#will be sending you straight there for indeterminate amounts of time! like come the fuck on

[oliviaischillin1204]

hairbrush

Pairings: Romantic Prinxiety (i meant it to be platonic but the end feels romantic-y so whatever floats ya boat)

Word Count: 1,895 words

based on this post, in response to an anon prompt! thanks for the inspo, hope it’s enjoyable akdjhsj. also i’m incapable of writing something genuinely ‘gentle’ so this is a fair deal more teasy than the original post implied

It was a common ritual between the Sides. When Roman wanted a little TLC, all he had to do was grab his hairbrush and come find one of the other sides. Everyone enjoyed getting the chance to brush Roman’s hair: it was long and soft, and best of all, everyone knew that having his hair brushed made Roman melt.

That was how he and Virgil ended up in this position: Virgil sitting on the couch (normally, for once) with Roman on the floor on front of him. With his back against the cushion and Virgil’s legs dangling on either side of his torso, it was all too easy for Roman to soften into the soothing, repetitive stroke of the brush.

“Good?” Virgil asked. Roman sighed in contentment, nodding carefully in order to not disturb Virgil’s brushing. 

“Excellent,” he responded in a low voice. The brush was wide with firm, soft-tipped bristles, and the sensation of it running over his scalp was incredibly pleasing. Combined with the fondness of having someone care enough about him to want to make him feel good, this was one of Roman’s very favorite pastimes.

Virgil laughed lightly. “And you say I’m like a cat. You’re practically purring.”

Roman shrugged one shoulder. “Can’t help it. Feels good.”

Again, Virgil laughed, amused at how Roman’s ability to speak seemed to disappear the longer they went. “Okay, bud. Just stay still.”

The silence settled over them again, and it was so calming, Roman almost fell asleep sitting up. He could get lost in this feeling. It was downright delightful.

“Hang on, this part is sticking up weird,” Virgil murmured, and Roman merely hummed in acknowledgement before his eyes snapped back open with a gasp.

“Roman?” Virgil asked, concerned. “You good?”

“I--”

Roman paused. He was good, and he wanted Virgil to know that so he wouldn’t, but then Virgil would ask him why he gasped, and he didn’t know if he wanted to tell him the actual reason.

“Did I pull your hair?” Virgil continued. Roman paused again before giving a short nod.

“Just a bit, but it’s really okay,” he said quickly, smiling in reassurance even though Virgil couldn’t see him. “I’d-- I’d like you to keep going, if you don’t mind.”

This seemed to satisfy Virgil, who ran the brush through Roman’s hair again.

“I’ll be more gentle,” he promised. Roman nodded again, taking a deep breath as the feeling of contentment returned.

Except Virgil continued by saying, “I was just trying to fix this piece of hair--”

His hands brushed against the unruly hair in question, and in doing so he brushed his knuckles all over the back of Roman’s right ear. This time, the creative side couldn’t hide his gasp, a hand flying over his mouth as he belatedly tried to hide his smile.

He froze as he felt Virgil’s fingers go still in his hair.

“Oh,” he said slowly, and to Roman’s despair there was a smile audible in Virgil’s voice. “I get it.”

Roman shifted on the ground. “No.”

“No?” And now Virgil was laughing softly; the sound sent butterflies to Roman’s tummy. “No what?”

“You-- you know what,” Roman stammered, cursing himself for the wobbly smile rising to his face. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t--”

“Don’t what?”

“Tickle me!”

It was a stupid trick, and Roman realized it immediately. Unfortunately for him, Virgil wasted absolutely no time before he began lightly fluttering his fingers all over Roman’s ear. Roman fell into helpless titters, dropping his chin to his chest as he tried to lean away from Virgil’s touch.

“Seriously?” Virgil asked in delight. “You’re seriously ticklish here?”

Roman shook his head, though his squeaky and adorable giggles probably weren’t helping his case. “No!”

Virgil hummed, gently scratching his nails at the spot where Roman’s ear met his jaw. “I don’t believe you, Princey. It looks like you’re very ticklish right about here.”

