drops it next to the window and tells Luke, more than a little irritably, to fucking move it himself. 

“You realise we’re going to have to do all of this again for your room?” Luke says, when Ashton comments that he’s so fucking glad that’s over. Ashton groans, tipping his head back against the freshly painted wall. 

“Yeah, well, it’s not going to take seventeen years to put the furniture back in my room, because I’m not a fucking prima donna,” he says. 

“I’m not a fucking-” Luke’s cut off by the loud sound of his phone ringing. “Prima donna,” he finishes, swiping on whoever’s calling. “Hey, Mike.” 

“Hey,” Michael says. “Where are you? Aren’t you at Ashton’s?” 

“I am,” Luke says, swivelling his phone around to show Ashton. 

“Hey, Mike,” Ashton says. 

“Hey,” Michael says, frowning and putting his face close to the camera. “Where the fuck is that?”

“Luke’s room,” Ashton says. “We redecorated.” Michael sits back, raising his eyebrows. 

“‘Luke’s room’?” he echoes. “Since when does Luke have a room in your house?” 

“No one else uses this room,” Ashton says. “No one else was stupid enough to move to Vegas.”

“Yeah, that was pretty fucking dumb,” Michael says. 

“Alright, fuck you,” Luke says, turning his phone back to face him. “Did you ring me just to bully me, or what?”

“No, but it’s an added bonus,” Michael says. “You guys must be going insane if you’re fucking redecorating.” 

“We’re doing Ashton’s room too,” Luke says. “Pale green.” 

“Nice,” Michael says approvingly. “We’re trying to teach Duke to bark on command.” 

“‘We’?” Ashton says sceptically. 

“Okay, I, and don’t tell Calum. The phrase is ‘best boyfriend’, because I’m sick of Calum referring to himself like that. I’m hoping making Duke bark every time he says it will stop him doing it.” Ashton and Luke both laugh. 

“He’s going to fucking hate you,” Luke says fondly. 

“He already does,” Michael says casually. “What’s new with you guys? Besides auditioning for Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.” 

“Nothing, really,” Luke says, with a shrug, casting a glance at Ashton, who shrugs back. “There’s only so much you can do in lockdown.” 

“True,” Michael says. “It’s shit not being able to annoy you every day.” That’s as close as they’re going to get to an I miss you, and they both know it.

“Love you too, Mikey,” Ashton says, at the same time as Luke says, “You’re allowed to express affection towards us, Mike, you know that, right?” 

“Shut up,” Michael says, but Ashton can hear the smile in his voice. “This is why I’m doing my lockdown with Calum, and not you two.”

“You live with Calum,” Luke says. 

“Yeah, and this is why I don’t live with you,” Michael says. “Anyway, I called because I wanted to know if you wanted to play something.” 

“Yeah,” Luke says. “Ash, can I use your desktop?” Ashton shrugs and nods.

“You gonna go on Twitch?” he asks Michael. 

“Might do,” Michael says. “You gonna watch?” 

“Maybe,” Ashton says.  

“You should join,” Luke says. “Get the viewers up.” 

“Fuck, yeah,” Michael says. “C’mon, Ash. We have to get our bills paid.”

“Twitch’ll only get your bills paid,” Ashton points out. 

“That’s already half the band.”

“I’ll think about it,” Ashton says. “I want to play for a bit, first. Haven’t had a chance in almost a week because of painting this room.” 

“How did it take you that long?” Michael wonders, and then immediately answers his own question: “Oh, right, Luke. Fucking diva.”

“I’m not - hey!” Luke says indignantly. 

“I bet you bitched about carrying the furniture in and out of the room,” Michael says knowingly. 

“It was fucking heavy,” Luke mumbles grumpily, getting off the bed and walking towards the door. “I’m going to log on now. What d’you want to play?” 

“Fortnite’s always a crowd-pleaser,” Michael says as Luke walks out of the room. Ashton follows a few paces behind him, peeling off at the top of the stairs to go down to the basement. 

“Have you told him yet?” he hears Michael say just before Luke slams the door to Ashton’s office shut. He wonders briefly what Luke’s supposed to tell who, before seeing that one of his toms has somehow fallen over and forgetting the train of thought entirely. 

 ------- 

  3 weeks, 3 days, 20 hours 

Ashton plays for a good forty-five minutes before he’s got most of his pent-up energy out, and he wanders upstairs to see what Luke’s up to. He can hear yelling from the office, so he assumes he’s still playing with Michael, and heads in to see Luke, headset on, leaning forwards in concentration. 

“Hey,” Ashton says. 

“Ash!” Luke says, pulling the headphones down to his neck and flashing Ashton a winning smile that definitely doesn’t make him slightly weak at the knees. “Hang on.” He reaches over and unplugs the headphones, and the room is suddenly filled with Michael swearing colourfully. 

“Hey, Mike," Ashton says. “Game going well, I see.” 

“It’s your fucking fault,” Michael shouts. “Luke got distracted when you came in, and died.”

“Oops,” Luke says, not sounding sorry at all. 

“Dickhead,” Michael says. Ashton walks over to Luke, hovering at his shoulder. One of the monitors has got Fortnite on it, big and bright, and Ashton can see Michael and a very fast-moving chat on the other one. 

“How the fuck do you read this chat?” Ashton marvels. 

“I don’t,” Michael says. “I can’t read.”

“This is why we need Ashton here,” Luke says. “Only one who finished school.”

“Is Ash gonna play?” Michael asks. 

“No,” Ashton says. “I fucking hate Fortnite, you know that.” 

“Aw, c’mon, Ash,” Michael wheedles. “For the fans. For the views. For getting my bills paid.” 

“I’ve been streaming CALM for like, a week,” Ashton says. “That’s paying your bills.” 

“And yours,” Michael remarks. 

“I need my bills paying,” Ashton says. “I’ve got extra costs right now.”

“Oh, yeah,” Michael says. “Luke and Ashton have been sort of social-media-MIA, so you guys probably don’t know that they’re spending lockdown together.” Ashton kind of hates the way Michael made it sound like a choice. 

“Luke got stuck in California,” Ashton says, as an explanation, as he watches the chat somehow start moving even faster. 

“Yeah, and now they’re redecorating Ashton’s house together,” Michael says, and Ashton can see the smirk playing on his lips. It makes a hot flash of annoyance flare up in him - Michael’s doing this on purpose, riling him up, playing into the fans’ hands. 

“Have to find some way to pass the time,” Luke says, and he sounds surprisingly calm. 

“Yeah, how are you spending lockdown, Michael?” Ashton says. 

“Me? I’m doing great,” Michael says. “Training Calum’s dog.” 

“To do what?” Ashton’s pushing it, he knows. Michael and Calum haven’t come out yet, not officially - they haven’t said anything either way, and Ashton knows Calum would rather it stayed that way. He doesn’t like his private life mixing with his public life. 

“To obey commands,” Michael says smoothly. “Tends to be what you train a dog to do.” Ashton wishes Michael had never had PR training. 

“I’m going to tell Calum to train Duke to bite you,” he says darkly, because he can’t say you’re an arsehole without confusing everybody and probably causing some insane conspiracy theories about how the band’s about to break up to pop up online. 

“My ankles are terrified,” Michael deadpans. 

“Play with us,” Luke says to Ashton, gazing up at him pleadingly. Ashton swallows. Saying no to Luke’s puppy dog eyes has always been a challenge, even when he didn’t want to kiss him. 

“I don’t have anywhere to sit,” he says weakly. 

“Luke’s lap is right there,” Michael puts in. Ashton’s going to scream at him on FaceTime the moment this stream is over. 

“I’m too heavy,” Ashton says. 

“You sit on my lap all the time,” Michael says. 

“You’re sturdier than Luke.” 

“Hey,” Luke and Michael say at the same time, both affronted. Luckily, as though God’s sensing Ashton’s distress and is sending him a lifeboat, Ashton’s phone starts buzzing in his pocket, and he fishes it out to see it’s Lauren calling. 

“Lauren’s calling,” he says, already halfway to the door. “I’ll speak to you later.” 

“Say hi from me,” Luke says. 

“And me,” Michael says. “Bye, Ash.” 

“Bye, guys!” Ashton calls, to whoever the fuck is on the stream (he doesn’t understand Twitch at all), and heads to his bedroom to take Lauren’s call, resolving to pay for her prom dress, or something. 

 ------- 

  3 weeks, 3 days, 22 hours 

Ashton’s phone buzzes continually through the movie he’s watching with Luke, Michael trying to FaceTime him at least six times until Ashton just turns his phone onto airplane mode and settles back to watch the rest of the film. He catches Luke frowning at him in his peripheral vision, but by the time he’s turned to look at him Luke’s eyes are focused on the screen again, and Ashton shrugs it off. 

He turns his phone back on again when Luke says he’s going to get ready for bed, and he has even more missed calls from Michael and some from Calum (which is probably Michael knowing Ashton’s ignoring him). 

Michael US New can we talk? 

Michael US New i’m sorry if i took it too far on twitch

Michael US New i didn’t know it was a big deal  

Michael US New  ash come on don’t be childish 

Michael US New call me back when you can 

Michael US New love you

Ashton sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, because he really can’t be fucked to have this conversation now, but he knows it’s childish to keep ignoring Michael for something so small and he doesn’t have an excuse to anymore, now that the film’s done. He swipes on one of Michael’s missed FaceTimes, and Michael picks up after three rings. 

“Are you done ignoring me now?” he asks evenly, and Ashton feels guilt starting to creep into his annoyance. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, because he is. It was childish. He almost adds I was watching a movie with Luke , but stops himself, because that’s just an excuse, and Michael would know it. 

“I’m sorry,” Michael says sincerely. “I didn’t know it would upset you that much. I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.” Ashton thinks that’s probably only half-true, because Michael loves pushing people’s buttons, pushing them too far, and doesn’t have a clear definition of boundaries because Calum’s so fucking zen that Michael can pretty much push him to the very edge before he tells him it’s enough. 

“It’s okay,” Ashton says, because it is - it’s not Michael’s fault, technically. It’s just Ashton overreacting to their usual banter. 

“Why’s it a big deal, though?” Michael says. “You’ve never cared before.” Ashton swallows, tugging on one of his curls. 

“Have you talked to Calum?” he asks. 

“Well, yes, we live in the same house,” Michael says. 

“I mean. About.” He swallows again. “This.” Michael frowns. 

“No,” he says. “If Calum doesn’t think I need to know, he doesn’t tell me. And that’s okay.” Ashton’s suddenly filled with a rush of love and affection for both Michael and Calum - Calum, for not telling Michael, his best friend, his boyfriend, his everything, what Ashton had told him, and Michael for being okay with Calum and Ashton, two of his best friends, keeping secrets from him. 

“Okay,” Ashton says. “I, uh. I don’t think I’m ready to tell you yet.” 

“Okay,” Michael says with a shrug, and it’s that easy. “But you know I’m here if you need me.” The guilt washes away the rest of the annoyance, and Ashton suddenly feels a bit sick. 

“I’m sorry,” Ashton says, hoping Michael understands what he’s apologising for. “I- fuck. I love you, Mikey.”

“Love you too,” Michael says, smiling fondly, and it’s a real, genuine smile, one that makes his eyes light up. It makes Ashton kind of see why Calum’s willing to go to the ends of the earth for Michael. 

“I miss you,” Ashton says. 

“I’m not surprised,” Michael says breezily, and Ashton rolls his eyes. “I miss you too, Ash. It’s not the same without you here.” 

“I know,” Ashton says, sighing heavily. “We should have just, like, all gone to yours, or you guys come here, or something.” 

“You want to hear three months’ worth of me and Cal’s sex life?” Michael asks, a smile tugging at his lips. Ashton pulls a face. 

“Fuck you,” he says. “I’m being cute here. Why’ve you got sex on the brain all the time?” 

“You would too if you were dating Calum,” Michael says. Ashton hears something on Michael’s end of the line that sounds suspiciously like Michael, baby, how long are you going to leave me tied up here? 

“What the fuck?” Ashton demands. “Did you call me halfway through having sex with Calum?” 

“Not quite halfway through,” Michael corrects, a mischievous grin on his face. “And technically, you called me.”

“You’re disgusting,” Ashton tells him. “I’m hanging up now.” 

“Probably for the best,” Michael agrees. “I’ve, uh, got places to be. Love you, Ash.” 

“Love you too,” Ashton says grudgingly, because he does, despite himself, and ends the call, trying his best not to think about what’s just happened, or what’s currently happening in the Hood-Clifford household. 

Gross. 

 ------- 

  3 weeks, 4 days, 1 hour 

It’s 1 a.m. when Luke knocks at his door. 

“Hey,” he says, peeking around the door. “Are you asleep?” 

“Yes,” Ashton says, just to be difficult. 

“Shut up,” Luke says automatically, shuffling into the room. He’s wrapped in his duvet, and looks incredibly...well, soft is the only word Ashton can think of. 

“What?” Ashton asks, rolling onto his back letting his forearm rest on his forehead. 

“I can’t sleep.” 

“And that’s my problem because…?” Luke bites his lip. 

“Can I sleep here?” Ashton blinks. “I mean. It feels weird sleeping without you, now. But it’s okay if you want to sleep alone. Obviously.” A warm feeling floods Ashton’s stomach, and he tries to will it away.

“If you want,” he says, as nonchalantly as he can manage. Luke’s face splits into a grin, and he shuffles towards the bed, flopping down on it when Ashton shifts up to make room.

“I even brought my own duvet,” Luke says, blinking at Ashton earnestly. Ashton’s treacherous mind flashes an image of him leaning down and pressing his lips to Luke’s softly in front of his eyes. 

“You did,” is all he can manage in response, trying to quash the fear rising in his chest. 

“Hey,” Luke says, eyes fluttering shut, and now that Ashton’s close he can see how sleepy Luke looks. “Stop thinking so much.” 

“I’m not,” Ashton lies, swallowing hard. 

“You are,” Luke says serenely. The dim light of the moon and light pollution is falling on Luke’s hair through a crack in the curtains, illuminating his soft blonde curls. Ashton thinks he looks a little bit like an angel. “Stop it. Go to sleep.” Ashton huffs out a laugh, hoping the edge of hysteria is only audible to him. 

“It’s not that easy, golden boy,” he says, aiming for sarcastic. A small smile finds its way onto Luke’s lips. 

“Golden boy,” he echoes. “I like it when you call me that.” 

“Go to sleep,” Ashton says, because he doesn’t trust himself to say anything else. 

“Golden boy,” Luke says again, smile audible, and he rolls onto his other side. 

Great. Well. Ashton’s not going to sleep tonight. 

 ------- 

  4 weeks, 13 hours

“Mike and Cal want to FaceTime tonight,” Luke says over lunch. “Apparently Michael’s really missing us. Calum suggested watching a movie together, or something.” It reminds Ashton of the conversation he’d had with Calum last week, which, in the midst of his badly-repressed romantic crisis, he’d somehow completely forgotten to tell Luke about. 

“You know Calum told me they almost broke up three years ago?” he says. Luke gapes at him. 

“What?” he says, mouth open in shock. Ashton nods as he brings another forkful of spaghetti into his mouth. “Mike and Cal?”

“Yeah,” Ashton says, when he’s finished chewing. “Did you know?” 

“No,” Luke says emphatically, now looking somewhere between confused and shocked. “What the fuck?” 

“I know,” Ashton agrees. 

“Why? When? What the fuck? What happened?”

“I don't know, he didn’t say,” Ashton says. “I was just so surprised that I never noticed.” 

“Well, I didn’t either,” Luke says. “Does that make us terrible friends?”

“Probably,” Ashton says. “Or it makes them good liars.” 

“They are good liars,” Luke muses. “God, I’m- I don’t even know what to think. What the fuck? Cal and Michael?” 

“I know,” Ashton says fervently, taking a sip of his juice. 

“How did that even come up?” Luke asks. Ashton shrugs. 

“Can’t remember,” he lies. Luke looks at him for a moment, and Ashton knows that look - it’s the should I, shouldn’t I look that Luke gets when he wants to say something but isn’t quite sure how to say it. 

“D’you think it would have fucked up the band?” he asks eventually, and his tone sounds a little too casual. Ashton shrugs, staring down at his pasta rather than meeting Luke’s eyes. “Like. Two people in the band dating, and then breaking up.” Ashton swallows, and reminds himself that Luke doesn’t mean what Ashton wants him to mean. 

“I don’t know,” he says, and then, feeling a spurt of courage: “Do you?” 

“I don’t know,” Luke echoes. “I hope not.” 

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” Ashton says, because there’s no way Michael and Calum are breaking up now, and they’re the only two people in the band dating.  

“I guess it doesn’t,” Luke says, frowning down at his plate and stabbing at his pasta a little moodily. 

Ashton chalks it up to Luke being the last to find out about Michael and Calum, because he doesn’t like to be left out. He doesn’t really think it warrants that kind of a response, but Luke likes to overreact, so he lets him stew and finishes his pasta. 

 ------- 

  4 weeks, 4 days, 12 hours 

Ashton’s not sure why it’s been over a month since he last picked up a guitar. 

He’s been drumming, laying down some raw beats that he likes the sound of, and he’s even been fiddling around on his piano in the basement, but the first time he thinks about guitar is when he goes upstairs for some water after a particularly hard drumming session and hears Luke strumming and singing, muffled by closed doors. It’s soft, a little tentative, which is usually the mark of Luke writing. 

Ashton knocks on the door and Luke stops abruptly. 

“Yeah?” he says. Ashton cracks the door open and peers around. Luke’s sat cross-legged on the sofa, blonde curls falling in his face, Ashton’s second-favourite guitar in his lap. 

“You writing?” Ashton asks. Luke nods. 

“I’ve been writing for a few weeks,” he says. “When you drum.” Something about that sends a stab of hurt straight to Ashton’s heart. 

“D’you not want me to hear?” Ashton says, trying for nonchalant, but he hears the accusatory note in his own voice. Luke shrugs, a little uncomfortable. 

“I usually write the first bits alone,” he says. “Don’t usually show you guys until I have a little more of an idea where it’s going.” Ashton nods, swallowing away the bitter taste in his mouth. 

“Makes sense,” he says, because it does, even if he doesn’t like it. “Well. Let me know if there’s anything you want me to listen to, yeah?” Luke nods, and Ashton knows that’s his cue to leave. 

“You should use the Martin,” he adds, as he makes to leave; an olive branch. 

“I left that one for you,” Luke says. “In case you wanted to play. I know it’s your favourite.” 

Ashton thinks he might die. He’s never wanted to kiss anybody this much in his life, he’s pretty sure. 