“Ah-ha!” Roman exclaimed, jerking forward and curling in on himself. Behind him, he heard Virgil tsk.

“Oh, hell no,” he said. “Let’s fix that right now.”

Before Roman could stop him, Virgil swung his legs inwards and wrapped them around Roman’s arms; he used this new postion as leverage, pulling Roman so he was sitting up straight again. His feet rested on Roman’s forearms, essentially pinning them to his thighs.

Roman gasped. He pulled experimentally at his new restraints, then slightly harder when he realized he really couldn’t move his arms. He opened his mouth to complain, but all that came out was a series of high-pitched squeals, thanks to Virgil’s fingers gently tracing over his sensitive little ear.

“W-wait!” he giggled. “I can’t move!”

Virgil snorted. “That’s kind of the point, genius.” To Roman’s horror, he added the fingers on his other hand to the mix, this time on his left ear. The two sets of wiggling fingers against both of Roman’s ears at once was enough to send him into full on giggles, wriggling giddily against the tickles.

“This is so freaking cute,” Virgil said, and Roman felt his face growing warm at the tease. His fingers slowly swirled around and around the shell of Roman’s ears, until they hit a spot just underneath his earlobe.

Roman squealed loudly, jolting at the new electrifying touch. “Virgil!”

He could practically see the smile that was probably forming on Virgil’s face right now, as the experimental touches became more intentional in that one specific spot.

“Oh, so this is the spot? Right here? This is Roman’s tickle spot?”

Virgil’s voice lilted and bounced in just the right way to make Roman groan through his giggles. He yanked fruitlessly at his trapped arms, desperate to bat Virgil’s hands away from his ears, or at least cover his blushing face.

“Virgil!” he whined, giggling with abandon. 

“What? Does the little prince not like having his ears touched? I wasn’t even trying to tickle you, but it looks like somebody is just too ticklish for the brush, huh?”

“You’re not even brushing it!” Roman squealed. He whipped his head back and forth in a desperate attempt to dislodge Virgil’s fingers.

“Oh, you’re right,” Virgil said, pulling his hands back and giving Roman a moment to breathe. “Let me fix that.”

A second later, Roman felt the brush going through his hair, but it was no longer as relaxing as before. Sure, it still felt good, but by now he was so keyed up with the other tickles that even the brush’s bristles against his scalp were enough to set him off. He rocked in place as much as he could, his neck scrunching up involuntarily due to the tickles traveling down his neck.

“Hold still...” Virgil whispered, blowing a stream of air against his ears that made Roman squeal again. He whipped his head away from the feeling, jerking away from the hand that held his hairbrush.

Virgil scoffed. “Dude, if you actually mess up your hair after you fucking asked me to brush it, I’m gonna tickle you for real.”

Roman whined again, high pitched and frantic.

“Stop saying that!”

“Stop saying what? Tickle?”

Roman bit his lip, pointedly looking straight ahead. He struggled not to wiggle away as he felt Virgil shift forward on the couch cushions behind him.

“So you don’t want me to say--”

Roman bit off another squeak as he felt one of Virgil’s arms wrap around his upper chest, pulling him upright against the couch. He only had a second to process the feeling of Virgil’s warm breath right against his ear before the other side spoke again.

“Tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle.”

His voice was low and sharp, and he paired the verbal assault with lightly scratching the brush’s bristles just below Roman’s hairline on the back of his neck.

The creative side gave a gasping laugh, scrunching his neck up and arching his back in a desperate attempt to get away from the awful tickles. Virgil’s voice was dripping with teasiness, and his words were hitting Roman’s ears like it was ASMR. It sent awful tingles down his spine and made him feel like he was getting tickled from the inside out.

Roman squawked, a sound that he would normally be embarrassed by but was too busy in the moment to worry about, and his squirming increased tenfold. 

“Nahaha! Virgil! Please!”

“Please what?” Virgil teased. “Please brush your hair? That’s what I’m trying to do, but you won’t let me!”

Roman merely laughed in response, helplessly shaking his head as he tried to shake off the tickly feeling of the brush. “I can’t--!”

Virgil tsked. “Too bad. Looks like these tickly ears are all mine, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

He dropped the brush, and once again began fluttering all of his fingers on, around, under, and behind Roman’s ears. Roman nearly cackled, head flinging back and forth, but Virgil’s fingers easily followed him. His incessant cooing only made the tickling worse; every word he said sent tingles down Roman’s back, and his warm breath continued to torture Roman’s ears in the most evil way possible.

Roman squealed, squeaked, snorted, and giggled at the tickles. He wasn’t used to having such a sensitive spot so thoroughly attacked, but if he were being honest, he wasn’t planning on asking Virgil to stop anytime soon.

After some indeterminate amount of time, Virgil pulled back, mostly because Roman’s laughter was starting to sound more than a little wheezy. He let his legs drop to the sides, and Roman immediately shot his hands up to rub away the ghost tingles at his ears.

“You’re evil,” he muttered without malice, turning to give Virgil a pout that he didn’t really mean. Virgil took one look at him and burst into laughter.

“Your hair,” he said kindly, “is a fucking mess.”

Roman felt his hair for a moment before sighing. That made sense: he’d been wiggling and thrashing all over the place ever since Virgil first grazed his ear.

“It’s fine,” he said automatically, but Virgil leaned forward to take his arm and ease him backwards onto the couch next to him.

“Here,” he said with a sheepish smile, “let me.”

He eased Roman to the side until he was leaning against Virgil’s shoulder, and the emo side immediately started running his fingers through Roman’s soft locks.

Roman stayed pouty for about all of three seconds before melting into Virgil’s side. He subconciously tilted his head to give Virgil better access, relishing in the feeling of Virgil scratching his fingers against his scalp.

“So the little prince has tickly ears, huh?” Virgil teased. His words were quiet, but they still sent a plesant tingly feeling through Roman’s body.

He squirmed against Virgil. “Why must you tease me?”

Virgil shrugged. “I mean, it is pretty cute,” he admitted, pressing a tiny kiss to the tip of Roman’s ear. A small shiver went through his body, but it honestly felt kind of nice.

“Rude,” Roman murmured, a light giggle escaping when Virgil did it again.

“Say it to my face,” he retorted, pressing a final kiss to Roman’s cheek. The creative side blushed, but the feelng of Virgil’s gentle fingers in his hair made it all better. It always did.

And if Virgil happened to accidentally brush his fingers against Roman’s ears again, and again, and again-- well, it’s not like Roman could really complain.

#my posts #my writing #tickling #tickle fic #tickle community #hairbrush #lee!roman #ler!virgil #sanders sides tickling #prompt #this was meant to be a minific lmaooooo #tbh i'm not 100% satisfied w this but i'm very sleepy and i wanna post it now lmao #fr anon thank you for the prompt i enjoyed working with this #as always roast my typos

[rackartyg]

sara ryder is putting off sleep, again. SAM tries to keep her company.

f!ryder & SAM, fluff and mild hurt/comfort, 3K

[read on AO3]

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Outside the windows, the Heleus cluster is nothing but a smear of stars against all-consuming black. The lights changed to yellow-tinged… a number of hours ago; Sara decides she doesn’t care how many.

Just another late night working. Lots to do now, with a settlement of sorts in the works. That’s what she tells herself it is, anyway. And what she says goes—she is the Pathfinder, after all. The title’s got to be good for something.

She signs the report with a flourish, sending it off into the void of the Tempest’s digital storage, where it will languish until they pass close enough by a transmitter for it to zip off towards the Nexus. The vidcall on Havarl’s surface had been a luxury, piggybacking on the angara’s infrastructure out of the goodness of Kiiran Dals’ heart. The rest of the endless question-answering, negotiating, and brainstorming involved in making this collaboration work is being done by email, and the Initiative’s own, snail-slow system.