“Oh,” he manages to get out. “That’s. Really thoughtful.” Luke shrugs, looking somewhere between embarrassed and pleased. “You can use it, though. I’m- uh. Going back downstairs.” Ashton turns on his heel and walks out, not throwing a backwards glance at Luke in case he does something fucking stupid like stride back over and kiss him. 

When he gets back to the basement, he picks up his phone and sends a text to Calum. 

Me I’m fucked 

Calum’s typing bubble appears immediately.

Calum US You want to talk about it? 

Ashton squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t. He doesn’t even want to think about it, just wants to fill his head with drums and make his muscles ache and tire himself out so he can just go straight to bed later, fall asleep and not have to dwell on any of this. 

Me No

Calum US Do you think you SHOULD talk about it? 

Ashton hates him. 

Me Yes 

Calum US Okay 

Calum US You know where to find me when you’re ready  

Ashton does, and he thinks it’s probably the only reason he hasn’t collapsed into a panicking mess on the floor. 

Me Love you

He sets his phone down, picks up his headphones, and loses himself in the music, letting the pain in his muscles drown out the panic in his mind. 

 ------- 

  4 weeks, 4 days, 18 hours 

In the end, it’s only three and a half hours until Ashton caves and rings Calum, who picks up after two rings. 

“Drummed yourself out?” Calum asks, even though Ashton’s not even sat at his kit. Ashton hates how well Calum knows him. 

“Fuck you,” he says. 

“What happened?” Ashton sighs. 

“He didn’t use my Martin,” he says helplessly. There’s a beat, and then-

“Sorry, I think your wifi’s cutting out,” Calum says. “All I heard was he didn’t use your Martin.”

“That’s all I said,” Ashton says. 

“Right,” Calum says slowly. “So. Let me get this straight. Luke didn’t use your favourite guitar, and...that made you want to fuck him?”

“Kiss him,” Ashton corrects. Calum rolls his eyes. 

“Oh, sorry, forgot we had to keep it PG,” he says. 

“He was writing,” Ashton says, electing to be the bigger person and ignore that comment, “and he used my Strat because he thought I might want to play and he knows the Martin is my favourite, so. He left it for me.” 

“That is kinda cute,” Calum admits. 

“I know,” Ashton moans. 

“Have you thought about it?” Calum asks. Ashton shakes his head. “C’mon, Ash. All you ever fucking do is think. Why not?” 

“Because he’s here,” Ashton says. “And- and what if I do like him? Or what if I think myself into liking him? What am I supposed to do then?” 

“That’s step two,” Calum says gently. “Step one is just figuring it out for yourself. Don’t overcomplicate it.” 

“I don’t want to figure it out,” Ashton says sullenly. 

“I know,” Calum says. “But that’s kind of why you have to. It’s not going away by not thinking about it, is it?” Ashton hates it when he’s right. 

“You know, I’m older than you,” he says moodily. “I know better than you.” Calum laughs. 

“Which is why you came to me for advice,” he says. 

“Fuck you,” Ashton says again, and Calum grins. 

“I-” he cuts himself off, looking up and over the camera. “What?” There’s the sound of someone shouting at him. “Can it wait a second? I’m on FaceTime.” There’s another pause. “With Ashton.” 

“Don’t mind me,” Ashton grumbles. Calum looks down at him again. 

“Sorry, it’s Mike,” he says, as if it would be anyone else. “Wants me to come in for dinner.” 

“You can go,” Ashton says. 

“Nah, he’s just being a bitch,” Calum says. “Cooked a fucking casserole, like he wasn’t the whitest person alive already.” He looks over the camera again. “I’ll be five minutes, Michael, it’s not going to go cold!” 

Ashton can make out the sound of Michael yelling: “It’s already going fucking cold!” 

“You’re so fucking melodramatic,” Calum calls back. 

“Fine, fuck you,” Michael shouts, and his voice is getting closer. “I’m going to date someone who appreciates my cooking.” Calum rolls his eyes, and then Michael’s coming into the frame, throwing himself down on the outdoor sofa next to Calum. 

“You’re making my casserole go cold,” he says accusingly, looking at Ashton. 

“It’s not going to go cold in five minutes,” Ashton tells him. Michael scowls, and Calum slips an arm around his waist, mindless and easy. Michael leans into Calum’s touch, resting his head on Calum’s shoulder. 

“Exactly,” Calum says, pressing a kiss to the top of Michael’s head, because physical touch from Calum is always a guaranteed way to bring Michael out of a strop. Michael huffs, but wraps an arm around Calum.

“I’m never cooking for you again,” he declares, but they all know that’s a lie. 

“Ashton will send me food,” Calum says, fingers threading through Michael’s hair. “Won’t you, Ash?”

“No,” Ashton says. “I’ve got my hands full trying to force Luke to do something more than make toast.” 

“See?” Michael says, looking up at Calum. “Be thankful you’re not living with Luke.” Calum rolls his eyes back, but he’s smiling fondly. 

Something about their interactions makes Ashton feel kind of empty. He sees Michael and Calum like this all the time, every day, but it feels like it’s the first time he’s actually seeing their interactions - the absent-minded touches, the fond looks - and it makes him ache a little. He wants that. He wants someone to look at him with that kind of affection, to touch him like that without even thinking about it, to share that kind of intimacy and love with. 

He tries his best not to let his mind wander to fantasies of having Luke’s arms wrapped around him whilst he’s cooking dinner, Luke curled up in his lap whilst a movie plays on the TV, Luke pressing a soft kiss to his forehead before they fall asleep, but the thoughts are so loud and pervasive, making Ashton squeeze his eyes shut as if it’ll wipe his mind clean. 

“I should go,” Ashton says, a bitter taste in his mouth all of a sudden. “I’m not sure I want Luke to be in the kitchen on his own.”

“Fucking hell, you’re not actually letting him cook, are you?” Michael says, sounding a little alarmed. “He told me he was helping, but I assumed that meant, like, laying the table, or something.” 

“I’m not his fucking mum,” Ashton grumbles. “Plus, he hasn’t burnt the house down, yet.” 

“Yet,” Calum says pointedly. 

“If he does, let me know, so I can bring my ice cold casserole over and heat it up again,” Michael says, throwing daggers at Calum. Calum just rolls his eyes again. 

“Alright, fucking hell,” he says. “Text me, Ash?” Ashton nods, finger already hovering above the ‘end call’ button. 

“Text me too,” Michael says. 

“No,” Ashton says. “You’ll just send me stupid memes that make no sense.” 

“Y’know, the fans have a point when they call you a boomer,” Calum says. Ashton scowls. 

“Fuck you,” he says. “I’m hanging up now.” 

“Good,” Michael says. 

“Fuck you too,” Ashton says. “Speak to you soon,” Calum says, pointedly, raising his eyebrows. Ashton doesn’t like what he’s implying.

“Fuck you, again,” Ashton says, and hangs up.

Fucking hell. 

 ------- 

  4 weeks, 6 days, 21 hours

The floodgates finally open two days later, despite Ashton’s best attempts to keep everything sealed away tightly in boxes in his mind labelled ‘Don’t Think About This’ and ‘You’re Just Going Through A Dry Spell’. 

They’re sat on the same sofa watching Harry Potter, because they’re sharing a bowl of popcorn and Ashton got sick of getting up every thirty seconds to grab another handful and just threw himself down next to Luke. 

“This is my favourite one,” Luke says off-handedly, when Harry goes into Diagon Alley for the first time. “Like, it’s so happy.” 

“There’s literally an attempt on his life at the end,” Ashton says. 

“Well, it’s happier than the others,” Luke says defensively, reaching for another handful of popcorn. 

“That’s not really a high bar,” Ashton points out. 

“Alright, what’s your favourite then?” Luke asks, watching Harry and Hagrid in Gringotts. 

“The last one,” Ashton says. 

“That’s the saddest,” Luke says. 

“No, they win the war.” 

“Yeah, but, like, hundreds of people die.” 

“Alright, it’s bittersweet,” Ashton allows. Luke rolls his eyes, shoving the rest of the popcorn in his hand into his mouth. Ashton should probably find it disgusting, but he doesn’t. 

They watch in silence for a while longer, Luke totally enraptured in the film, despite the fact they’ve seen it about forty times on Michael’s movie nights. It’s not until Harry’s in the Forbidden Forest in detention that Luke’s hand snatches out and grabs Ashton’s tightly. Ashton looks down, and then up at Luke’s face, hoping the surprise will outweigh the tension in his expression. 

“Don’t like this bit,” is all Luke offers as an explanation, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the screen.

“Well, stop watching, then,” Ashton suggests. 

“I have to watch,” Luke says. Ashton doesn’t think that makes any sense. 

“It’s not like you don’t know what happens,” Ashton says, and Luke’s grip on Ashton’s hand tightens as Harry stumbles across the hooded figure drinking from the unicorn. It kind of fucking hurts, so, just trying to get rid of the pain, Ashton turns his hand around so his palm is facing Luke’s, meaning their fingers tangle together loosely. Luke slots his fingers in between Ashton’s with purpose, making the hair on Ashton’s arms stand on end, but when he chances a look at Luke, he’s still focused on the film. 

Harry gets away, as he obviously always does, but Luke’s fingers don’t move out of Ashton’s. Ashton tries not to think about what that might mean, but his mind is in overdrive for the remainder of the film. Luke’s probably just forgotten, he tells himself, as he stares through the TV, not taking in any of the movie. He’s so enraptured in the film, he’s probably just not realised his fingers are still linked to Ashton’s. 

That theory, however, is out of the window when Harry approaches Professor Quirrell in front of the Mirror of Erised. 

“Why the fuck would you walk towards him?” Luke says, lifting their joined hands to indicate to the screen. 

“He’s a Gryffindor,” Ashton says, proud of how steady he’s able to keep his voice despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins. 

“Worst house to be in,” Luke says decisively. “No sense of self-preservation. No wonder Harry keeps having near-death experiences.” 

“Yeah, well,” is all Ashton can muster weakly in response, but it doesn’t seem to matter, because Luke’s already making a noise of frustration as Harry gets all the way up to Quirrell. 

Ashton swallows, trying to get some moisture back into his mouth, and wills himself not to think about the sensation of Luke’s hand, warm and slightly calloused in his own. 

“I love that movie,” Luke says passionately, when the credits start rolling, forcing Ashton back into reality. Luke’s got a happy little smile on his face, eyes lit up, and Ashton, thoughts having been on Luke for the past forty-five minutes, really, really wants to kiss him. 

So, instinctively, he does. 

He leans forwards, not thinking about what he’s doing, and cups Luke’s jaw with his free hand, eyes fluttering closed as he presses his lips to Luke’s. They’re soft, so fucking soft, and he can feel one of Luke’s curls brushing against the hollow of his eye, and he’s just so fucking overwhelmed with Luke, the feeling of Luke against him, the scent of Luke around him, the warmth emanating from his body, Luke, Luke, Luke. 

It’s a split second, but it feels like forever, the spell only broken when Luke makes a little noise - surprise? Distress? - and tilts his head, giving Ashton a better angle, and fucking kisses back. 

Ashton springs back, realisation hitting him like a sickening, ice-cold wave. 

He’s fucking kissing Luke. 

“Uh,” he says intelligently, taking in Luke’s red, spit-slicked lips, his wide, blue eyes, his dumbfounded expression. “I. Fuck.” Ashton jumps up, balling his hands into fists at his side, and stalks out of the room and into the basement. He got up too fast and his vision is swimming, but he pushes through it, figuring if he faints and falls down the basement stairs and dies - well, at least he won’t have to deal with the aftermath of what he’s just done. 

He sits down on one of the beanbags opposite his drum kit, the light of the basement suddenly too bright and making his head hurt, heart pounding in his ears, palms sweating, mouth dry. He can feel himself starting to hyperventilate, can’t even keep up with all the thoughts in his mind, and takes deeps breaths, exhaling and inhaling shakily. Breathe, he tells himself. Just fucking breathe. 

With fumbling hands, he slides his phone out of his pocket and dials Calum, who doesn’t pick up at first. 

“Fuck, c’mon,” Ashton mumbles, dialling again. Still nothing. Fuck. This is some sort of cosmic joke. What the fuck is he doing, anyway - he’s in fucking lockdown, it’s not like he’s busy. 

Ashton dials a third time, and this time, thankfully, Calum picks up. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, crease between his eyebrows, as he walks swiftly out of his living room and into the kitchen. 

“No,” Ashton says. 

“What happened?” Calum asks soothingly. Ashton reminds himself, again, to breathe. 

“I kissed Luke.” Calum blinks. 

“You- you kissed him?” Ashton nods, swallowing hard. “Okay. Breathe, Ash. Breathe.”

“‘M breathing,” Ashton says, but he does it anyway - in for seven, out for eleven. 

“Okay,” Calum says calmly. “D’you want to tell me what happened, or?” Ashton shakes his head. “Okay,” Calum says again. “D’you want me to talk?” Ashton nods. “Alright. Mikey and I are doing some garden-scaping, can you believe? I cut a fucking hedge today. I’ve never done anything that domestic in my life. We made a veggie lasagne for dinner - or, well, I made a veggie lasagne for dinner, and I made Michael a normal one, and Michael bitched about it not tasting the same because he thought I’d just made a veggie one for the both of us. He’s still sulking about that, actually.” Ashton huffs out a laugh at that, heartbeat slowing a little. That sounds like Michael. “I’ve been writing a bit, but nothing major. I’m using this as a bit of a break, trying to clear my mind, get myself back in a headspace I’m happy with. Michael seems to think ‘lockdown’ is synonymous to ‘play as many videogames during your waking hours as possible’, though. That’s why I made him start on the garden-scaping, actually. It’s the only way I can get him out of the house, and he’s starting to glow in the dark.” Calum pauses, and Ashton exhales again, far less shaky. 

“Thanks,” he says. 

“Always,” Calum says sincerely. “So? What happened.” 

“I don’t know,” Ashton says. “I- we were watching Harry Potter, and then he got scared, and held my hand, and then- he didn’t let go, and. I kissed him.” 

“Right,” Calum says. “Look, I know this is, like, emotionally distressing for you, and all, but who the fuck gets scared of Harry Potter?” Ashton laughs, a little hysterical. 

“I know,” he says emphatically. 

“So, he didn’t let go of your hand?” Calum says. Ashton nods miserably. 

“And he definitely didn’t forget he was holding my hand,” he adds. “He used our hands to point at the TV.” 

“Oh, Ash,” Calum says, with a sigh, closing his eyes. “You- you’re, like, new levels of stupid.” 

“I know,” Ashton says, because he knows he’s a fucking idiot for kissing Luke - he doesn’t need reminding. “I didn’t mean to kiss him.” 

“And? Did he- what did he do?” 

“He- I don’t- I mean, it seemed like...he kissed back?” Ashton says uncertainly. Calum pinches the bridge of his nose, and inhales deeply. 

“So why is this a problem?” Ashton gapes at him. 

“Are you even listening to me?” he demands. “I kissed Luke.” 

“Well, you said he kissed back,” Calum says. 

“I don’t know if he did,” Ashton says, distressed. “It just seemed like it.” 

“You- fucking hell. Ashton, will you listen to yourself? You kissed Luke, and he kissed b-” Ashton makes a noise of protest “-okay, probably kissed back.” 

“It’s just, like, what you do when someone kisses you, though,” Ashton says. “Like. It’s polite.” Calum puts his head in his hands. 

“You think Luke kissed you to be polite?” 

“Okay, not- fuck, not polite, but, like, on automatic pilot,” Ashton says hurriedly. 

“Fucking hell, Ash. This conversation has shaved a solid five years off my life,” Calum tells him. “And? How did you leave it?” 

“I, uh.” He knows Calum’s not going to like his answer. “Ran out?” 

“Ran out?” Ashton blinks sheepishly. “Christ. Make that ten years.” 

“It’s not funny,” Ashton protests, even though neither of them are laughing. 

“I know,” Calum says, voice softening again. “You should talk to him.” Ashton shakes his head. “Ash, you’ve just kissed the guy. The least you can do is talk about it.” 

“No,” Ashton says immediately, even though he knows he should. “I’m stuck in a house with him, Cal. It’ll be so fucking awkward.” 

“So, what, your grand plan is to just...avoid him? Move into the basement?” Ashton nods miserably. “That’s fucking stupid, and you know it. That’s going to make you both miserable.” 

“It can’t be any worse,” Ashton says, picking at a loose thread on his jumper. Calum frowns. 

“Look, I’m not going to intervene,” he says, “yet. But you have to talk to him.” 

“What do you mean, yet?” Ashton says, a shade indignantly. 

“Well, it’s my fucking band too, isn’t it?” 

“Nothing’s happened!” Ashton says. “The band’s fine!” Calum shoots him a look. 

“Talk to him,” he says. Ashton’s shoulders slump. “Hey. You’re alright, Ash. I’ve got you.” 

“I know,” Ashton says. “I love you.” 

“Love you too,” Calum says. “Go and get your boy.” 

“He’s not my boy,” Ashton says, but Calum’s already hung up. “Fuck you,” he says to his contact list, before pocketing his phone again and standing up, taking a deep breath to steel himself. 

It’s just Luke, he tells himself as he walks back up the stairs. He talks to Luke all the time. This isn’t going to be any different. 

Luke’s not in the living room where Ashton left him, and Ashton has a brief moment of panic as he takes the stairs two at a time, thinking Luke might have left the fucking house in lockdown, but he finds Luke in Ashton’s room, pillow and duvet in hand. He looks like a deer in headlights when he sees Ashton in the doorway. 

“What are you doing?” Ashton blurts, cursing inwardly as soon as the words have left his mouth, because that’s not what he came here to say. 

“I, uh. I think. I should probably sleep in my room,” Luke says, biting his lip. Ashton’s stomach sinks. 

Fuck. Ashton’s fucked things up. 

“You don’t have to,” he tries. 

“I should,” Luke mumbles. Ashton feels sick. 

“Okay,” he says. Luke breaks the gaze first, busying himself with gathering all his belongings, which are strewn across the room by now - phone charger next to Ashton’s, book he’d been reading on the bedside table, pyjamas crumpled on the floor like they always are - and walks over to the door. Ashton, not quite processing what’s going on, takes a second to move aside, and it’s the most uncomfortable second of his life. 

“Night, then,” Luke says, awkwardly. 

“Night,” Ashton echoes, and he can do nothing but watch helplessly as Luke trails into his room and shuts the door behind him. 

Fuck. 

 ------- 

  5 weeks, 8 hours 

Ashton, predictably, doesn’t sleep a fucking wink. 

He drags himself out of bed at eight a.m., figuring he’s just fucked on the sleep front, and tiptoes to the shower, ears straining in case Luke’s already awake. He hears Luke’s door open at quarter past over the sound of the rushing water - boiling hot, but Ashton can’t even feel it on his skin - and stands under the stream until his skin is wrinkled, waiting to hear it shut again. It does at half past, and Ashton gets out, towels himself off quickly, and all but runs back to his room, shutting the door behind him as quietly as he can. 

He’s not hungry enough for breakfast, the conversation of last night still weighing down on his stomach, and when lunchtime rolls around, he finds he’s not hungry enough for that either. He spends the whole morning replying to emails he’s been ignoring, forcing himself to find something that takes so much of his concentration that he can’t think about Luke, and has actually caught up on all of his admin stuff by three p.m.. That, however, leaves him with only two choices - risk going downstairs to the basement, or stay in his room indefinitely and hope the lockdown ends before he starves to death. 

Ashton’s dithering is interrupted by a buzzing on his bedside table, and he looks over to see Calum calling him. He lets it ring out, because the second-last thing he wants to do right now (after ‘talk to Luke’) is relive last night. 

Calum, though, is persistent, and despite Ashton turning his phone over so he won’t see it light up, it keeps buzzing, eventually irritating him so much that he just picks up. 

“What,” he snaps. Calum arches an eyebrow. 

“Afternoon to you too,” he says. 

“What,” Ashton repeats, no kinder than before. 

“What happened?” 

“He hates me,” Ashton says flatly. “So.” 

“I’m sure he doesn’t,” Calum says. 

“He told me he should sleep in his room again. And I said he didn’t have to, and he said he did. So.” Ashton shrugs, as if it’ll dull the searing hurt that’s seeping into every pore of his body. 

“Oh, Ash,” Calum says, and he sounds genuinely sorry. 

“Don’t,” Ashton says dully. “I don’t want to hear it.” Calum nods, biting his lip. 

“Is there anything I can do?” he asks. Ashton shrugs again. 

“Surgically remove my emotions?” 

“So you do like him?” Ashton huffs out a humourless laugh. 

“I think we’re a bit beyond that debate, Cal,” he says. Calum’s expression softens. 

“I’m sorry,” he says honestly. 

“It’s okay,” Ashton says. “It is what it is.” 

“D’you want to go?” Calum asks. Ashton nods. Talking is just tiring him out. “Okay. But- don’t shut yourself away, okay? You’ve got me, and Mikey. We love you.” 

“Love you too,” Ashton mumbles listlessly. Calum hesitates, like he’s going to say something else, but then just sighs. 

“I really do love you,” he says. 

“You too,” Ashton says. Calum sends him another sad smile, and then Ashton’s staring at his lock screen. Somehow, even though he’d wanted Calum to go, he feels even more lonely now, his bedroom feeling even more empty. He doesn’t want to call Calum back, though, because he knows it’ll just be more sad smiles and worried sighs, and he’s got nothing else to do in his bedroom that’ll take his mind off Luke so he braces himself and gets out of bed to go to the basement. 

His heart is pounding as he jogs downstairs, not relenting until he’s slammed the basement door shut behind him a little louder than he’d wanted to and made his way over to his kit. He pulls his headphones over his head, puts his music on shuffle and then skips at least fifteen songs until he finds one he actually knows on drums, and starts playing. 

He forces himself to put his all into playing, so focused on getting the fills just right that he doesn’t have time to think about Luke, switching songs to something harder anytime he catches his mind wandering, keeping himself occupied. He’s exhausted by the time he looks at his phone and sees it’s eight p.m., running on zero sleep and zero food, and he’s got a headache from not drinking enough water. He is pretty fucking thirsty, especially after playing for hours, so he pads up the stairs and stands by the door to the basement for a moment, listening for any sounds from the kitchen. He doesn’t hear anything, luckily, so he chances it and slips out hesitantly, speed-walking over to the sink and grabbing a glass. 

He gulps down three glasses of water and is just filling up the fourth when he hears a sound behind him and whips around in shock. 

“Uh,” Luke says, looking around the room wildly. He looks a mess, Ashton notes. “I, um. Making dinner.” 

“Oh,” Ashton says. “Sorry. Uh, I was getting water.” He holds up the glass, as if it’ll end the sheer fucking awkwardness of this interaction. “Sorry. I’m- um. Going back upstairs.” Luke just nods, biting his lip, and stands aside for Ashton to walk past. Ashton catches a brief, faint imprint of Luke as he passes him, slightly stale cologne and soap, and it makes his heart ache. 

He only realises when he gets up to his room that he hasn’t eaten a single thing today, and, despite still having no appetite, thinks he’ll probably pass out if he doesn’t, so digs out the only thing he has in his room - a bar of chocolate - and forces it down himself. He washes it down with the glass of water, wishing he’d taken a bigger glass, and settles back down in bed, feeling the exhaustion catching up with him. Fucking finally. 

He rolls over, not bothering to close the curtains or plug his phone in, and lets himself drift off into an uneasy, dreamless sleep. 

 ------- 

  5 weeks, 1 day, 13 hours 

Ashton doesn’t get up until midday, and then plugs in his dead phone and fucks around on his laptop a bit until he can no longer ignore the growling in his stomach. He hasn’t heard Luke’s door since he woke up, which either means he’s been downstairs the whole time, or he’s holed up in his room, which Ashton prays is the case. He feels a bit woozy as he goes downstairs - he supposes a chocolate bar isn’t really enough to tide an active twenty-five year old man over for a whole day - and decides to just put the kettle on and make some pasta, sinking down into a chair because he doesn’t trust himself to stand up for the length of the time the kettle takes to boil. 

He eats listlessly, not liking the feeling of the food in his mouth and forcing himself to swallow, eating as fast as he can with the ever-present threat of Luke coming downstairs hanging over his head. He makes it safely, though, even managing to wash up and put his pan away before slinking upstairs. He hears Luke’s door click open a few seconds after he’s clicked his own shut, and his stomach flips unpleasantly - conclusive proof that Luke’s actively avoiding him. 

It’s another few hours before Ashton realises he really, really needs to piss, and he hadn’t been paying attention to whether or not Luke had actually come back earlier, so he gives it until he’s pretty much ready to wet himself and then bolts out of his room - straight into Luke, who’s coming up the stairs. 

“Hi,” Luke says, a little nervous. Ashton groans inwardly. This is not the fucking moment. 

“Hi,” Ashton says, eyes flicking to the bathroom door. 

“Can we talk?” Luke says. 

“Uh,” Ashton says, looking towards the bathroom again. “Can it wait?” Luke looks a little taken aback. 

“Oh,” he says, in a small voice. “Uh. I guess.” Ashton nods curtly, mind on nothing but how badly he needs to fucking empty his bladder, and pretty much sprints into the bathroom, sighing in relief as he finally gets to the toilet. 

He starts thinking about what Luke had said as he’s washing his hands - for thirty seconds, of course - and a sense of dread settles in his stomach. What’s Luke going to say? Is he going to end the band? Say he wants to move back to Australia, get away from Ashton? 

Ashton dawdles drying his hands, not wanting to face whatever Luke’s going to throw at him, but eventually, when his hands are starting to actually get exfoliated by the towel, he drops it reluctantly and unlocks the bathroom door, ready to knock on Luke’s door. Just as he’s raising his hand, though, he hears a soft murmur of voices from inside - Luke, and a female voice. He can’t make out what they’re saying, because Luke’s speaking incredibly quietly, but it sounds like it could be Liz on the phone if the accent’s anything to go by. Ashton’s stomach twists. He’s probably getting advice on how to tell Ashton he doesn’t want to be in a band with him anymore. 

He walks into his own room quickly, shutting the door as silently as he can, and flops down onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling and feeling equal parts incredibly sorry for himself and sick. 

He’s well and truly fucked things up. 

 ------- 

  5 weeks, 4 days, 15 hours 

The next few days continue in pretty much the same pattern. 

Ashton gets up and showers, during which time Luke goes downstairs and makes himself breakfast. Ashton waits for Luke to come back before he leaves the bathroom and gets himself brunch, and then waits for Luke to go down to make lunch until he can slip into the basement. Luke makes sure to be done with dinner by eight so Ashton can go upstairs and cook for himself, and then they both spend their evenings locked in their respective rooms. 

It’s fucking miserable. 

Ashton hasn’t had any human contact in, like, four days, and he’s struggling, so he can’t even imagine how Luke’s coping. He can sometimes hear the soft murmur of voices floating through the wall but always puts his headphones on, not wanting to think about Luke ringing around telling people he’s quitting the band as soon as lockdown is over because Ashton came onto him and made things fucking awkward. 

Calling Calum helps, a bit, because he gets it, and he just sits there in silence, going about his day and saying nothing, just so Ashton isn’t sat, desperately lonely, in his room or in the basement. But it’s not the same, and Ashton finds he’s not just missing human contact - he’s missing Luke. 

He misses the way they’d bicker over dinner, how Ashton would try and force Luke to take more of a responsibility in cooking and Luke would pout and refuse, misses the way Luke’s face would light up when Ashton complimented him, misses the light-hearted way Luke would tease him for taking two showers a day, misses the warmth of Luke next to him in bed and his blue eyes blinking sleepily up at Ashton in the morning. 

It’s fucking pathetic. Ashton’s never been so broken-hearted, not after any of his breakups. He’s deflated, listless, lifeless. 

On the fifth day, however, he’s jolted out of his moping in the late afternoon by a hesitant knock at his door. 

“Yeah?” he says, heart suddenly beating too fast, because it can only be Luke. The door opens, revealing an anxious-looking Luke standing in the doorway. 

“Hi,” Luke says. 

“Hi,” Ashton says, swallowing hard. He looks fucking gorgeous, and Ashton wants nothing more than to reach out, pull him close. He’s suddenly very aware of how disgusting he must look - he’s barely changed out of his pyjamas for almost a week. 

“I, uh. Need to speak to you,” Luke says. Ashton’s stomach bottoms out. 

“Please don’t leave the band,” he says, all in a rush. “I’m- I’m sorry. Just. Please.” Luke’s brow furrows. 

“I’m, uh. Not leaving the band,” he says, and Ashton feels a wave of relief so strong wash over him that were he not lying down, he thinks his knees would buckle. 

“Oh,” he says. “Well. Good.” They stare at each other for a moment. “Uh. What was it that you wanted to talk about?” 

“Oh,” Luke says, as though he’s just remembered, and shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot. “I’m. Going.” 

“Going?” Ashton’s confused. 

“Yeah,” Luke says nervously. “To Mike and Cal’s.” 

“But you- we’re in lockdown,” Ashton says. 

“Well, I’ve been here long enough that I can be certain I’m not contagious, and the same goes for Mike and Calum,” Luke says. “And I’m not going to leave the house at all after I go to theirs, just in case, and I’m going in my car, so.” He shrugs, and Ashton’s stomach sinks. 

“I’m sorry,” Ashton says. “I- fuck. I didn’t mean to fuck things up.” 

“It’s okay,” Luke says, sounding a little sad. “You made a mistake. And, like, you can’t help how you feel.” 

“I don’t want you to go,” Ashton blurts, even though that’s fucking obvious, given that he fucking kissed Luke. He scrambles out of bed, lurches to his feet, and takes a step towards Luke before thinking better of it. Luke probably doesn’t want to be near him right now. 

“I- what?” Luke sounds a little confused, and Ashton opens his mouth to respond, but is interrupted by Luke’s phone ringing. Fucking typical. 

“Sorry,” Luke says, and he has the grace to look embarrassed as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. “I- fuck, sorry, I really should take this. It’s Michael.” 

“Oh,” Ashton says. It kind of stands to reason, because Luke’s about to go to their house. As Luke swipes on his phone, Ashton’s own phone starts buzzing on his bedside table, and he reaches over to see it’s Calum. Fuck it, he thinks, as Luke waits for his phone to connect - if Luke’s going to talk to Michael, he can talk to Calum.

“Don’t fucking come here!” Michael’s voice yells, all of a sudden, making both Luke and Ashton jump. 

“What?” Luke says, sounding bewildered. “Why no-” 

“Don’t let Luke leave!” Calum shouts, and Ashton nearly drops his phone in surprise. 

“What th- are you okay? Are you sick?” Ashton’s first thought is fuck, are they ill? Have they got it? 

“I’m sorry, Luke,” Michael says, all in a rush. “I promised I wouldn’t tell Cal, but he mentioned something, and we both-” 

“Is that Michael?” Calum says, and Ashton looks down to see him rushing from their bedroom into the living room. “Mike, are you calling Luke?” 

“Yeah, I have to-” 

“I’m on the phone to Ashton,” Calum says. 

“I’m with Luke,” Ashton says. 

“Oh,” Michael says. “Well. That makes things easier.” Luke’s phone beeps, and Ashton looks over to see that Michael’s hung up and shuffled into frame on Ashton’s phone. “You guys have to talk to each other.” 

“Mike,” Luke says, and he sounds pleading. He throws Ashton a nervous look. “Don’t.” 

“No, you have to fucking tell him,” Michael presses. 

“Ash, I’m sorry, I didn’t tell him, but Michael worked it out, and-” Calum starts, but Michael interrupts.

“You guys are fucking-” 

“Michael.”

“-okay, you’re not the most intelligent, how’s that?” 

“What the-” Ashton starts indignantly, but Michael cuts him off. 

“Luke, tell him,” he says. 

“Mike, I told you-” 

“Ash,” Calum says, much gentler than Michael. “Why did you kiss Luke?” Ashton blanches. 

“What the fuck?” he whispers, because this wasn’t part of the fucking deal. He told Calum in confidence . And sure, Ashton knows, Calum knows, and clearly Luke knows, which is seventy-five percent of the room, but still. It’s a forbidden topic. 

“Why?” Calum pushes. 

“Cal,” Ashton says weakly, because he doesn’t think he can take this kind of humiliation in front of his two other best friends. He’s steadfastly not looking at Luke - he doesn’t think he could handle the shame. 

“Why?” Calum asks again, firmly. No one speaks for a good few seconds, and the tension hangs thick in the air.

“Because I like him,” Ashton mumbles eventually, when it becomes clear no one else is going to speak. 

“Fucking finally,” Calum mutters. 

“You- what?” Luke sounds absolutely nonplussed. 

“I like you, okay?” Ashton says, feeling like a fucking fourteen year old. He’s still staring at the floor. “I- I didn’t, and then I did, and. Then I kissed you. And you didn’t, like.” He shrugs, wishing whatever sins he’s committed in his life would all catch up to him at the same time and God would smite him on the spot. 

“But- you ran away,” Luke says, still sounding perplexed. “And when I tried to talk to you, you- you didn’t want to.” 

“What?” Ashton says. “When?” 

“You ran to the bathroom,” Luke says. 

“I- fuck, Luke, I needed to piss,” Ashton says. 

“Oh,” Luke says. “But. You still ran away.” 

“I was scared,” Ashton says. “Like. If I’d fucked things up, with you, with the band.” 

“Oh,” Luke says again, and Ashton finally chances a look at him. He looks baffled, but a small smile is spreading across his face. 

“Luke?” Michael prompts. 

“I, uh.” Luke swallows, smiling properly now. “I like you too?” 

“Fucking finally,” Michael says, sounding relieved, and then Ashton’s phone beeps. 

They’re alone. 

“You- what?” Ashton’s not quite sure what he’s just heard. 

“I- I thought you knew how I felt, and you regretted it because you ran away, and you didn’t feel the same as me, because I- don’t make me say it again,” Luke says, a pleading note to his voice, but he’s still smiling. “Do you- do you really?” 

“Really what?” 

“Like me,” Luke says, sounding like a fourteen year old. 

“Yeah,” Ashton says boldly.  

“Oh,” Luke says, full-on grinning now. “Oh.” 

“And- and you like me?” Ashton says. “Like, romantically?” Ashton has to be sure that he’s understanding this correctly. 

“Ash, I’ve been trying to hit on you for the past six weeks,” Luke says, rolling his eyes, still grinning. 

“You have?” Ashton says, surprised, and then- oh. Oh. Luke watches the realisation dawn on Ashton’s face, and snorts. 

“Yeah,” he says pointedly. 

“Oh,” Ashton says, a warm feeling starting to unfurl in his stomach, a smile forming on his lips. 

“Yeah,” Luke says again, and they stand there for a moment, grinning at each other. 

“So,” Ashton says, a little nervously. “I can kiss you?” 

“Please,” Luke says emphatically, and Ashton laughs, elation bubbling in his chest, and crosses the room in two strides to kiss Luke. They’re both still grinning, lips pressed together awkwardly, and Ashton’s momentum makes Luke stumble backwards a little. He finds his balance quickly, though, and wraps an arm around Ashton’s waist, pulling him closer, and Ashton tilts his head a little to give him a better angle. Then - finally - they’re properly kissing, Luke’s lips slotted soft and warm against Ashton’s. Ashton slides one hand to the nape of Luke’s neck, resting in the nest of curls there, and slips the other around Luke’s waist, trying to imprint this moment - the feeling of Luke against him, around him - in his memory forever, atom for atom. 

They kiss a little tentatively at first, unsure what the boundary is, what’s okay, but the tension soon drains from Luke’s shoulders and he kisses a little more desperately, a little more like he has something to prove. Ashton tries not to think about the little keening noises Luke’s making, tries not to let them go straight to his dick, but kisses back harder, steadying Luke with the arm around his waist when it seems like he might stumble again. 

Eventually, the kiss turns slow, languid, easy, as it really sinks in - Ashton’s kissing Luke, and Luke’s kissing back. Something’s burning warm in Ashton’s stomach, heating him from the inside out, spreading through his veins like lazy flames, making him smile into the kiss, and feels Luke smiling against his lips too. 

Eventually, Ashton breaks away, a little breathless, and he’s not sure whether that’s because of the kiss or because of Luke. 

“Fuck,” he says, dropping his head onto Luke’s shoulder and pressing a soft kiss there. 

“We just kissed,” Luke says, and he sounds kind of awe-struck. 

“We did that, like, last week,” Ashton points out. 

“Shut up,” Luke says, and it’s fond, and it sounds like Calum speaking to Michael, and Ashton doesn’t think he’s ever been happier. 

“So,” he says hopefully, drawing back a little to look at Luke. He kind of likes that Luke’s a little taller than him, likes that he feels a little small and protected in Luke’s arms. “Does this mean you’re going to sleep in here again?” 

Luke just grins at him. 

 -------

  8 weeks, 3 days, 13 hours 

“I am not moving that fucking bed out of your room,” Luke says pointedly, drying the glass Ashton hands him with a tea towel. 