It’s tedious, nothing but pointless formalities and saying the same things over and over to the same people over in Colonial Affairs. Busywork. But Sara likes busywork. It’s good for staying busy. And staying busy is good for…

Well. When you can’t sleep. Or having a late night working. Same thing.

But. Now it’s done. And she still doesn’t think she could fall asleep.

Sara leans back in her chair. It creaks. To her left, SAM’s avatar spills blue light over the desk; it’s almost as if he’s keeping tabs on her. Keeping her company. It’s just a feeling, not anything real, but still.

“I would recommend resting,” SAM says, volume adjusted for the late hour.

She stretches. Every bone in her body screams for sleep, but she doesn't think she could manage it with a gun to her head. Well. It might be difficult to sleep with a gun to your head in general. “I know.”

Sara puts away the data pad and sighs, staring at the desk without really seeing it. It’s a blur of colour anyway, with how messy it is. She can’t be bothered to clean it up. Instead, she pushes a loose piece of paper around. Round and round. It rasps against the tabletop.

“Ever heard of a game called twenty questions?” she asks.

“Twenty Questions is a spoken parlour game which encourages deductive reasoning and—” SAM recites.

“I know what it is, SAM,” she says. It comes out fonder than she expected it to.

“Of course, Pathfinder.”

Something freezes solid inside her. Sara squeezes her eyes shut. “Please don’t call me that. I’m just… I’m Sara. That’s my name.”

“Protocol dictates—”

He keeps talking, but she talks louder. “I don’t care. You know it’s my name, you’ve called me by it before, for most of the time we’ve known each other, actually, so just. Keep doing that. Besides, it’s just the two of us here. It’s not like anyone’s going to hear.”

It’s quiet for a moment.

“Yes, Sara.”

She puts her feet up on the desk and crosses her ankles, resting her hands on her stomach. “That is how you say it, yeah. Well done.”

“That was sarcasm,” SAM remarks.

“Ahoy, captain obvious.” Sara picks up the piece of paper from the desk and contemplates tearing it into a thousand tiny little pieces. She decides it’s not worth the mess. “At this point, you really should be better at figuring that out. I think about what eighty percent of what I say is sarcastic.”

“Eighty-four.”

“That,” Sara says, lifting her head to glance at his router, “was a joke, and I am very impressed.”

SAM’s avatar flickers and flits in its strange patterns. “Thank you.”

“Anyway. Twenty Questions.” Sara clears her throat. She hadn’t noticed the real smile creeping up on her face. “You go first.”

SAM is silent for a moment. It’s more for her benefit than his, Sara suspects; he really is getting better at this whole social thing.

“Go ahead.”

“Okay…” Sara tips her head back on the headrest. “Could I hold it in my hand?”

“No.”

“Is it an object?”

“No.”

She taps her foot against the air. “Is it a… concept?”

“No.”

“Well, damn. An action?”

“Yes.”

She sits up straight. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” she says. “Could I do it?”

“Yes.”

“Am I doing it?”

“No.”

Sara is quiet for a solid minute. Then she says, very softly, “SAM, is it sleeping?”

“Yes.”

“God, I wish you had a face I could punch,” she groans, sliding down in the chair until she’s not sitting in it so much as awkwardly draped over the seat. “I have been given a passive-aggressive robot nanny at the age of twenty-two. Fantastic.”

“Your health will deteriorate if you do not get adequate rest, Sara,” SAM says, and just the fact that he uses her name for goddamn once makes her less inclined towards murder.

By way of reply, she makes a grunting noise.

SAM’s avatar flits on the desk. The patterns are different every time. Sara has given up trying to link them to any sort of meaning. “You are physically exhausted.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I apologise, but I do not understand the reasoning behind your actions.” If he were human, Sara wouldn’t blame him for feeling testy. As it is, through the monotone, he just seems… confused.