“Well, I’m not having my bed get splattered with paint because you don’t know how to handle a paintbrush,” Ashton shoots back, scrubbing a plate. Luke scowls at him. 

“I know how to handle a fucking paintbrush,” Luke says sulkily, putting the glass back in the cupboard, and then brightens a little as he smirks, and adds: “I know how to handle a lot of things.” 

“The truth not being one of them, apparently,” Ashton says, dodging the towel that Luke swats in his direction. “C’mon, Luke. We’re stuck at home, we’ve watched every film on Netflix, we’ve fucked ourselves raw - we’ve run out of condoms, actually, is that on the shopping list?”

“Yeah,” Luke says.

“Right,” Ashton continues, “we’ve fucked ourselves raw, we’ve decorated your room, we’ve written songs, and we’ve already got the paint.” Luke groans, tipping his head back in frustration. 

“I don’t want to have to spend a whole week dodging a bed in the bathroom again,” Luke says. 

“Well, if you’re not such a fucking bitch about it this time, it’ll be done in less than a week,” Ashton notes, handing him the last bit of cutlery to dry off and draining the sink. Luke flips him off after drying the cutlery, placing it back in the drawer and hanging the tea towel off the front of the oven. 

“I was not a bitch about it,” he says petulantly, but he’s slipping his arms around Ashton’s waist as he says it, resting his chin on Ashton’s shoulder. It sends a thrill shooting through Ashton’s body, the same thrill he’s been experiencing for a good three weeks now - Luke is his, now. Still his best friend, still doesn’t pick up his fucking towels in the morning, still stomps away from an argument and then comes running back a few minutes later, but also more, also the man who kisses Ashton’s temple softly when he thinks Ashton’s asleep, who moans so fucking prettily when Ashton’s in between his thighs, who reaches for Ashton’s hand when he’s scrolling through his phone, just because. Ashton hums at the thought, tilting his head to one side to make room for Luke, and slots his wet fingers in between Luke’s, who makes a noise of disgust. 

“Gross,” he complains, and Ashton grins, spinning around in Luke’s grasp and looping his arms around his neck, letting his fingers trail cold and wet down Luke’s spine. Luke shivers and squirms, but doesn’t try to pull away. “Stop it, ew.” 

“Say you’ll help me move the furniture out of my room,” Ashton says, wiping the back of his fingers on Luke’s neck. Luke brings his shoulders up to his ears in an attempt to stop Ashton’s hands moving. 

“Fine, fuck, I’ll help you move the fucking bed,” Luke says, and Ashton stops, and leans up to press a chaste kiss to Luke’s lips. 

“That’s all you had to say, sweetheart,” he says, and Luke smiles at him, bright and mischievous. 

“I said the bed,” he says. “You’re on your own with the wardrobe.” 

“Arsehole,” Ashton says, but he’s grinning too. 

“Actually, I’ve been thinking,” Luke says, and he sounds a little nervous. 

“God, you’re getting experimental,” Ashton says, earning himself another scowl from Luke. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Luke says. “I kind of like LA, now I’ve got you here.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Ashton says, trying not to look like his heart is bursting at the idea that he’s the reason Luke’s changed his mind on LA. “Are you going to buy yourself a place?” Luke bites his lip. 

“Well,” he says, and it dawns on Ashton what he’s saying. 

“Oh,” he says, a smile creeping onto his face. “Luke Hemmings, are you asking me to ask you to move in?” Luke drops his forehead onto Ashton’s shoulder. 

“No,” he says weakly, sounding embarrassed. Ashton shrugs his shoulder, forcing Luke to move his head back up. 

“You are,” he says teasingly. “You want to live with me.” 

“I do live with you,” Luke says. 

“You know what I mean,” Ashton says. 

“Fuck you,” Luke says, but there’s no heat behind the words, just a touch of self-consciousness. “You can just say no.” 

“I’m not saying no,” Ashton says. 

“Well, it doesn’t sound like you’re saying yes.” 

“Alright, how does this sound?” Ashton says, using his arms around Luke’s neck to pull him closer. “What should we do with the spare room?” Luke frowns at him for a moment, then, as realisation dawns on him, a slow smile spreads across his face. 

“Yeah?” he says. 

“Yeah,” Ashton says. “I mean, we already live together. Plus, you have a house in Vegas, and I want a holiday home.” Luke snorts. 

“I think we should turn it into a studio,” Luke says, and it takes Ashton a moment to remember what he’s talking about. 

“I have a studio,” he says. 

“Yeah, in the basement, you fucking vampire,” Luke says. 

“How much money do you think I have?” Ashton demands. “I can’t just rebuild my entire studio upstairs because golden boy wants to catch some fucking rays.” He doesn’t miss the way Luke’s lips quirk up at ‘golden boy’. 

“Okay, how about a gaming room?” 

“You don’t even play that much,” Ashton says. Luke rolls his eyes. 

“Fucking hell, alright, a sex dungeon,” he suggests sarcastically. Ashton opens his mouth, and then shuts it again. 

“You know what?” he muses, grinning when Luke sighs dramatically. “Alright, how about an office?” Luke frowns. 

“You have an office,” he says. 

“Your office,” Ashton says. Luke blinks, and then smiles. 

“Oh,” he says, sounding way too happy for someone talking about offices. “I mean. I’d rather just have a desk in your office.” Ashton rolls his eyes then, hard. 

“You’re fucking impossible,” he says. “I guess it’ll just have to stay a guest room.” Luke pulls Ashton tighter to him, their bodies pressed against each other top to toe. 

“You better not be planning on inviting any other hot young men living in Vegas around,” he says warningly. Ashton blinks up at him, a small smile unfurling on his lips. 

“I’ve already got the best one,” he says, and Luke grins at him. 

“You’re a fucking romantic,” he says. 

“Yeah, he’ll be here soon,” Ashton continues, eyes glinting, and Luke squawks indignantly and squeezes Ashton’s waist, making him squeal and squirm in Luke’s grasp. “Dickhead,” he says, when the sensation fades. Luke just grins, and presses a kiss to Ashton’s forehead. 

“I love you,” Luke says, and Ashton’s not quite sure how he means it, but that’s okay. 

“I love you too,” Ashton says, and he’s not quite sure how he means it, but that’s okay. 

#lashton #malum #5sos slash fanfiction #5sos slash #i am sooooo fucking glad this is out of the way #now i can focus on other things #not my essays! dont get it twisted! #i have other Fic Ideas

[pettyrevenge-base]

Loud Neighbor Gets Silenced

When I started my sophomore year in college (over 2 decades ago), the guy who moved into the dorm next to me was just a stereotypical meathead jock who was kind of overweight. And it turns out, he was a shitty neighbor.

Two things about these dorm rooms:

- The walls were rather thin. Not only did I hear every decibel of his loud music and TV, but one night he brought some girl home with him for some fun (the whole time I’m thinking to myself … unless she lost a bet, she wasn’t going to be happy until the check cleared). The room on the other side of the wall from my bedroom was HIS bedroom, and for that “encounter” I could see the wall bowing in and out. It still makes me shudder.

- The rooms had drop ceilings, like offices with cubicles built by the lowest bidder. This will come into play later.

Anyway, a few days into fall semester that year, I discovered this guy had a habit of blasting his TV at full volume, from 11pm to 1am. Since I had to be up before 7am, 4 times a week, this was not ok by me. Despite my complaints to the ineffectual RA, nothing happened.

At first, I decided to counter this by putting a couple large speakers against the bedroom wall and blasting songs like Just One Fix by Ministry every morning beginning at 6am. Somehow, he didn’t ever confront me, or change his TV habits, he just continued his late night noise pollution.

One afternoon I decided to investigate what was above the drop ceiling in my bedroom. After moving a few tiles I saw the coax cables for every dorm on this floor. And they were labeled with the room numbers on little tabs every 4 feet.

Jackpot.

Also, I’d like to note that I had a part time job at RadioShack at this time (pretty sweet gig for a few reasons) so I finagled a couple tools – a coax cable stripper and crimping tool – and got a couple cable connectors and a female to female adapter (to connect 2 cables together).

I went home, cut the cable for my neighbor’s room, stripped each end and crimped on new cable connectors. Then I connected these together with the F-F adapter.

Then …..I waited until later that night. Like clockwork, the TV was on at full volume. I stood up on my bed, and S L O W L Y unscrewed one of the connectors, just enough to cut off the signal to his room.

The sound of loud static became the most satisfying thing I ever heard. It was then followed by “WHAT THE FUCK?!” on the other side of the wall, and then a lot of shouting, swearing, and banging on the innocent TV set.

30 seconds later I screw the connector back in.

“BOUT TIME! PIECE O’ SHIT!”

A minute later I unscrewed it again.

The shouting and banging continued and I just let it escalate for a couple minutes, to the point where he was just bellowing in impotent rage. He honestly sounded like a humiliated water buffalo that was somehow capable of making vaguely human speech-like vocalizations.

He finally gave up and shut the TV off. 11:13pm. I screwed the connector back in and finally got a good night’s sleep.

FYI, this went on for 4 more days. On the 5th day, which also happened to be trash day (we set our plastic bins outside the door for trash pickup), I walked out to see the shattered remains of a 20” Emerson TV set sitting in front of my neighbor’s room. The plastic shell was deeply cracked in a few places, the glass tube was shattered, and even the power cord was yanked out and draped over the TV’s lifeless husk.

I chuckled, then I stood over the TV and bowed my head in a moment of solemn reflection.

Farewell Emerson TV, you had to be sacrificed in the name of sanity, and peace and quiet. Wherever you end up, I hope you’ll be in a better place.

Source: reddit.com/r/pettyrevenge

#pettyrevenge #lol #omg

[thekytchensynk]

Monitor Duty (Fictober Prompt 23)

Prompt number: 23

Fanfiction Fandom: DCU/Booster Gold

Rating: G

Warnings: No warnings

Read this story on AO3

Do we have to?” Two voices chorus in near-unison.

The Martian Manhunter’s face is as much of an answer as they’re likely to get, but to be fair, it’s a pretty complete answer. Yes, you need to take monitor duty because everyone else has actually important things to do. And if you make me delay in taking care of the important things I need to do right now, then monitor duty will be the least of your worries.

“Fine,” Ted says, answering for the both of them, because really, which one of them has the balls to say no to that stern I have looked through galaxies expression?

Which is how two hours later, the two of them are lounging in the monitor room, staring at the evening news. Booster has his feet up and is tossing a baseball he found somewhere up and down, up and down. Ted flips the channel. From the news to a gameshow. Not a massive improvement. He flips again. Sports, nothing he’s interested in. Again.

“-INJURED IN A CAR CRASH AND DON’T KNOW WHERE TO T-”

He flips the channel back to the news, which is coming across at a volume level intended for normal human beings rather than whatever the lawyer ads was. A second later, the baseball hit the floor and bobbled across the tile.

“Jesus, Ted,” Booster says from where he’s only barely caught himself from tipping all the way over in his chair. He still sits at a precarious angle, one hand on the wall to balance the chair on two legs. “What was that?”

“Different signal strength,” Ted replies, scowling at the screen.

On the screen, the man currently on camera in the newsroom is a blue-suited man with gray hair and a startled expression. He looks surprisingly animated for a network news anchor. “It seems as though they are in the buildi-”

Ted switches the channel again. Booster considers grabbing the baseball once more, then shrugs and sets the chair back on all four legs but doesn’t bother to get up.

“Why do lawyers always have to yell?” Booster muses. “Seems like if you need a lawyer, the last thinking you want is them yelling at you. Things are probably screwed up enough, if you’re calling a lawyer in the first place.”

“In case the people watching are old?” Ted jokes.

The two of them stare at one another over the silence that follows the thud of the joke landing like a bag of wet cement.

“Well, hopefully pretty soon someone will-”

This train of thought gets derailed as the alert goes off -- an incoming message. Ted hits the button and some of G’Nort’s face appears on the screen. “Some of” because G’Nort has decided to film this message from about one foot from the camera. Both Justice League members have an excellent view up one canine nostril. It’s not ideal.

“Oh boy, am I glad to see you guys!” Gnort’s nostril says. “Listen, I need help-”

“Can you back up?” Booster asks.

G’Nort pauses. The camera swings wildly. They get a passing view of one hairy ear, a whole landscape of fur and a little bit of motion sickness before things stabilize again and almost G’Nort’s whole face is on screen. “Better?”

“Better.”

He clears his throat, then begins waving his arms in cartoonish, animated panic. “Listen, I need help!”

“What’s wrong?” Ted asks, doing his best to sound professional and interested.

Looking surprised they would ask him that, G’Nort says, “Um… well, you see, I was making dinner. And I heard this noise, right? From outside. And I’m not expecting anyone to come around today, so I’m thinking maybe it’s a door to door salesman or something, but then I remember, we don’t have those on this planet. We don’t have… we don’t have anyone on this planet, really, except me. And so I start thinking then maybe it’s going to-”

As he rambles, Ted looks over at Booster for help. But Booster just shrugs and gestures to Ted. You’re the one actually on the monitor.

“Hey, G’Nort. G’Nort! Hold on.”

The alien paused. “Yeah?”

“G’Nort, what’s actually wrong?”

For some reason, this stumps G’nort. He looks down at the ground for a few long seconds, brow furrowed in thought. “Wrong…” He repeats, as though hearing the word for the first time. Tilts his head. Frowns harder.

“G’Nort? Can you call back once you remember what’s wrong?” And without waiting for an answer, Ted flips back to the TV, then turns to Booster. “What can possibly be happening. Isn’t he in uninhabited space?”

“I guess if someone really is there, that could be a problem,” Booster muses. On the TV, the news anchor is talking to someone off screen. His microphone isn’t picking up any of it. Unprofessional. “But I guess if it actually was an intruder, he wouldn’t be having that much trouble remembering.”

Ted raises an eyebrow. Booster keeps a straight face for another three seconds with heroic effort, before a laugh breaks loose. “Fine. Fine, you’re right. Should we worry?”

“He’ll call back when he remembers,” Ted says. “And even if something’s weird over there, why is he calling us? What are we going to do about a problem in deep space?”

“Maybe he-”

Booster’s thoughts on their abilities in deep space get cut off by the alert flashing again. Ted thumbs the button and says, “G’Nort, unless you have a-”

“Do I look like G’Nort?”

The voice. The accent. Both Ted and Booster turn guiltily toward the TV, where Fire stands, hands on hips, waiting expectantly for an answer.

“... no?” Booster tries.

Moving rapidly along, Fire says, “We need backup downtown. Who’s there right now?”

“Just us,” Ted says, all business now. “What do you need help with?”

She hesitates. “Us…” she prompts.

“Me and Booster.”

“Ah.”

“Something wrong?”

She hesitates again. Glances left. Hisses something to someone else under her breath. Looks back. “So do you know if the Martian Manhunter, or Batman might be back soon, or…”

“Sorry, they’re on some sort of enviro-political standoff thing down in Uruguay,” Ted explains, waving vaguely in the direction he thinks Uruguay might be. “Afraid it’s just us.”

Fire bites her lip. Glances off screen again. “I see,” she says. “Well, sorry to bother you. Good night.”

“Wait, we can help-”

“Sorry, you’re breaking up, bye!” the connection terminates from the other side. The two JLI members sit in silence for a few seconds.

“Am I right to feel offended?” Ted asks after a while. “Because I feel offended.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Booster says. “That was a definite passive aggressive ‘you’d just mess things up’ statement. I’d know.”

“Rude.”

“Definitely rude.”

The alert flashes again.

When Ted turns the communicator on again, it’s G’Nort’s nose once more. “Guys, I remembered!”

Ted turns his attention back to the TV with the slow deliberation of someone dealing with a child who has a very important story to share. “What is it you remembered, G’Nort?” he asks.

“When I opened the door I looked out and there was this huge-”

“Hey losers!”

G’Nort’s nose gets replaced with Guy Gardner’s slightly red face, also close to the screen but thankfully not full-scale nostril exploration close. When both Ted and Booster startle back at his sudden appearance, he bursts out in a sharp laugh. “I wake you suckers up?”

“Guy!” Ted is half irritated, half just impressed. “We were talking to someone. How did you override the signal?”

Guy gives Ted an incredulous look. “I’m calling on a Green Lantern Corps ring. You think some Earth tech is going to be able to stand up to that?”

Booster raises a finger, about to start talking, but Ted shakes his head. Absolutely no good can come from telling Guy he’s replaced another Green Lantern call. It’s just going to give him a big head. Big-er, at any rate.

“What do you want?” Ted asks.

“I was hoping someone important was there, but I guess you two can play messenger,” Guy says, not hiding his smirk. “Tell the bigwigs who’re way too cool to call Guy Gardner when they should that I took care of Uruguay. It was only one dumbass. I think the rest might be somewhere else, so call them and let them know they probably better turn themselves around and put those detective skills to work.”

“Uh-”

“Later.”

There's a moment of static, then the news is back. The anchor has left his desk and is standing near the back of the set, ducking away from something overhead. A different man, dressed in a “Use a straw wrapper, we’ll put you in the crapper” shirt, sits at the desk, a stack of papers in his hands.

“And the more we pollute the rainforest with plastic straw wrappers, the more it contributes to the coming ice age that-”

“Wow. they didn’t think that slogan through at all,” Booster notes. Ted squints at the screen and nods his agreement. “I mean, who would buy that. It doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.”

“And crapper? On a t-shirt? Really?”

“Maybe it was designed by a twelve-year-old?”

“I think most twelve-year-olds have better taste than ‘crapper.’”

“Fair. Fair.”

The man cuts off as another person in the same awful t-shirt flies through the background. Ice went zipping through the scene a moment later. The guy at the desk looks offscreen and shouts something. Whatever he’s saying, it stops abruptly as a green-gloved fist connects with his chin, knocking him out of the chair.

“Is that … Fire’s fist?” Ted asks, squinting at the TV.

“I think so.”

“So this is what she was calling about,” Ted says, bemused. “I guess that’s the guys Batman was looking for.”

On screen, the anchor has run completely out of frame. Fire steps in front of the camera and leans over. She straightens a moment later with the guy’s shirtfront balled up in one fist. “You gonna call your goons off?” she demands of the guy, who’s a blubbering mess and not exactly answering intelligibly.

“Looks like she has it under control,” Booster says critically as the alert flashes again. Ted watches the next punch, wincing a little at the sound of the impact, before flipping back to the alert.

“Hello G’nort’s nose,” Booster says as a familiar image pops up. “Ted, is monitor duty always so busy?”

“Nah, this is kind of a lot,” Ted replies before addressing G’Nort. “Did you remember yet?”

“Yes! Guys. I took my sandwich outside, because I thought I heard something, and when I was outside, I heard something again, so I flew up into the sky. And while I was up there, this meteor passed real close. I guess there was a meteor shower. I was surprised, but then I flew back down, and I think the sound I heard was a meteor, but now my sandwich is missing.”

“Your… sandwich?” Ted asks.

“Yeah! Do you think the meteors maybe had some secret aliens who steal sandwiches?”

Yet again, Ted and Booster share a glance. Then Ted asks, “G’Nort, did you maybe drop the sandwich in space? When you got surprised by the meteor?”

The nose looked as thoughtful as a dog-like nose ever looked. Then after about thirty excruciating seconds, the picture blooped off again. Booster tilted his head as the TV came back, now showing the news set empty but for one unconscious eco-terrorist.

“Is monitor duty always this weird?” he asks at last.

Ted sighs and flops back in his chair. “Nah. Sometimes it’s dumber.”

#fictober 20 #23 #dcu #booster gold #fanfic

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Friend Fail || Skylar and Morgan

@theskyeandsea

Don’t do blood magic in front of the baby seal. 

Morgan stopped her work for the third time this hour to make sure she really did have everything she needed. The crystals were all made, the bath salt jars were freshly clean and ready. She had her measuring cups and postage boxes so Skylar could help. She had even gotten through half her grading. There really was no reason not to make use of her new chalkboard and try another summoning. She’d gotten Sean with a birthday cake--sort of. Who was to say she couldn’t get Constance with a proper circle and a little blood? At least, practice getting the circle, right? The board had even come with chalk in three different colors, just waiting, begging to be used. Morgan checked her phone to see where the planets were. Still Aquarius season, so not great for her, but her Mercury was almost in a water sign. It was all so...promising. Enough to give her pause and make her look around the room once more. It didn’t feel very much like skirting around the curse if the universe was setting everything up so nicely for her. But if she waited until things were more dire, what would that achieve? Morgan pulled up the spell on her phone again. This was not Cassie approved, but at least she had salt this time. She could line the place if she decided to get serious. Which, she wouldn’t. Probably. (What if this was her one door and she was missing the good kind of signal? Or what if that was just what the curse wanted her to think?)

A knock at the door startled her out of her thought loop. Right. Skylar was stopping by the house to visit. Good for her! Making friends with grownups was kind of pitiful, but she’d been there before herself. Sometimes you had to take what you could get. “Hey, come on in!” She stepped back and signed, Good afternoon! Happy to see you. She’d watched a couple of videos online and had mostly memorized the greeting, plus two other words. Work there, Magic there. 

Skylar really, really, really didn’t want to be here. Her head had been aching all day, she’d barely been able to eat anything, and her body just felt run down, even though she’d slept ten hours the previous night. And… what made it worse was she knew exactly why she was feeling this way. Ricky had told her as much. It was because she hadn’t transformed. Apparently, all her problems were a direct result of not turning into a seal, which she didn’t quite follow. She wasn’t a seal who could sometimes be human. She was a human, a normal human. With… quirks. Taking a long drink from her thermos of coffee, Skylar sighed as she walked up to Morgan’s house. This was going to be good for her. This was going to be something good and helpful and nice. Because Morgan had been nothing but nice and helpful, even after Skylar had been dismissive of the whole magic situation. Knocking on the door, Skylar offered what she hoped was a bright smile as Morgan opened the door.

The signing threw her for a second. For one thing, she was going way too fast for her fingers, so they came out garbled. Skylar could tell what she meant, but it wasn’t the best use of sign. “Hi! Thanks for having me.” She said. Setting her coffee down, she let out a small laugh and signed, What do you mean by work there, magic here? 

Oh, thank god Skylar could talk just fine, maybe (probably) even read lips! Morgan saw the two whole words she’d learned outside of the basic greeting repeated in a new way, one she had no idea how to answer. She winced. “Sorry. Just--different tasks I have going on today! Um, I’ve got some bath salts that need to go into those very uh, hashtag aesthetic jars, and I have this shiny new chalkboard that has a lot of magic potential! I’m not going to do anything to it, I should clarify, I’m going to use it to make some more elaborate circles that I’m using right now.” Only after she finished did she realize just how fast she was prone to talking sometimes. Sorry, she signed, the only other word she’d thought make handy use of. “I talk fast sometimes, and I don’t always realize. Can I get you some sweet tea?”

“No problem.” Skylar said, waving it off with a laugh. “I was joking. Sorry, I didn’t mean to make fun.” She said as she took look around Morgan’s house curiously. There were a lot of odds and ends, and a lot of jars as well. What were the jars for? Watching Morgan intently, Skylar did her best to match the lip movements with what she was hearing, but it wasn’t easy. Morgan was speaking just a bit too quickly for her. “Ah. It’s okay, really! You said something about aesthetic jars? Is that what these are for?” She said, gesturing to the mason jars that were set up. “Tea? No, no, I’m good. Thank you though.” Skylar said as she picked up her thermos from where she’d set it down. Being around other people usually helped take her mind off what troubled her, so hopefully helping Morgan would do the same.

“No, I think you earn the right to tease,” Morgan said, trying to reassure her. “I tried to be competent in your language over the course of forty-eight hours maybe, with nothing but youtube and willpower. But, grab a pillow! Make yourself cozy!” She grabbed some tea for herself and sat on the floor with her shiny new board. It was so smooth it didn’t even look real. Morgan broke the seal on the chalk. It was good to practice, right? “You can put the TV on and make yourself at home if you want, but if you really want to help, You can use the measuring cup to put two scoops into the jars.” Morgan beamed over at the girl,who, now that she wasn’t moving quite so fast, really did seem in need of some kind of pick-me-up, poor kid. 

Shaking her head, Skylar shrugged. “I appreciate you trying at the very least. It’s more than a lot of people do.” She said, the thought making her slightly melancholy. Ack. No, no, no. Watching as Morgan picked up a neat little chalkboard, she settled down on the proffered pillow, her legs curling under her. “Oh, that’s okay. I’d much rather do something productive than just use your cable.” She said with a smile. Looking at the set up in front of her, Skylar set to work doing as she was told, putting two scoops of… stuff into the jars and screwing the lids on. “What are these jars full of anyways? Magic salt or something?” She asked curiously.

Morgan began drawing the circle. After so many years of alchemy, she was pretty good at freehand, though everything that went in would need more precision. She couldn’t help but smile at the tingle that went up her hand from that new-supply feeling. She looked up at Skylar to make sure she could see what she was saying alright. “Salt, lavender oil, dry roses and yarrow, and ground crystals. Very relaxing, but less real magic and more mind over matter fluffy magic,” she admitted. She got up and went for her chalk compass. “This, on the other hand, will hopefully be real magic someday. Thank you for deciding to help me out, by the way.” 

All of the things Morgan rattled off sounded just like normal herbal stuff that you could find in any shop, which Skylar realized was exactly the case as the woman finished speaking. Hm. So there were still some parts of “magic” that weren’t exactly flame throwers and turning garbage into candles. At least some things still made sense. Lavender was just relaxing because it smelled nice, not because it had any crazy property to it. “No, don’t worry about it. I needed to get out of the house anyways.” She said as she filled another jar with salt mixture. She watched as Morgan grabbed a small instrument and tilted her head, intrigued. “What’s all of that for? The chalkboard and things.”

Morgan hesitated, compass in hand, as she started to section off her array, making room for each of the runes and sigils she would need to make this work. And, terrifying as the feeling was, she couldn’t help but feel excited. She had a name. Constance Bachman. She had to be related to Sean and Agnes, even if she hadn’t been able to find her name in the geneology list. Maybe a spinster aunt? Or a lost sister? Either way, she was findable. And if Morgan actually managed to hack herself a successful, specific, ghost summoning with this, it would be the craziest and most amazing feat of magic she’d ever accomplished. Which meant she definitely wouldn’t today. Or that if she did, she’d get some static-y bitter brother of Sean’s. Or maybe some minor pesky demon. But she had to thread the needle between knowing the curse wanted to screw her over and manifesting some progress. It could work. And, well, who was Skylar going to talk about it with anyway? “Reason A for getting a big board is so I can make my crystals faster. The more material I can fit and work with, the more I can pop out at a time. My pop socket lid is great, but really not practical. But this,” she explained. “Is something different than my normal bag of tricks. I’ve got this project about spirits and their living descendants.” She began marking out the basic runes for summoning, then constructing the smaller circle she had designed to get Constance. Hopefully, anyway. She reached over for the version she’d sketched out on paper. She smudged away one of the sigils and drew it over again, clearer this time. “If it works, I might be able to bring someone over. Wanna see?”

Skylar watched as Morgan divied up the board with chalk, still not quite sure what she was looking it. Magic seemed to be a bit different than she thought it was. Winston had just kinda… done magic when they’d done it. But, she supposed that there was probably some method to the madness. Continuing to screw the lids on jars, she listened as Morgan offered an explanation. She wasn’t really sure what she meant by pop socket lid-- was she talking about the thing on the back of phones? Not wanting to interupt, she continued to listen. “So… you’re using a chalk board to summon a ghost?” She repeat, just trying to wrap her head around all of that. Ghosts. Ghosts were real. Okay. And you could use chalk and weird little doodles to make them appear? Mmmm, that was less okay. Even though she didn’t really want to see the odd little circle, Skylar scooted closer, “That’s interesting. They look like something out of Skyrim, honestly.”

Morgan was almost finished. She laid it down on the floor and examined her handiwork, then knelt down to add in the minor markings of the array. “What’s a Skyrim?” She asked. “Wait, don’t tell me--it’s that new show on Netflix right?” No, that sounded wrong. Morgan was more preoccupied with getting all the connecting lines just right anyway. “Sorry,” she said, looking up again. “I’m old. Like way old. I follow Grey’s Anatomy, and I have my supernatural crime shows, and food network. But tell me about Skyrim! I’m just going to grab some salt from the kitchen real quick.”

Raising an eyebrow, Skylar tilted her head in surprise. Mm. Well, after Alain had sent her the weird old French music, it shouldn’t be that surprising that some people weren’t as in the know with video games and stuff. “It’s a video game. You play as a Dragonborn, someone who’s got the spirit of a dragon, and can read and speak the ancient language of dragons. It’s…” She paused, realizing that she had no idea if dragons were a real thing. Were they real? Was Skyrim real? “It’s a fun game!” She finished, offering a slightly stressed smile. Oh dear. “Are you using table salt..” She asked. So, magic consisted of weird little runes on a chalkboard and table salt. Good to know, good to know. 

Video games. Morgan probably should have guessed something like that. There hadn’t been time or money to that when she was a kid, and though now, as far as she could tell, you could download one off the internet for thirty dollars, it seemed like an alien existence. “It sounds like fun!” She said brightly. “Fantasy conception is one of my favorite interests. Oh--and it’s not table salt, or not just table salt. It’s a mix this exorcist friend of mine told me about.” She came back out with the mix and started shifting around some objects in the room. She would need to get the real estate for this eventually. And maybe--maybe this could happen. “Hey, Skylar, do you think you can write the alphabet out for me real quick? 

“It’s a neat game, mhm.” Skylar said with a smile before taking a long sip of coffee. Thank God for this new thermos, honestly. Alain had been right about investing in one of these. And she honestly needed it now more than ever. As Morgan explained the mix of salt, Skylar watched with interest as she moved things around. Was this a big spell..? She had been under the assumption that the… spirit would just pop out of the chalk board kinda like a hologram in Star Wars or something. But then again, what did she know about magic anyways? “Huh? Oh, sure. On the chalkboard or somewhere else?” She asked, picking up one of the pieces of chalk from where Morgan had left them.

“Huh?” Morgan looked up from her work distractedly. “No, just grab a pen and paper from my grading pile over there. If I do, hypothetically, get a ghost in here, it’s going to need a way to talk to me. Especially, uh, since I can’t see them!” She was finished. She was finished and she felt like she’d stolen a cookie from her mom’s jar. Like she should run and enjoy her spoils or stay and get as many into her hand before she was caught. Morgan started to work on the salt circle, was going to fetch her dad’s old athame, just cleaned, before she realized just how this might look to someone who just learned that half the mythical creatures they’d read about as a kid were real. “Um, you don’t have to stick around for this part if it’s too much,” she said. “My cat is around somewhere if you’d like to meet her, or I can take it from here,” she offered. “Unless you can secretly see ghosts, in which case I will literally pay you to stick around.”

The back of her neck burning in embarrassment, Skylar nodded and did as Morgan told her. “Sure! Will do!” She said, hoping her tone sounded bright and not mortified. Mmm, yeah the alphabet made more sense to be written on a piece of paper. Writing out the alphabet in clean, large letters, Skylar tilted her head in surprise. “You can’t see ghosts? I thought that if you summoned them you’d be able to see them. But, um, sorry. Dumb assumption, I guess.” She said as she printed out a large Z. When Morgan offered her an out, Skylar chewed on the inside of her cheek. A big part of her wanted nothing more than to just… pretend that this wasn’t real. She wanted to forget everything about this. But, she couldn’t just run away from magic. It was here and she should know more about it. “Um, sorry. I don’t think I can see ghosts, but… I’d like to stay, if that’s okay. I just, I want to know more about all of this.”

“Oh, gosh, I wish,” Morgan confessed. “I honestly thought that too, but as it turns out you need some kind of special ability for that. And, for the record, not a dumb question. Didn’t you only learn all this weird shit was real two weeks ago? You’re harder on yourself than I am on actual students. There’s a lot to learn. Too much, really. I’ve known magic was real my whole life and I just figured out the ghost thing a while ago.” She smiled brightly at Skylar, hoping she felt better and went for the athame. She’d laid the salt thick. If, even, anything happened, they would be safe, and she could vacuum away the evidence before Cece came home to ask questions. And maybe if she was lucky Skylar would be willing to help with that too. She grabbed one of her novelty bowls, a tragic indulgence from the dollar store during her Traveler’s Rest stay, the happy faces of the Disney princesses already peeling away, and positioned herself over the circle. Then she put Skylar’s alphabet paper and pen in where it wouldn’t disturb the runes. “Let’s just hope this doesn’t turn out really anticlimactic, huh?” She raised the ritual knife and began to chant. So far so good. Then came the time for her blood offering. Morgan pressed the knife into her arm, voice hiccuping only a little as the pain sliced into her. So far, so good. Then she looked down into the bowl to make sure she had enough and the world shrank down to the size of a single drop of blood. She went silent and the rising magic and the knife both went whizzing away from her. 

“I… Yeah, only the last two weeks, with the karkinoids.” Skylar said with a shrug as she moved over to the side, letting Morgan do all the final preparation work on the spell that she had laid out. But… No, Morgan didn’t need to know about her situation. Not after she mentioned how there were people going around trying to steal teeth for potions and stuff. Skylar watched, curiously as Morgan pulled out a weird little disney princess bowl and set it down. Were princesses important for this? Fingers curling up at her side, she forced herself to watch as Morgan began to say words she’d never heard before and then draw the knife blade-- What the fuuuuuuck was she doing? Before Skylar could react, tremors began to fill the room, the bowl of blood shaking violently-- A sharp pain lanced through her right shoulder, searing and hot, as the knife flew towards her and lodged itself into her body. Letting out a scream of pain, Skylar fell to the ground, a large spout of blood splattering across the room. “MORGAN!” She cried out, panic threatening to overwhelm her as she stared at the knife sticking out of her.

Morgan didn’t hear or notice anything except the blood in the bowl. She shoved the plastic into her mouth with both hands, guzzling the liquid ravenously and licking the sides where it had stuck. And there was more, streaks puddling on the floor and the coffee table. Morgan dropped the bowl and threw herself down to lap them all up. When she pulled away at last, panting and dizzy, her face stained from nose to chin, and saw her dad’s knife lodged in Skylar’s arm. “Oh fuck.” She licked her lips in spite of herself and scrambled to her feet. Keys. She needed her phone and her keys so they could get to the car so they could drive to the hospital. Fuck. The fucking blood clinger. She should’ve known it wouldn’t have worn off that quickly. “It’s okay, it’s okay!” She cried, her voice jumping higher each time she said it. The edges of her vision felt blurry and she grabbed an empty mason jar while she was at it. “Come on, we’re taking you to the hospital, okay! Also, hold this to collect any blood you lose! This is fine, you’re gonna be fine!” She, on the other hand, looked like a walking crime scene, but maybe if she bulldozed ahead on the knife inside the girl’s arm they wouldn’t have to go into it. 

Skylar began to hyperventilate as she stared at the knife in her arm, her vision narrowing at the edges as she tried to focus on anything other than the knife-- “What the fuck are you doing?!” Skylar screamed, pointing at the bowl of blood that Morgan had just drank from. Scrambling away across the floor, she let out a cry of pain as she tried to put as much distance from her and Morgan, who was apparently some kinda vampire? “G-get away from me!” Skylar said, rivulets of blood running down her arm to pool on the floor. The more she struggled, the more and more blood poured from around the knife still lodged in her arm. “I’m not going anywhere with a vampire! An-And I’m not,” She let out a groan of pain as her arm screamed in pain, “Going to make you a to-go cup!”

“Oh my god you’re making it worse!” Morgan shrieked, starting to panic herself. She screwed her eyes shut. Maybe if she didn’t see the blood she wouldn’t have some weird blood-clinger blackout. “I’m not a vampire, it was a magic tick! I thought it had worn off  but apparently not! I mean, would you rather be the juice box? Come on!” But no sooner did she settle this in her head than did she slip on the floor and come face to face with the fresh streams of blood from Skylar. Morgan forgot everything she was talking about and licked them up like her life depended on it.

As Morgan tried to convince her that she wasn’t some kind of vampire out to suck her blood, Skylar remembered what Ricky had told her. Selkies had more blood than other people, making them prime targets for vampires. “A magic tick? That’s, that’s a thing? WHAT THE FUCK!” Skylar screeched as Morgan dropped down and began to lap up her blood from the floor. Skylar watched in horror and reached behind her to pull herself up to her feet-- she needed to get out of her, she needed too… As she stood up, what blood was in her head, immediately rushed out and her vision went white around the edges as fell back to the ground, woozy. “I… I… I’m…” She couldn’t fully make out words any more, all she could do was grasp at a nearby mason jar and hold it to her still bleeding shoulder.