“Well maybe I’m not using much reason. Ever think of that?” She lets herself slip the last bit down on the floor. It’s cold, even through her clothes.

Honestly, he can take it. It’s just a taste of his own medicine; lord knows Sara likes unanswered questions—mostly because they’re a lot like busywork—but even she is starting to feel some frustration. If they’re equally inscrutable to each other, then that’s fair. A level playing field.

Except it’s not a game, and definitely not a competition—or if it is, they’re on the same team. They’re as much on the same team as anyone could ever be.

So, “Here’s an idea,” she says. “You can ask me twenty questions, about me. Anything you don’t understand. I’ll… do my best to explain. I can’t promise I’ll make sense a hundred percent of the time, but…”

He barely gives her enough time to finish speaking. “Why will you not sleep?”

Sara sighs. “Because,” she says, “I hate it. I don’t— It makes my mind wander, and I think about things I can’t, not if I’m going to stay sane until this is all over.” She huffs a laugh. “You know I get nightmares. Even if I manage to fall asleep, I just wake up again. So.”

“Emotional distress?”

“I guess.” It’s dark under the desk. And it smells funky. “You really haven’t registered my stress levels going crazy?”

“I have.”

“Then, there ya go.” Sara makes a gesture. From this angle, she’s pretty sure SAM’s can’t see it, but he can feel it through her, probably, so it’s fine. It’s all perfectly fine. Especially sitting underneath this desk right now. “Two questions down, eighteen to go. Hit me.”

“I have no more questions.”

“Sure you do,” Sara says. “Listen, I know you’re doing your best to be unobtrusive, and I appreciate the sentiment, but it’s getting a bit frustrating. Just— talk. To me. I promise you won’t scare me off.” She adds, with just a hint of bitterness, “It’s not as if you could. It’s literally physically impossible.”

“Which is why I have attempted to keep you comfortable,” SAM says. She’d say he sounded somber, if he were human.

“I figured.” Sara draws a meaningless pattern in the dust on the floor. It sticks to her fingers. “But I’m saying that you don’t have to. It’s honestly more uncomfortable listening to you hedging and avoiding and skipping to the middle. And manipulating me.”

At that, there’s silence. Sara looks up, bending her neck at a bad angle to catch a glimpse of SAM’s avatar.

“I know you’re doing it, SAM. I can’t tell as it’s happening, but I know it must’ve happened at some point. You’re too clever to not have.”

“I have not,” SAM says, and it’s almost heated. “I would not. It would go against my basic programming.”

Sara blinks. “Huh.”

But she was so sure—

“Harming the pathfinder is in opposition to everything that I am. Which is why I implore you: go to sleep.”

She’s so tired. Something has gone soft in her chest, and she thinks, Why not at least try.

“Okay,” she says quietly.

As she tries to clamber out from underneath the desk, she first almost sends herself sprawling when she pushes the chair away, and then she bangs her head on the underside of the table. It makes everything on top of it rattle ominously.

“I hate myself,” she sighs, rubbing at the spot as she picks herself up from the floor.

Walking over to the bed is less walking, more dragging her uncooperative body across the room. She flops down on the bed without even bothering to change out of her clothes. SAM dims the lights of his own volition.

“G’night, SAM.”

The blue light of SAM’s avatar goes out. “Sleep well, Sara.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Some indeterminate-but-clearly-not-enough amount of time later, Sara bolts awake, half on her feet before she even knows what’s happening.

As soon as her brain catches up, she sinks back onto the bed with a hand gripping her forehead, groaning. Her heart is pounding in her chest and she’s out of breath. Sweat clings to her exposed skin in a thin film. Every individual stitch of her day-clothes is rasping against her skin like a thousand tiny knives.

Great. Super great.

“Awesome,” she says.

“Are you well?” SAM asks. His avatar winks into existence over on the desk.

“Nightmare.” Sara squeezes her eyes shut and pinches the bridge of her nose, begging her heart to calm down. It wasn’t real. She’s awake now. Fuck off. “Another nightmare.”