Morgan slithered her way over the floor, lapping every drop until her tongue felt rough and every drop had been siphoned. She groaned, still thirsty, and made a grab for Skylar, but missed as the girl stood up. Her head hit the wall and she lost her balance, going splat and rolling onto her back Slowly, her brain cleared again. Maybe anticlimactic would’ve been better after all. “Skylar??” She asked. “Are you still there? Can you drive yourself maybe? Or, I don’t know, call an Uber? There’s Uber in White Crest, right?” She was afraid to get up again. Afraid the floor would fall out from under herself. Afraid of the red, tangy blood. It was still on her rough-scraped tongue and in the back of her, hateful and terrifying. But in the moment it hadn’t been. God she was so screwed. “Skylar--?” She croaked.

“Mmmnot good. No’ good.” Skylar said thickly, her head heavy as she continued to try and get away from Morgan. Holding the mason jar in her hand, she did her best to siphon some of the blood that clung to her skin into the jar. “Don’ eat me… ’m… fishy. Wouldn’t tas’ good.” Her words slurred together as she slid the mason jar towards Morgan. Uber? Her phone. Her phone! Pulling her phone out of her pocket, Skylar swiped her thumb across the screen to send a garbled text before setting it down on the ground, “Please don’t eat me.” She mumbled.

This was not going to be a good day. And really, Morgan should’ve known better than to hope for getting away with anything for long. She reached across the floor and grabbed the jar, stomach-lurching at the precaution and inched, achingly, to a sit. “I promise on whatever will make you feel better I do not want to eat you!” Never the less she sipped the blood. It didn’t soothe her like it did earlier, so maybe she was past the worst of this. “Come on, Uber’s going to take too long and you need help.” She was unsteady on her feet, but she had what she needed and she could just about make it to the door, to-go cup in hand as Skylar had so kindly put it. She staggered out and took a deep lung full of fresh air. She had no idea how she was going to explain this to Ricky, or anyone else for that matter. How far was the hospital again?

“Not an Uber… Ricky, he’s gonna… gonna help me. Can’ go hospital.” Skylar said, shaking her head back and forth. As she continued to struggle away, she fell flat on her back onto Morgan’s floor, the knife still sticking out of her shoulder. Fatigue and blood loss overtook her and Skylar passed out right in the entryway of the front door.

Morgan heard the thump of Skylar’s body on the floor and went more or less splat herself on Cece’s porch in defeat. The was no way she was getting her in the car by herself, or answering any questions EMTs might have. And Skylar didn’t want that stuff anyways, though whether it was because health insurance was a curse on everyone, or because of some supernatural bullshit she didn’t know about yet, she had no clue. But in the end, it didn’t matter. Morgan sent off some messages and waited for everything, as usual, to get worse.

#wr skylar #wr chatzy #wr skylar chatzy #wickedswriting #friend fail #alas i had to name this all by myself #woe

[hellfirenacht]

Can’t Be Unseen Chapter 5

Sal Fisher x Reader

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

AO3

Chapter Summary:  You have a DREAM and think back on MEMORIES.

Larry didn’t stay long that night, at least no more than two hours. It was getting late, past midnight, and though he didn’t have an official curfew, he didn’t want to make his mom too worried or suspicious. He put his long-since cast off shirt back on and gave you a hug and a kiss on the forehead before he headed to the basement floor.

You closed the door behind you and made your way back to your room. As you changed into your pjs you noticed a small mark on your collarbone, and felt very thankful that it was sweater season. You didn’t really want to worry about covering hickeys with make-up come Sunday when your parents came home. You’d already had the talk way too many times with your parents. As lucky as you were that they were more than willing to tell you where they kept condoms in the apartment, you really weren’t feeling that right now.

Sleep came easily to you that night, without thoughts of overthinking for once. Though it was mostly because you were so tired from everything that happened that day. Within minutes of laying down you were passed out.

It‘s almost time for school, the late autumn sun threatens to set and yet you worry about being late. You are in the school hall, your class is towards the gym but each turn of the corner puts you between your old elementary school and your current high school. But that’s normal, right? Yes, this is what “school” is.

Travis is in the library giving you a dirty look from behind the help desk. He calls you a dirty harlot for kissing Larry. You aren’t allowed to use the computers anymore.

Class has started and you’re late. You wonder if it’s even worth going to class since you can’t open your locker and you’re late. Oh, you aren’t supposed to be here. This is your old elementary school anyway. It would be best if you left.

You exit the building; something feels off. You are outside of your high school and your childhood neighborhood is right across the street despite it being a few states away.

There’s someone next to you. You tell them you think you’re dreaming as if you are commenting on the weather.

“Oh, that’s cool.” they seem to agree. You ask them what you think you should do if this really is just a dream.

“You should probably leave. It’s not really interesting here.”

School is a dull place for a semi-lucid dream, you decide walking back into the building. If this is a dream, then you might as well find some company.

You walk into the first classroom you see. Larry is sitting on his desk and you tell him that this is a dream and that he should explore with you. He responds by standing up and throwing his backpack across the room before jumping down and following you out.

He asks if you usually know if you’re dreaming and in kind you explain this has only happened a handful of times. You’re outside on the sidewalk, he tells you to try and fly.

You doggy paddle in the air at best for a few seconds before landing on your feet. You know you can’t actually fly and that ruins your dream logic. Larry is still impressed that you did as much.

It’s nighttime and the street lamps are lit. The moon is full and close, way too close. The craters of the moon are more prominent than you’ve ever seen and you feel uneasy. You tell Larry you don’t like the moon.

He makes a big leap over your head, landing easily as though for a moment gravity didn’t bind him. He lands in front of you and you keep walking. It’s Halloween and pumpkins are everywhere. One is carved to look like Sal’s mask.

Larry asks if this is your dream then where is Sal? You aren’t sure. It’s honestly pretty rare that people you know play a big role in your dream. You simply shrug your shoulders and Sal appears in the distance before walking into the shadows of the woods. You cry out for him but he’s gone and you go after him.

Larry has disappeared and you run through the trail and find yourself at the edge of a lake. Sal stands at the edge next to a doc and you approach him.

He asks you, if he’s Jason-chic does that mean he should jump in the lake and scare children? You deny his request, noting that the stuffed animal you won him so many months ago (which he isn’t even holding) would be ruined. You tell him you’re dreaming and he nods, unphased.

He says that even if it is a dream he’s real and you agree. Of course he’s real, and you’re sure that when you wake up that both of your friends will remember this adventure. It is science and a fact.

You feel Larrys’ arms around your waist and you look at Sal who’s still staring out into the lake. This is normal, right? You close your eyes and someone kisses you and you kiss back. Larrys’ nose pressed into your cheek. The lips on yours turn hard and unmoving like plastic. Sal’s hands were so nice and cool. No, wait Larrys’ hands were warm. No-

You open your eyes and gasp in horror taking a step back. Sals’ mask is gone and his face is distorted, glitching, loud, static-

Larry asks if you’re really going to look at his best friend like that. You can barely hear what he’s saying over the static. Sal says’ something but his voice is distorted. Sal reaches a hand out but you push it away as the world around you starts to pulse. You don’t deserve Sal You don’t deserve Larry You don’t deserve You don’t deserve You don’t deserve you don’t deserve-

The world was quiet as you woke up, the distorted sounds of the dream halting in an instant. Outside the sun was just starting to rise but still you found yourself unable to move from the nightmare. You took a few slow breaths and began to relax back into your bed, reassuring yourself that it was only a dream.

You don’t deserve-

No, you weren’t going to think about it. You were not going to let some stupid dream tell you what you did or didn’t deserve.

Sal deserves better. You claim to like him yet kiss his best friend.

‘Shut up.’ you think to yourself. ‘I’m allowed to move on!’

You spent the next hour trying to get back to sleep, but ended up tossing and turning instead until you gave up and made your way to the living room. You laid down on the couch and turned on the tv in the hopes that some cartoons would help you turn off your mind.

The couch still smells like Larry.

It took you three minutes to find some air conditioner to make the couch smell like gingerbread. That turned out to be a small mistake when the scent was too overpowering. Giving up on laying around you started putting away all the decorations that you had brought over from the previous night and having some breakfast.

By this point it was 9 am, and you dared to glance at your phone for the first time since you woke up. You didn’t know if you were hoping that Larry would text you or not.

There were no direct messages, but there were a few in the group chat.

ToddFace: Thanks for inviting us to the party, Sal!

SallyFace: glad you and neil could make it!

AshleyFace: Jamie had fun too. Shes looking forward to seeing you all again

SallyFace: lol glad we didn’t scare anyones date off

Had anything with Larry not happened last night, you would have thrown in a “Sal you could never scare me off ;)” but instead you closed the chat. No reason to make things harder on yourself than it already was.

So many times you found yourself staring at individual conversations with your friends. So many times you considered reaching out to talk but you faltered each time. It had never been hard for you to reach out to a friend before this whole mess with Sal and Larry so why was it hard now? You used to pride yourself on letting your friends know when you were hurt or confused or just needed to vent but it felt impossible right now.

The rest of the day went by with nothing to report. There was some scattered small talk in the group about holiday plans, Christmas lists, inside jokes, and questioning about what would be the best way to sneak snacks into a movie theater with increasingly weird food. All good distractions until you found yourself sucked into a computer game that lasted you until bed.

...

Sunday came with your parents waking you up with bright and happy smiles on their faces telling you to get packed because you were all going to the old lake house!

A feeling of excitement and unease spread over you. On one hand, you loved going to that lake house with your parents. After spending so much time moving around as a kid and teen, that lake house was the one consistent place you could go that would be unchanged.

On the other, there was no wifi in the house and even with unlimited data, the signal was spotty at best and non-existent at worst. You’d be cut off from your friends for the next two weeks. It would be after Christmas that you’d see them again. You wouldn’t even really get a chance to say goodbye to them either.

But this is what you wanted, right? A chance to get away from everything to really think things out. You pulled your suitcase and started shoving clothes haphazardly into it. Not like you really needed to dress nice to be around your parents. It’d be two weeks of board games, decorating yet ANOTHER tree, carols, eggnog, and every other cheesy Christmas cliche your parents could think of.

Still though, you grabbed your laptop and charger. When your parents were making kissy faces at each other, this could be a good time to catch up on all those games you’d been meaning to play. Maybe even watch some movies or-

Your phone dinged twice, alerting you to two messages from Sal and Larry and your heart jumped slightly. No, you needed to calm down. It was just the group chat and they’re just shit posting.

It was not the group that.

LarryFace: hey I got some free time today, wanna hang?

SallyFace: So it’s been a while since we’ve got to see each other one on one. Are you busy today?

You could almost laugh at how absurd this whole had become. Why is it that every time you wanted to clear your head, these two managed to have the worst possible timing. It was almost a blessing that your parents came home just to whisk you off on a four hour drive to the middle of nowhere.

You responded to Larry first.

BlankFace: Hey sorry I can’t. My parents are actually taking me to the lake house for a few weeks

LarryFace: oh that’s a bummer. Any idea when youll be back?

BlankFace: Not til after Christmas, looks like.

LarryFace: wanna hang out when you get back?

BlankFace: It’s a date-

You delete the last message, changing your mind.

BlankFace: Sounds like a plan!

Your direct your attention to Sal’s message, hesitating on how you want to approach it. He hadn’t asked to hang out one on one since you two talked things out. There was a slight pang in your chest that you wished so badly would go away. What was it about Sal that was so hard to get over? He wasn’t your first crush, or even the first guy to turn you down.

BlankFace: I’m really sorry, I wish I could but my parents are taking me on vacation for the next few weeks and I’ll be out of town til after Christmas.

SallyFace: They’re taking you today?

BlankFace: Yeah, you know how they are. Overly spontaneous during the holidays. I’m packing now.

SallyFace: Do you want any help?

You typed and deleted the word yes. There was an insistent thumping in your chest, telling you to say yes but you pushed it back. If you saw him right now, after making up with him and making out with Larry, you were sure that you’d end up saying or doing something you shouldn’t.

BlankFace: I’m almost done, thanks though!

You grabbed your backpack and dumped it on the floor before shoving your toiletries in it. Then you reached under your bed and grabbed a shoe box and fitting it into your bag. You flipped through the binder that was in your backpack and pulled out some of its contents, shoving them into a side pocket.

SallyFace: When are you leaving?

“Are you done packing? You’re mother and I are ready to go when you are!” you dad called from the living room.

“Almost done! Give me two seconds!” you replied, shoving your chargers into your backpack, and grabbing your headphones.

BlankFace: Now.

Within moments you were in the backseat of the car as it pulled out of Addison’s designated parking lot. Your headphones were in, but before your music kicked on, you swore you heard something.

Turning behind you, Sal was running after the car before he seemed to run out of breath and wave at you. You waved back, watching his figure grow smaller in the distance. A few months ago he had been a few inches shorter than you, but looking at him now, had he grown a bit? What had you really missed out on in those embarrassing months after the failed date?

‘He came to say goodbye.’ you thought to yourself as his figure disappeared. ‘He came to say goodbye and I snubbed him because I’m still a coward.’

The early morning was a good excuse to lean against the cool window and pretend to sleep. You covered yourself up with the blanket that your parents kept in the car during the cold months and allowed a few tears to escape your eyes.

When did you become someone who couldn’t face their own feelings? A few months ago you had always been so honest with everyone about everything for the most part. Or maybe, that was a lie. Did all that flirting with Sal really count as the truth? Thinking back, you never did have a chance to really say how you felt about him, even as a friend.

Guess you weren’t as mature as you thought. Maybe you just always hid the big truths with smaller, flashier truths.

SallyFace: see u when u get back. I’ll miss u.

‘I already miss you.’

...

It was late afternoon when your parents pulled into the driveway of the small lake house. You’d lost signal a while ago but you’d had it long enough to tell the group chat that you were gone for a bit and that you’d miss out on the next few weeks. Ashley promised to send memes by snail mail, and Todd said to have fun.

The lack of electronic entertainment wasn’t a big deal for the next few hours as you and your parents set up decorations and going out to chop down the tree with your dad.

“So, why did we decorate the apartment as much as we did when we were gonna have Christmas here?” you asked as you untangled string lights.

“Because the holidays should be celebrated in different ways!” said your dad, wrestling with getting the tree to stand straight. “At home we can have a flashy Christmas but here we can be away from it all and just enjoy the simple things!”

You weren’t sure if that was a real answer, but you had no reason to say no to it.

“Tomorrow I think we’ll turn on the fireplace.” mused your mom. “Yes, and we can roast chestnuts and marshmallows. And maybe if you’re good, Santa will come and leave an early gift!”

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. Though your parents had given you the “Santa isn’t real” talk many years ago, they still liked to believe in the spirit of the holiday to the fullest. You wondered what was it about your parents' relationship that made everything so happy? Normally, you ignored it whenever they started going on and on about how in love they were but after what happened with Sal and Larry, you couldn’t help but wonder; what’s it mean to be in such a loving relationship?

That night after dinner, you decided to ask them. The three of you sat around playing a card game, when you finally managed to spit it out.

“Mom, dad?” you started. “How did you two first know that you wanted to date each other?”

Your dad looked a little surprised. “Well, it all started on the first weekend of December a little over twenty years ago- I saw your mom standing in the park and-”

“‘-Said to yourself “that’s the woman I’m going to marry’. Then you took a chance and asked her on a date and you both went dancing a five star hotel and proposed that very night.” you finished. “I know that, you’ve told me the story a million times but... what really happened?”

He smiled at you. “I guess you are a little too old for fairy tales aren’tcha, kid?” you nodded.

“I was lost.” your mother explained. “It was cold and it was miserable and it was raining- not snowing. I was supposed to check into a hotel for a business meeting that evening but I couldn’t figure out where it was, when your father approached me.”

He took her hand. “She looked like she was having a rough day, so I offered to walk her where she needed to be. Turns out It was at the hotel I was working for at the time.”

“I had graduated college a year before, and your father was working his way through trade school.” your mom added.

“Even half drenched and frazzled, I still thought you were beautiful.”

“I thought you were cute enough for a bellhop.” they both laughed.

“I did ask her out though, the next day. I was clocking out and she was about to leave and-”

“I asked you out, dear.” your mother gently corrected. “I asked if you wanted to grab coffee.”

“And your mother, the charmer, asked me out. She swept me off my feet and was enchanting and funny and wonderful and-”

“Dad. Please.”

“Right, sorry. She was just really something special. Still is, of course! But our first date was us sitting in a hole-in-the-wall cafe, decorated for Christmas with the snow falling outside.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“So how did you know that you wanted to see each other?” you asked. “How did you know it was going to last?”

“We didn’t.” your mother explained, honestly. “We saw each other once, and then wanted to see each other again, and we kept up that pattern until we realized that we always wanted to see each other.”

“Is that what love is?” you asked quietly.

“It’s what it means to us.” your father said, looking your mom and for a moment you didn’t see your parents. You saw two people twenty years younger and madly in love.

“I think I like that story better than the fairy tale.” you admit.

“I wouldn’t trade our story for anything in the world.” your dad said. “Now, does this sudden interest in asking about dating and love have anything to do with... anything?”

“I like Sal.” you admitted finally.

“A fine young man! Very polite though I do wish he’d let us take a peak under that mask.”  Your dad said, taking a sip of his drink.

“It’s a prosthetic, dear. He needs it.” your mom chided gently.

“Sal doesn’t like me.” you added.

“Now I can hurt him for you, though it would be a long drive back.”

“Dad no.”

The floodgates opened at that moment, and you told them everything. About how long you’ve had feelings for him, the date, his face (dad tried to press for details about what you saw, but your mom shushed him), and finally about Larry kissing you. You fudged some details about how much kissing went down, saying it was just a goodnight kiss rather than how far it went.

“I just don’t know what to do.” you said. “I’m so confused and I don’t know how I feel about either of them anymore. I don’t understand how this can be so easy for some people.”

“You’re father and I did get lucky, but that doesn’t mean we both didn’t have our share of past relationships that weren’t messy and confusing.” your mother said, handing you a mug of hot chocolate.

“Lord knows I messed up plenty of good relationships before I met your mother. The main thing you need to do to have any relationship work is to build a strong foundation of trust and communication.”

“If you feel like you don’t know what to say, maybe write them each a letter explaining how you feel.” your mom suggested. “You always did like to pass notes in class.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling a little. “That’s not a bad idea.” you admitted. “Maybe I will.”

“You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Your father said. “But if you’re going to be kissing anymore boys- now I do know that I want grandkids or at least grand puppies someday- but you know the condoms are in the-”

“WELL GOODNIGHT MOM AND DAD, GREAT TALK. SEE YOU IN THE MORNING.” you suddenly stood up and rushed into your room. As gross as your dad could be, the talk had made you feel better, just a little.

You sat at the small desk in the corner and turned on the lamp. Reaching into your backpack you pulled out the shoe box that you had crammed in there and opened it. Your mom was right, you did love to pass notes in school. You loved it so much that you tried your best to keep every single one that had been passed between you and your friends, carefully dated, folded, and set in this very shoe box for safe keeping.

In this box was every memory you had since moving to Addison Apartments; notes between you and Ashley in art, scribbles and doodles from Larry, old tests that Todd helped you study for with encouraging comments in the margins, and misheard lyrics from Sal.

Sal and Larry had been fighting over lyrics to a metal song they had been listening to, each hearing different words through the fried vocals of the lead singer. It had become a game that they’d pass the headphones around to everyone at the table to try and decipher what was being sung. Each time, Todd would look up the song online and announce who had come the closest. Usually everyone was wrong.

There were even a few pictures in the box from Ashley’s old Polaroid; everyone wearing their hair (as best they could) in pigtails on April Fool’s day, Larry and Sal at Homecoming with Sal wearing a stunning yellow dress, all of the boys on top of each other in a dog pile, Maple painting Ashley’s nails, and one of you and Sal.

This was one you hadn’t even shown Sal. In the photo, he was playing a game on his Gear Boy and was attempting to explain how to get through the level. In that moment though, you weren’t looking at the screen, you were looking at him. Ashley had managed to capture you looking so softly at him that you had to make sure that he never ever saw it until you were married with children or puppies.

You never did beat that level.

Looking through all of this, you grabbed a few sheets of paper and started writing.

Sal Fisher, today is the day that I’m going to tell you everything and then I’ll be able to move on.

Next Chapter

#sally face x reader #sal fisher x reader #sal fisher #sally face #cbu #nacht fic #sally face imagines

[missstormcaller]

CAN’T FEAR YOUR OWN WORLD Vol. II Part 9 Full Translation

This is the second half of part 10 on the app

Chapter 10

Karakura is by no means a desolate countryside town.

Located on the outskirts of Tokyo's urban area, it is a relatively populous town with a network of railroads passing through the heart of the city.

Supporting a population exceeding one hundred thousand, a general hospital classed as one of the largest even among neighbouring towns, is situated beside Karakura Honchō Station.

Therefore, the station is both used by people living within and without the town with many people travelling in and out of it. In order to protect the town from Aizen's clutches, the Shinigami once used a trick to transfer it along with all 100,000 people to Soul Society, regarding that effort, it was unfathomable even to many Shinigami let alone an ordinary person. Entering and exiting by means of train or traffic was completely blocked for a temporary amount of time, things like electric power, water and sewer services of the surrounding area were also handled so that no abnormalities would occur, furthermore memory manipulation was carried out on a large number of residents living adjacent to Karakura Town, it was one large-scale operation conducted by an entire force of technicians among the Shinigami. As a result, the Shinigami made a success of their astounding foul play technique to deceive the world whilst isolating Karakura Town in a twofold sense. Although this gave rise to victims in the end, the Seireitei managed to keep that number at a bare minimum considering the goals of Aizen and the Arrancar. And now, Karakura Town was isolated from the world once more. The objectives of the people responsible for the isolation, is unclear. If the thing which one might call 'the walls of the dimension separating reality from virtual reality' existed in physical form, then perhaps 'it' causes one to feel as if that was indeed the case —— in accordance with this obscure curtain that intermingled with static noise, it could not even be identified through the eyes of an ordinary human. However, maybe it could have been described as a moderate isolation. The trains never came to a stop. Neither did the vehicles that would normally come and go through the borders of town, and the same could be said of the pedestrians too. The birds in the sky fluttered past one another, the flow of the river also advanced smoothly. Another ordinary day. But the town was unmistakably isolated. "The heck? My TV stopped receiving broadcasts?" "Hello, hello? Guess I got cut-off…" "I'm not getting any reception." -- "Neither am I!" "These e-mails for work, they've got me beat…" "Are you kidding me, I actually lost connection just when I was about to win!" Voices such as these could be heard scattered all throughout Karakura Town. Various telecommunications equipment and transceivers of radio waves connecting to the outside of town stopped working, it was no longer possible to make any electronic contact whatsoever with the outside world. Nonetheless, it was a matter that lasted only a brief few minutes. The telecast signals were restored first of all, other functions subsequently returned in an ordered fashion from radio stations, to landlines, wireless connections, the internet and then cell phones. Whilst tilting their heads in puzzlement, everybody came to accept it in their own way believing that it was "probably caused by a power outage at the relevant facilities" and then returned to their daily lives. What they remained oblivious to, is the fact that during those brief few minutes, all communication devices present within the town which easily exceeds one hundred thousand, had also been 'tagged'. And some communication devices that were sorted through those 'tags', failed to recover their communication functions even after the few minutes had passed.

"Huh… that's strange…" At Ururu's words, Jinta replies wearing a look of agony. "What are you talking about? The only thing that seems strange right now is my condition!" Whilst disregarding the noise coming out of Jinta who was forced to carry half of the 500kg worth of an infinite number of super-balls on his back alone, Ururu posed a question to Tessai who was walking beside her. "Tessai san, my cell phone, it's become unusable…" "Heh, if you're just going to be looking at porn sites anyway then it might as well be broken, whoa- hyahaha!? Stop, wait, damn you! Don't tickle me when I'm in this state!" Away from Jinta whose quivering knees were about to give way, Tessai responds to the words of Ururu. "Hrmm? Could it be some kind of electromagnetic interference?" In contrast to Jinta who was propping up a bag weighing around 250kg on his back, Tessai effortlessly lifted the remaining baggage with one arm. With the hand that was not currently occupied he took out his own cell phone and confirmed the status of its reception. "…It's true, my phone doesn't seem to be working either." However, after executing several operations from there, Tessai knit his eyebrows together in unease. "This… doesn't seem like any ordinary electromagnetic interference. And I sense a fluctuation of strange Reiatsu too… let's return to the shop quickly."

"From here onwards it's all Karakura Town… but I wonder what this is all about?" At the border of a town which sits on the west side of Karakura. A young Shinigami who is in charge of said neighbouring town had finally arrived at that spot. "Considering the fact that an urgent transmission had come from Seireitei… could this be the doing of a Hollow? Or even a Quincy…?" Confronted with a curious barrier, he spontaneously whispered to himself.

A hologram-like curtain being projected in mid-air, is completely covering the entirety of town whilst emitting static noise. Despite this, cars, pedestrians and even the trains on top of that, stormed into the curtain and passed through it as if nothing had happened, was it not visible to them? "Okay then, to hell with it!" Although there was a moment of hesitation, the Shinigami who was a man of action made his steps towards the curtain as it currently stood. And then —— "…Oof? What, was I just able to pass through normal-…" In the midst of speaking, he noticed that there was another shinigami before his eyes. "Who are you? Aren't the guys in charge of Karakura supposed to be a young male and female duo?" At the query, a Shinigami with the appearance of a man in the prime of his life sporting grey streaked hair, in turn, posed a question of his own to the young Shinigami. "I'm in charge of Kagamino City further east from here. And I'd like to ask you the same thing. Just now, you came out from Karakura Town, regarding the current situation on the inside, what's happening?" "What are you talking about…?" It was at this point the young Shinigami noticed an abnormality. The scenery around him, was completely different to the one he saw before passing through the curtain. "Where is this place…? Where is the railway station?" "This place is at the east side of Karakura Town. The railway station you speak of, you mean Karakura Honchō Station right?… By some chance, could it be that you… were at the west side of the town just now?" Then, he realised. The curtain performed different actions towards Shinigami and ordinary humans. At the same time, he was concerned about the safety of the Shinigami on the inside. "Are they going to be okay…? I don't expect the Shinigami in charge of Karakura Town are that strong…" "In any case, I'll be reporting upwards.… Don't worry about it, Kurosaki Ichigo, former captain Isshin and former captain Urahara in addition to that are all present in Karakura Town. That guy will likely demonstrate some kind of breakthrough solution." They were oblivious. Oblivious to the fact that both Kurosaki Ichigo and Kurosaki Isshin were currently not in town. As well as the fact that instead, it was one among the vice captains who doesn't quite match Kurosaki Ichigo and Isshin as a fighting power, that happens to be visiting.

Urahara Shōten

"Yukio Hans Vorarlberna…" Hisagi was perplexed by that lengthy name for an instant, but it was a proper noun he had certainly heard of before when he went around collecting information on Kurosaki Ichigo. At the same time he recalls that this is a name that had entered his ears only recently. —— "That's because we travelled there directly through Yukio and Riruka's abilities. I guess our side was running a fair amount of risk in our own way too huh?" "…! Ginjō's comrade!?" "…You could say that. So then, who might you be? Though frankly, I have no business with anyone other than Urahara san." In response to the question posed by the young boy who spoke in a dispassionate tone through the airborne monitor, Hisagi replies whilst clenching his fists tightly. "I'm the Gotei 13's Squad 9 vice captain Hisa—— ” "Oh, never mind. I doubt there's any point in even remembering it." "Arrgh!? What's your deal jerk!? Have a little more patience to at least hear the rest! This is the goddamn opposite of what happened with that guy Ganju!" (TN -- as a reminder, back in volume 1 during their first encounter, Ganju could only remember half of Hisagi's name "[…] you’re the vice captain of some squad… vice captain…Hi…Hisa…" except here the roles are sort of reversed with Hisagi only able to say half his own name.) Paying no heed to Hisagi who had worked himself into a frenzy, Yukio turned to Urahara and began to address him. "It's been half a year since I last saw you it seems, I want you to come along with me for a little while." "Oh my, I would have come out to meet you if you had given me a phone call in advance you know? But I get the picture more or less." "Oh…?" In contrast to Yukio who narrowed his eyes, Hisagi's eyes widened in surprise as he raised a question. "Is it true Urahara san? You have some idea of whatever the heck this guy's objectives may be…?" Thereupon Urahara closed his fan with a snap whilst smiling fearlessly. "With gaming ventures as its cornerstone, the president of 'Y. Hans Enterprise' which has achieved rapid growth at the heart of the entertainment industry, will only have one firm request of me." All of a sudden the fan which had just been closed, flew open with a loud thwack as Urahara made his assertion. "Just say it! You want to poach me away to your own company don't you?" "…Whaa?" "……" Hisagi wore a bewildered look as if to indicate that he wasn't sure how he should respond, Yukio's face was completely devoid of expression.

Unfazed by the stance of the other two, Urahara brazenly continued. "Oh no, perhaps I should say you have a discerning eye, as someone who continues to develop new products for a small-time candy store, I personally think it's about time to get noticed by big companies. Having said that, if you think I'm a man that can be swayed by money then that's disconcerting you know? If you want to buy my Shitamachi* craftsmanship, then I would hope you'd answer with sincerity rather than money. More specifically, how about a 7% stake in your company?" (*TN -- a concept that refers to "old town Tokyo" where minor vendors and artisans can be found, Shitamachi culture is in keeping with traditional methods and is deemed more authentic/reliable. It is therefore in opposition to mass-production and modernised techniques.) "Isn't that still asking for money in the end!? What is up with that dramatic 7% figure!? Or rather, how is Karakura Town Shitamachi!? Also a small-time candy store doesn't have any particular need to develop its own merchandise in the first place does it!?" "…Hisagi san, you genuinely retort with such civility. Perhaps Vorarlberna san should also follow your example?" In response to Urahara who said as much without the slightest hint of shame, Yukio was neither surprised nor offended, but merely spoke his own opinions with an unconcerned air. "As frightening as ever, with regard to you that is. You're the type I'd least like to encounter in a player versus player game." "What's the matter? To hear this all of a sudden." "While you were spouting irrelevant jokes, just now, you were observing every reaction on my side weren't you? Your manipulative tactics had already begun with your jokes that looked down on the person in question didn't it?" "You overestimate me. Do I look like that kind of scoundrel?" Urahara gave a strained laugh as he veiled himself deeply with his hat, and from under the brim of that hat, with a daring gaze he stared up towards Yukio who was on the other end of the monitor. "Owing to the nature of my business, I tend to evaluate the other party, however it's not like I can see through everything." Watching Urahara who tactfully evaded his questions, Yukio heaved a sigh as he spoke. "Whatever, forget about it. But, you understand enough to know that my objectives are not to poach you away right? It's the first reasoning phase. Even though I still haven't given you any key items*, are you able to guess the objectives on my side?" (*TN -- he's using gaming terminology, "key items" here refers to collectables players would be able to pick up in their virtual world to aid themselves in-game.) "I want to say I know what your game is, but I can't be sure at this stage. Just how many times would the answer be right? At least I know there is no intent to kill or hostility coming from Vorarlberna san, so I hope that I also have time on my side." "Huh?" —— No hostility? —— Come to think of it, it certainly doesn't feel like we're under attack. What Hisagi is able to determine from the monitor that appeared in midair and the static noise like substance which began to flicker around the shop, is the presence of an ability which has forced a digital virtual world to fuse with the real one. Therefore, whilst cautiously considering whether or not the data of his own physical system could be rewritten at will, using his Reiatsu perception Hisagi attempted to feel around for the whereabouts of Yukio himself. Though there was indeed no indication that they were undergoing an attack, Hisagi had recollections of being manipulated in the past whilst remaining completely unaware of the fact that he had succumb to an attack by the Quincy known as Pepe and is thus unable to allow himself the carelessness. —— Crap, I remembered it. How the hell could I… with that weird old fart… Although the brainwashing which was applied through the power of Pepe's Schrift had since been lifted, he recalled that he once 'loved' the Quincy in question even if it was only for a moment, whilst twitching in discomfort he shook his head. "Urahara san, you say this guy has no hostility… well then, why did he go to the trouble of isolating Karakura Town?" A short while ago, Hisagi had sent a transmission to Soul Society in order to request a Gentei Kaijo, however a reply has still not returned. He feared it likely that communications had been obstructed by some means, but he couldn't afford to ascertain whether or not that was also part of the isolation. In order to effectively do battle in a state where his power has been suppressed by a substantial margin like this, Hisagi has grown through continuous training, having said that, he would probably be forced into a fierce struggle if his opponents also happen to be the likes of Adjuchas or Vasto Lorde class Hollows. "Ah yes, it's true that I carried out the isolation of this town." It was Yukio himself who responded to Hisagi's question. Despite watching Yukio doubtfully, even from Hisagi's intuition, there was nothing that seems to indicate that this other party held any animosity. Faced with Hisagi who was just considering what his goals might be if that was truly the case, Yukio continued his sentence. "But there is no hostility… when it comes to me that is." Then, almost simultaneously, a change materialised in the scene. Hisagi perceives the fluctuation of a faint Reiatsu at his back, as he leapt forward without a word, he turned to look over his shoulder at the spot he was standing in until that point. What was standing there as a result, is the figure of person who had emerged from the static noise in the air, an extendable baton decorated with some sort of curious ornaments had just been swung down towards the spot Hisagi was in only a moment ago. Even though it wasn't a blade, as a blunt instrument its force will not allow one to get away without consequences so long as it was able to strike one's head Considering the endurance of a Shinigami, its strength seems to be no big deal, however it also did not appear likely that this was an ordinary extendable baton. And above all —— the moment he caught sight of the individuals holding identical batons gushing forth one after another from the surrounding static noise, Hisagi determined that the situation had already transitioned to battle status. That he was able to dodge it right away, even while listening to Urahara's comical conversation, is likely due to his long-standing experience of continuous battle as a Shinigami. As he extended his hand towards the hilt of his Zanpakutō, Hisagi observes the crowd of people that had appeared in front of Urahara Shōten. —— This isn't Hollow or Quincy Reiatsu. —— These guys… are they, human? It's not the case that they were souls of the deceased, rather a group of men and women who clearly had a Reiraku colour no different to that of an ordinary human being living here in the Human World. In uniformity, they all wore suits adorned with white patterns on a black cloth, on their faces they donned gas masks with the same colour scheme and as a result it was impossible to examine their facial expressions. —— Assuming they're human, I can't afford to end up killing them so rashly. —— But, if these guys are ordinary humans, then this disparity in numbers is not a problem either… Hisagi made an attempt to knock the whole crew senseless through Shunpo and Hakuda, however —— "!?" The moment he moved around and cut in behind his opponent using Shunpo, he perceives a sense of discomfort and in that way was forced to dive backwards by one step. In an instant, a baton brushes past the tip of his nose. Despite having completely moved around to his opponents' blind spot, to his surprise they dealt an attack his way with the utmost precision using moves that almost made it appear as if they had eyes in the back of their heads. To go further, their movements were much faster than that of ordinary humans, even to the point where it seemed far beyond the level of Shinigami foot soldiers. —— What the heck is up with these guys!? —— Could they be detecting my position with Reikaku (spiritual sense)? The likes of Shinigami, Hollows and some unique humans are all able to detect the Reiatsu belonging to other beings through a sense known as Reiatsu Chikaku (spiritual pressure perception) — commonly referred to as "Reikaku". However it did not appear likely that ordinary humans living in the Human World would be able to perform such an action, Hisagi considered the possibility that they were some kind of gifted individuals. But naturally, the enemy did not give him the leisure of thinking things through. As he evaded the swarm of batons which came swooping down on him in quick succession from the surroundings, Hisagi senses that a slight anomaly has emerged within himself. —— What the hell? —— My moves, they're getting sluggish…? Even counting the fact that his limiter had not been released, he still got the feeling that his reaction speeds had slowed by around 10% compared to usual. After visualising the movements in his mind, it took his body a brief moment of delay before putting it into operation. Having observed the situation, Urahara narrows his eyes whilst muttering to himself. "Poison… no, this is manipulation of souls and Reishi… isn't it?" "What are you implying Urahara san!?" "Let's see, just now, you were lightly grazed by the baton belonging to Mr. Black suit guy over there correct? Since then, Hisagi san's Reiatsu feels as though it's been thrown a little out of order. I'm afraid it's likely that this is the application of a Fullbring where contact amounts to a trigger for activating the ability." Urahara attentively puts the conjecture derived from his own observations into words. "So that's how it is…! As expected of you Urahara san. It's just like you to remain so calm in the midst of a free-for-all like th-… wait a minute?” Hisagi evaded the enemy's attacks using taijutsu and at the same time was impressed by Urahara, but then he noticed a great difference in the situation surrounding himself and Urahara. "…Why do I get the impression, that it's only me who's being attacked!?" The black suited group clad in gas masks who made an appearance in the vicinity of the shop, all uniformly rushed in to attack Hisagi alone and did not even attempt to make an approach in Urahara's direction who at a glance, appears to be unguarded. "Well, I wonder how this came about? Is it down to a so-called difference in personal virtue?" "Isn't that a little unfair!?… Hey, Yukio right!? What's the big idea jerk!?" At Hisagi who yelled towards the projected image in the air, Yukio replied in a bored-looking manner. "Didn't you listen to anything I was just saying? I told you, I have business with Urahara san." "…Having important business with him, doesn't mean having him wiped out or something does it?" "If that were the case I would have mounted a surprise attack a long time ago. Do I look like the type to launch an offensive after announcing myself in an act of fair play?" While the static noise surrounding the mid-air screen flickered, Hisagi who eyed Yukio as he spoke, clicked his tongue thinking "…he doesn't seem like that type" and drives the heel of his palm into one of the black suited assailants. "If that's true, then what is the motive for attacking me?… Well, considering the story I heard from Ginjō, that the comrade of that guy would hate us Shinigami, is understandable I guess." Due to the Shinigamis' betrayal, his fellow Fullbringers who were once his comrades were all slaughtered. If they were made to hear of such a past from Ginjō, then it's not surprising for the Fullbringers to even consider any Shinigami they come across as a clear enemy who should be cut down immediately. Was Urahara not a target simply because they knew he is an individual who had been exiled from the Shinigami's world? As he sidestepped the black suited gang's assault, it was Hisagi who guessed as much, however, what emerged on the face of Yukio who had heard his words, was an expression that intermingled with slight astonishment. "…Really? That guy Kūgo, went as far as to talk to you about something like that?" Finally, at Hisagi towards whom he was thus far as indifferent to as a stone by the roadside, Yukio opens his mouth to speak with a look that harboured interest for the first time. "I don't think Kūgo would have succumbed to torture or interrogation. How are the two of you acquainted?" "…We simply got to know each other through a round of drinks on one occasion. At present we are neither friend nor foe." "……?" "Well, it suffices to call it a cooperation between a journalist and an interviewee… look, if you're interested in listening to what I have to say then make these guys stop!" Dodging the black suited group who continued to advance on him as before, Hisagi finally took a wide leap towards the sky and escaped. In that way, he fortified the Reishi under his feet in a position that was out of the reach of the black suits, and remained motionless in the air. As he fixed a glare at the Yukio within the projected image which he had come to meet at the same eye level, Hisagi sets the situation straight. —— Phew, thank goodness I went without entering a Gigai. If a member of the public were to see me flying around the place… —— Wait? Does the fact that they can see my spirit body, mean that every single of those guys down there are indeed Fullbringers? Supposing that the black suited gang were Fullbringers, it was entirely possible that they could also leap as far as this point. Realising be was in no position to take a breather, Hisagi once again looked down on the black suited group below. In a split second —— he became aware of the fact that what was before his lowered gaze, was somebody's arm entangling itself around the upper half of his body. "…?……!?" It did not feel like something was touching him. Even Hisagi's sharpened sense of Reiatsu Chikaku couldn't detect a single abnormality whatsoever there. However, the image of somebody's slender arm did indeed enter his eyes, gently embracing Hisagi's body from behind. Then, as if to prove it wasn't a hallucination —— an enchanting female voice resounded close to his ear. "How fascinating…" "……Gah!" Suddenly, a chill ran down Hisagi's spine. "…That occupations such as journalism exist even in Soul Society." At the whisper which sounded as though it could melt one's mind just by listening to it, Hisagi forgets he was standing on a field of battle for a moment. Nevertheless, the voice was so out of place that it quite conversely evoked a sense of wariness in the battle-hardened Hisagi, as if to dispel the voice he fanned out both arms as he turned to look back. There was no sensation indicating that his arms had made contact with anything. But "she" was certainly there. "…Who the hell are you? It seems you're neither Shinigami nor Hollow…" What met Hisagi's eyes, was a beautiful young woman. The woman was clad in a style of suit which was a combination of dignified and flirtatious, she exudes a mysterious allure which cannot be described in words. "Quincy?… That's not it. Assuming you're Yukio's associate, are you perhaps a Fullbringer?" "That would be correct… no hang on." The woman made a momentary pause in her speech, with a meaningful smile spread across her face, she corrected her answer. " ——In this instance, perhaps it's better to say 'exacta'? Mr. Vice captain of squad 9." "……!?” In Hisagi's mind, vigilance levels towards this opponent spiked by several notches. The unique catchphrase "exacta" which had just been uttered, is the habitual saying of Findorr Calius, an Arrancar whom Hisagi once battled in this place —— or strictly speaking, a replica town which imitated Karakura. Although he announced his rank to Yukio a little earlier, it turns out she knows information personal to Hisagi. Moreover, if she has knowledge of even the details contained within that inner sanctum of battle, then it is no longer possible to underestimate her as a mere human. "…You know me that well huh? What's up with that, could it be that you're something of a fan of mine?" Even if she was a bewitching woman, the sort of which would cause Hisagi's heart to sway —— "Sure. If I told you, that's right… after learning all about you, I've been wanting to get closer to you for a long time, would you believe me?" "……" Even if she uttered charming words in a voice which would cause Hisagi's heart to sway —— "…Th-there's no way I would believe something like that!" Maintaining his reasoning power which was being pushed to its very limits, Hisagi places a hand on the hilt of his Zanpakutō. —— Be careful, be careful damn it. This would have been a close call if it weren't for the warning I got from captain commander Kyōraku and captain Muguruma. While he recollected the time he was judged as "seemingly second to none when it comes to falling into the snares of dubious women", in his mind Hisagi began to meditate under a serene waterfall. As if seeing through his inner thoughts, an unwelcome warning came resounding through the air all the way back from Earth. "Are you alright~! Hisagi san~! Please be wary of honeytraps!"