She can’t even remember what it was about.

“I can see why sleeping is an unpleasant experience.”

“Can it be my turn to ask questions?” She doesn’t wait for a reply. “How much can you tell about… my general state of being, without asking?”

She presses the soles of her feet hard against the floor. In a minute, she’ll get up and pace a loop around the room. That usually helps. But at the moment, she trusts her knees about as far as she can throw them.

“Through your implant, I have access to your nervous system, circulation, endocrine function, and exteroceptive senses. I can monitor brain activity and other functions as well.”

“So, a lot.” Sara blinks her eyes open. It takes a bit for the room to come back into focus. “But you still decided to ask?”

“Based on previous experience,” SAM says, “initiating a conversation is the most efficient way to calm you down.”

Sara mulls that over for a bit. Her fingers clench around the edge of the mattress. The hum of the ship filters back in, past the roaring of blood in her ears.

It’s true, she supposes. She imagines someone else, like Liam, chatting with her now, but something in her recoils at the thought. It’s okay when it’s SAM, though. And that’s where tonight’s sleep-deprived contemplations will stop dead.

“Building a predictive model of me, are we?” she asks instead.

“I believe you would call it, ‘getting to know you.’”

Sara snorts. “Yeah, well, I don’t have the memory or the processing power or the mathematical capabilities to do anything even remotely similar to what you can. Us organics do this annoying thing called ‘getting caught up in the moment.’”

The darkness of the room feels like it’s suffocating her.

“That is two questions,” SAM says. “You have eighteen more.”

The lights turn on. Sara rubs at her eyes. They dim slightly, to a level that doesn’t make her eyes sting. “Thanks SAM.”

He lets it pass without comment.

She thinks for a moment, then decides, fuck it, she’s sleep-deprived enough to ask. “What’s your opinion of me? Are you…” She scuffs the end of her foot against the floor. “Okay with this? With being joined with me?”

“That was three questions,” SAM observes.

“You said I had eighteen,” Sara says, with a boldness she doesn’t really feel. “Answer ‘em.”

This is such a silly game. But he’s playing along, so maybe it’s not that silly. Or maybe things are allowed to be silly, sometimes. Maybe, sometimes, they need to be. Right now, they do, at least, because it feels vaguely normal. Silly Sara and her games.

“My purpose is to aid a Pathfinder in their work,” SAM says. “My design is reliant upon an organic partner. As such, there is nothing disagreeable about the current situation.”

That’s what she gets for trying to pry a personal opinion out of an AI, she supposes. But it wasn’t supposed to hurt. Or maybe it was? Is she in that kind of mood?

“You didn’t answer my first question,” she says, pulling her feet up from the floor and folding them sideways on the bed. “What’s—and this doesn’t count against my total because I am repeating myself, just so we’re clear—what’s notable about me? How do I hold up against dear old Dad?”

Yup. Definitely supposed to hurt.

“You are… different from Alec,” SAM says diplomatically. “But there are similarities.”

“Like?”

“Your curiosity. Your drive to explore. Your stubbornness.”

Sara snorts.

“Your determination during hardship,” SAM adds. That makes her go quiet.

She swallows. Fuck. She misses him. Despite everything, she misses him.

It’s not fair.

“Thirteen questions remaining.” SAM’s router whirrs softly. “I have distressed you.”

“Did that to myself,” Sara replies and presses a sleeve to her eye. “Not your fault. Thanks for the compliment.”

“You’re welcome, Sara.”

Sara sucks in a deep breath, holding it for a moment. She will not cry. She won’t. “What time is it?”

“The Tempest’s day cycle begins in two hours.”

That’s basically morning. It’s socially acceptable to ‘wake up’ now, right? Early bird gets the worm? The really, really early bird probably gets the gold. She could go for a medal. Some sort of acknowledgement other than more reports to fill out would be nice.

“If I may,” SAM says. “It is generally considered beneficial to cry during moments of intense emotion.”

Sara hiccups a laugh. The tears are rolling down her cheeks in little trickles now, thick and salty-sweet. She’s trying, but she can’t stop them. Never could. “I know. It just makes a mess, and…”

It’s stupid. She knows it is. But she’s the Pathfinder.

“Heroes don’t cry,” she whispers thickly. “I’m supposed to be one.” She sniffs, aims for levity. “I’m going the ‘Fake it ‘til you make it’-route."

“For what it’s worth, we are alone,” SAM points out.

A sob pushes its way out of Sara’s mouth. “Oh,” she says, and starts crying harder.

Her shoulders shake. Tears drip down on the sheets, drop after drop striking the fabric. She can tell her face is already a mess, hands clenching on top of her thighs.

Sara likes questions. But she wants an answer to this one: Why? Why her? Why now?

Why them? Haven’t the Ryders already suffered enough?

Just. Why.

“I cannot answer that.”

“Oops,” Sara mumbles, and clumsily swipes the back of her hand over her face. “Didn’t mean for you to hear that.”

“I apologise.”

“Please stop apologizing,” Sara says. Her voice is so hoarse she can only just barely tell what she’s saying. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

The majority of the fuck-ups are hers, and the rest belong to the conga line of supposedly competent adults she’s surrounded by. There’s enough guilt to go around without SAM making up some of his own.

“Noted.”

Another sob makes its way up Sara’s spine, out her mouth. She’d forgotten how crying is a full-body experience. It’s easy to forget anything but the tears themselves, because they’d make such a romantic image in isolation. In reality, there’s the snot to deal with. God, how she hates the snot.

“Worst involuntary reaction to distress ever,” she mutters.

“I have limited experience with non-human expressions of emotion,” SAM says, “but I believe there are worse.”

“God,” Sara says, breath hiccuping a little, “don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

“I concur.”

Sara dries her eyes with a sleeve. It rasps against her cheek, just this side of painful. “Imagine if we just straight up died,” she says, with something that approaches humour. “Like, our brains couldn’t handle the stress and we just straight up died on the spot.”

“That would be inconvenient.”

“Like hell. I’d never get anything done.” Sara scoots forward on the bed, touching the soles of her feet to cold floor. She needs to clean up. There are tissues on the desk. She just has to make it across the room.

With a sigh, she pushes herself up on her feet. She’s given up on squashing the instinctive reaction, so it feels like SAM’s avatar watches her as she wipes her face, throwing the sticky tissues into the trash can one by one. When she’s done, she leans her forehead against one of the shelves on the wall above the desk. It’s cold. Everything on a spaceship is always cold.

“Thank you,” she says hoarsely. “Thank you, SAM.”

“Thank you, Sara,” SAM tells her.

A small smile touches her lips.

#she speaks #my fic #sara ryder #twenty questions #which is not-so-incidentally the name of this fic! #hey look it's my dumb kids #trying to teach each other how to people #me:a #meafic

[bornfcrthis]

                            MAINS   /   EXCLUSIVES CALL !

this is a lot of information, and for that i deeply apologize. i ramble a lot and end up making what was supposed to be short, sweet and to the point long as hell instead.

     this post is one i’ve been meaning to make for a while outlining how we can become mutuals or exclusives. more stipulations of each will be discussed under each short section, however this basically means you are most definitely giving me permission to do the following:

scream to you at all hours about our muses

give you copious amounts of angst and fluff alike pertaining to our muses

write random starters whenever i feel like it for you

send you memes at random. sometimes many at once, other times just a few.

     overall, by liking this post you are alleviating some of my anxiety by letting me know it’s okay for me to be a little obnoxious and possibly a little annoying from time to time. just tell me if it gets too much, k ?