In response to Urahara who called out to him in such a way from below, Hisagi protested as his cheeks began to redden. "What are you insinuating!? Why would you have that sort of impression of me!? It's not like I'd be taken in by her schemes is it!? At any rate, I'm still a vice captain you know!?" Hisagi yelled with vigour that would likely put him on the verge of tears were it not for these exceptional state of affairs, the woman on the other hand cast words at Hisagi which were difficult to discern as either satire or seriousness. "Oh, what a pity. If only I were able to avoid a fight using my feminine charm, things would have been easier that way." With a seductive smile playing on her face, the female Fullbringer inclined her head as she gazed fixedly at Hisagi. —— Calm down, I need to calm down! Don't let her deceive you, that's right, think about Rangiku san! Without revealing the fretfulness of his inner thoughts on his countenance, Hisagi feigned a cool visage and gave his response. "…That is a pity. You certainly are attractive, but if you want to seduce me then you've got to adopt a risqué style on par with Rangiku san." "Hisagi san. It seems you intend to clinch victory with a suave act, but if Rangiku san were to hear you, don't you feel it's likely she would make you eat an axe kick, and on top of that, blurt out the cold, hard truth which would no doubt kill the mood?" "Huuuh…? What did I do…?" Regaining his senses at Urahara's words, Hisagi avoided meeting the gazes of those around him whilst the blush on his face crept up to his ears. The woman who was floating in midair giggled after seeing the state Hisagi was in, at the same time she slowly extended both arms. "You're quite the amusing one. It would be pleasant if others among the Shinigami also had a similar sense of humour." Then, as if conducting an orchestra, she begins to wave her hands around. "Allow me to reintroduce myself … I'm Michibane Aura." Her dancing fingertips resembled that of a performer's pulling the strings of a marionette, that alone made one sense a kind of beauty. "Although my station is life is nothing more than a maid for the gods who govern death, I am most pleased to make your acquaintance." "……?" —— Gods who govern death? —— Is that referring to us Shinigami? What does she mean by “maid”? Though puzzled by the words and actions of the woman who gave her name as Aura, Hisagi immediately notices an unusual change in their surroundings.

As soon as the reiatsu belonging to the humans at ground level mutated, the whole crew raised their batons towards the air. In response to that spectacle which even appeared to resemble vegetation extending its vines towards the sun, Hisagi got a bad feeling. Then, his forebodings were proved justified. The patterns which decorated the surface of the extendable batons materialises and floats up to the skies above, remaining like that, they bloat to take the form of enormous tentacles which then charge towards Hisagi who was standing in midair. "Whaa…!?" The symbols and characters reminiscent of a summoning circle began to flock together, the tentacles flailed about like it was perhaps a single organism. For Hisagi who contemplated the possibility of something more akin to a Cero on the verge of being fired, this was an unexpected attack. Hisagi unsheathes his Zanpakutō on the spot and swiftly cuts away a number of the tentacles approaching him, but then —— The 'branches of the patterns' which were severed off, instantaneously attaches itself back together and resumes its attack on Hisagi once more. "…They're just like a huge swarm of insects! What gives damn it!?" Hisagi continues to dodge whilst dealing slashing attacks, but owing to the fact that this was ineffective regardless of how many cuts he made, Hisagi concluded that his physical endurance would be the first thing to drain at this rate. In addition, as he crossed his sword with 'branches of the patterns', Hisagi perceives another danger. Every time he would slash a cluster of characters, a strange distortion is produced in the Reiatsu of his Zanpakutō. A sensation that made it seem as though the sharpness of the blade itself had grown blunt, it felt like something close to the decline of his physical ability which he sensed a little earlier. "Damn… this feeling, it's awfully similar to the time that guy Ayasegawa got me…" Hisagi once crossed blades with Ayasegawa Yumichika in the mayhem that was created when Kurosaki Ichigo appeared in Soul Society for the first time. The result was a humiliating defeat for Hisagi. The ability of Ayasegawa's "Ruri'iro Kujaku", which was a hidden ace up his sleeve, is 'Reiatsu absorption', Reiatsu is sucked up by the light rays of the blade which spread like the feathers of a peacock, the sensation of his body being rendered motionless is something Hisagi still distinctly recalls even now. —— But, it's different from that time. Rather than being absorbed… it's more like the feeling of being pinned down. —— Is this the "manipulation of Reishi" Urahara san mentioned earlier? What a drag. Although the Reiatsu itself remains unchanged, he could not help thinking that the way in which his sword had become eerily blunt, is perhaps comparable to his blade being immersed within a muddy swamp. He feared it likely that this was the enemy's ability, however he could not quite comprehend that theory at the same time. —— Perhaps it's closer to Kira's "Wabisuke"…? If that's the case, then a game of endurance isn't the best idea. A Zanpakutō which doubles the weight of whatever it strikes flashed through his mind and Hisagi prepares himself to deal with the threat. "It can't be helped…" Then, towards Aura and the black suited group on the ground, Hisagi uttered words which took the form of a warning. "Even though it's not very clear what your goals are yet… from this point onwards, I will judge you as an enemy." "…Oh my, who would've guessed that you'd also be capable of wearing an expression like that." Realising that the atmosphere surrounding Hisagi has changed, Aura responds while narrowing her eyes. "But if you give me your word that you would no longer be an obstacle for us, then we would even be willing to lay down our arms this very minute you know?" It was different from the mood in the moment he was teased by Urahara only a short while ago. An intent to kill begets one to return the favour, he wore the face of a "Shinigami" who is capable of cutting down an enemy without any hesitation whether they were human or not. If one were to ask the captains who were either the belligerent or dutiful type, he believes they would probably say he was "too slow when finding his resolve", despite this Hisagi once again solidifies his resolve to kill the 'enemy' before his eyes. Nevertheless, perhaps it comes down to the influence of the 'path' Tōsen had preached to him? It is precisely because he understands that his own blade is an article capable of killing others, that Hisagi deliberately gave one final warning to those who stood in his way. "To those of you who are readying a sudden attack, you won't be an obstacle for me either. First and foremost, what do you hope to achieve by covering the town with something like this?" "…This is the preparation." At Hisagi's remark, Aura lowered both hands and gave her response. Accordingly, the cluster of patterns that writhed around Hisagi also began to exhibit calmness, its material body swayed left and right where it had maintained a distance. "Preparation…?” "This very Karakura Town, is the greatest Jūreichi in the world. You know that right?" "Of course.… Wait, surely not." Hitting upon a certain hypothesis, Hisagi involuntarily raises his voice. "You guys wouldn't be trying to forge an 'Ōken' now would you!?" Ōken. The key to the "Soul King Palace" which can be manufactured through a Jūreichi with a radius of half a spirit mile, and an offering of one hundred thousand souls. Considering the fact that Aizen Sōsuke once launched an invasion towards Karakura Town in order to destroy the "Soul King", it's more than conceivable that this theory would be the objective for isolating this town. However, Aura slowly shakes her head in response to Hisagi's outcry. "Perhaps I should say that making such a speculation… is regrettable." "What did you just say…?" "We do not intend to sacrifice the souls of innocent citizens, and there is no need to forge an Ōken either." As a bold smile revealed itself on her face, Aura threw Hisagi's mind into disarray through her roundabout manner of speaking. "Because our purpose… is to turn Karakura Town itself, into a true capital that will seat the 'king'." "…Huh?" For a moment, Hisagi couldn't comprehend what his opponent was saying. Could it be an ill-natured joke, or an unreliable statement made in order to confuse his side? Rather, if he was instead told that they were manufacturing an Ōken by carrying out a massacre of all the humans belonging to this town, he probably would have been able to accept it more easily. However, his mind could not at all register the meaning behind the words stating to 'turn this town into the king's capital'. At the bewildered Hisagi, Aura continues to speak. "The Soul King Palace, and Las Noches. With the thrones established in Soul Society and Hueco Mundo as two wings, the throne would be whole supposing the town itself also became a wing above the two. That is the destiny bestowed upon us after all." "…What are you talking about? I mean… who is this 'king' you're referring to?" As a natural consequence, questions began to emerge in Hisagi's thoughts. —— There's no way, it can't possibly be Aizen could it? —— Or maybe Yhwach? No, that guy was definitely killed by Ichigo…. Despite several names floating to his head, one young face comes to mind in a corner of a dizzying myriad of ever-changing memory fragments. —— K…King…? —— "-- said he would -- allow me -- king --" —— No doubt, they were at the nobles' medical institution, the one who said that…. Even regardless of the fact that he had explained the encounter to Urahara a short while ago, he was unable to make an immediate link between the current situation and the person in question. Though there were various inexplicable aspects to the encounter, to Hisagi it appeared unlikely that there was also a connection to this absurd notion in which Karakura Town would be made the king's capital of the Human World. However —— Recalling the exchange of words from that time in detail, it occurred to Hisagi that his core temperature had rapidly chilled to the bone. —— "Besides… Tokinada sama said he would allow the likes of me to become king!" "…*gasp!*" The scattered puzzle pieces began to link together and produce a disturbing sound in Hisagi's head. What he still couldn't understand is whether this was a coincidence or an inevitably, or perhaps he was even being played into the palm of somebody's hand, as if with a groan, Hisagi muttered a name that was in the depths of his memory. "Ubuginu… Hikone?" " ! " It was at that point that the smile began to fade from Aura's face for the first time. "I'm surprised…. How is it that you know this name?" "Are you… by some chance, Tsunayashiro Tokinada's subordinate…?" "As I mentioned earlier, I am a maid, but to call me a subordinate… that would not be accurate. However, are you really fine with that? That someone such as yourself, would actually address a member of the Tsunayashiro clan, one of the four great noble houses, without the proper honorifics." Aura spoke as if to stir a reaction, but Hisagi was unfazed by it. "…Just now, it became no longer a necessity to attach 'sama' to his name." "…I think how Hisagi san should rather put it, is that 'sama' doesn't particularly suit Yoruichi san nor Byakuya san either…." When Urahara who was following the conversation from ground level whispered as much, the transmitted image of Yukio opens his mouth to speak as if matching that. "Aren't you going to go assist him? I feel Aura is a tough opponent to challenge for a solo player, don't you agree?" Looking at the projected image which blended with the sporadic static noise, Urahara spoke as he rhythmically poked at the ground with Benihime which takes the form of a sword cane. "Not at all, if anything I'm the support type specialising in buffs and recovery after all. Though somewhat capricious, Hisagi san is more outstanding as an attacker wouldn't you agree?" "Hmm? From the looks of it, it doesn't seem like he's doing that much DPS." "If pushed to say then I suppose he's more of a tank. He stands out by being tough to kill."

(TN -- If you're unfamiliar with gaming lingo: Buff = enhances the power/effectiveness of a game element/player. DPS = damage per second, refers to a player's, or more specifically their weapon's damage output. Tank = a class of playable character that typically occupies an enemy thereby redirecting the aggressor's attack while another player deals damage or completes some other objective, tanks generally have a lot of HP or “health” and can thus survive longer or are more difficult to kill as Urahara put it.)

In this space which was made to be dominated by the static noise and the sound of his cane prodding the earth's surface, Urahara closely observes the black suited group on ground level. After the tentacled patterns were shot from the batons, without even moving a muscle they merely continued to gradually release the Reiatsu in their possession towards the sky.

"…However, you guys are really playing dirty huh? About that, will both the 'person on the inside' as well as the 'person on the outside' be alright?" (TN -- When Urahara says "person on the inside' the furigana says "貴女" referring to a lady, that is, Aura. When he says "person on the outside" the furigana says "依り代" which means "spirit-dewelling object", you should be able to put the pieces together about Aura and her black suits now.) Aura took a scowling Hisagi's gaze in stride with a smile, but she somehow managed to catch the sound of Urahara's voice, raising her own voice ever so slightly she addresses him from midair. "As expected… you are a frightening man, Urahara Kisuke." "Oh my, you heard me?" "Were you able to discern my innate abilities, already?" " ! " Hisagi also reacts to those words, whilst being wary of his surroundings, he turns his line of sight in Urahara's direction. Each Fullbringer has their own special set of abilities. As far as Hisagi had investigated, the man known as Tsukishima who was with Ginjō for instance, possessed a terrifying ability in which he could insert his presence into the past of another person, and though by individual units, it could also alter history itself. Assuming the woman before his eyes is a Fullbringer, then the cluster of symbols and characters writhing around him, and the reason why he felt the strength within himself and his Zanpakutō diminishing, may surely be put down to a result of her abilities. In order to carry the progress of battle in their favour, Hisagi awaited Urahara's response, but then —— "Well I never, how can that be? Don't go pulling my leg now." With a soft chuckle, Urahara answers Aura's question. "You don't use any so-called innate abilities do you?" "……" "…No, perhaps it's more accurate to say, you 'can’t use' them, right?"

#CAN'T FEAR YOUR OWN WORLD #CFYOW #BLEACH #BLEACH NOVEL #mytranslationtag #Ryohgo Narita #Hisagi Shuuhei #ururu tsumugiya #jinta hanakari #tessai #Urahara Kisuke #Michibane Aura #Ubuginu Hikone #yukio hans vorarlberna #ginjo kugo #fullbring