              MAINS

     i accept up to 3 mains per character. this means that three (3) different portrayals of one (1) specific character can be one of my mains. it does not have to be reciprocated. even if i have five mains of your character, that does not mean i won’t write with your portrayal. being one of my mains just means they gain priority in my replies when i do them and have the muse to write.

     having mains simply helps me keep my head on straight, for the most part. i want to write with everyone, i do, but when it comes to those off-days where i don’t want to write much ? i want to have mains so, if i owe any replies at all, i can do the ones towards them first and see where my motivation and muse goes from there. to be one of my mains, we must at least have, or had, one (1) thread and at least spoken one (1) time out of character. and said one time speaking out of character can literally be about anything. you can literally just be like “hey fuck face” and us scream about something related to one of our characters for an indeterminate amount of time and that counts.

if you have sent me a meme in general, be it an ooc meme or an ic meme, then you qualify to become one of my mains if you see us interacting more in the foreseeable future.

             EXCLUSIVES

     here comes the tricky part. i will not, under any circumstance, be exclusive to one portrayal of a muse. i love writing with any and all other versions of a character, even of those i, myself, write. i will only be exclusives for ships, and the cut off is up to two (2) portrayals of a single muse for a specific ship. 

so, as an example, taking the fact i ship superflas.h (kara & barry) and already have one (1) ship exclusive for it, i will only take one (1) more for that specific ship. this doesn’t mean i won’t write other ships with a barry, it just means once that second spot for superflas.h is filled, if it ever is, i won’t write that specific ship with any other barrys. i will, however, write other ships with other barrys.

     i can also become verse exclusives to a single portrayal of a muse. one example would be my daisy johnso.n’s verse where she is, in fact, tony star.k’s daughter. in that verse, i am exclusive to mia’s portrayal of tony. i won’t write daisy as any other tony’s daughter, and all threads in that verse will be referencing mia’s tony if she speaks of her dad. i will write with other muses in this verse, but if i reference daisy’s dad know that it’s mia’s tony i am speaking of.

        >>> i would like exclusivity in these aspects to be reciprocated by you, the other mun, but it’s not necessarily a requirement to being any sort of exclusive with me. it is entirely your choice. <<<

     also, if you would like to stop being mains or exclusives at any point in time—tell me. all you need do is let me know and i’ll drop the exclusivity or main for you and we can be on our way. we can still write, if you’d like, once this is dropped. i have no problems with still writing with you or even not. just tell me first, and we can go from there. so, without further ado...

like this post if you would like to become mains or exclusives ! if just mains, all you need do is leave a like.      >>> if you would like to discuss becoming exclusives in one of the above mentioned contexts—send me an im as well.

                                              these offers are for mutuals only.

#if anyone has any questions don't hesitate to send me an ask or im !! #* ｡ • ☾ ooc. ❪ i can't believe no one writes bumblebee; arcee or ratchet ❫ #* ｡ • ☾ psa. ❪ what's up bitches this is the shit you need to hear ❫

[sprinklesandsugarcubes]

Word Of Mouth

Part One; The One With The Eyes

Fandom: Riverdale Pairing: Sweet Pea x OC (Aurora) Words: 2,887 Rating: NSFW/Mature Warnings (Part Specific): Language, Angst, Cheating, Sweet Pea’s Smirk.

Note: Just to clear this up, I love Jughead as a character. I just needed to make him a bit of the badguy to start this up. Don’t hunt me down with your pitchforks, I beg of you!

Darkness had fallen thickly as the sun set, leaving only a handful of twinkling stars to peek out from behind shadowy clouds, long before the sound of tires squealing across pavement echoed throughout the nearly deserted, makeshift streets that served as passage around the trailer park. They spun haphazardly as a foot pressed to the accelerator, right about the time that cracked and crumbling pavement transitioned into loose gravel and dust. The result was a wave of pebbles and dirt that took to the air, making it quite the lucky circumstance that it was, in fact, nearly one in the morning. Otherwise, she might have managed to send said rock and shale right into the faces of unfortunate passerby, and wouldn’t that have been a bitch to deal with, on top of everything else?

Behind gently tinted windows, a girl sat stiffly in the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel so tightly with slender fingers that they had long since cramped up. She seemed to be frozen in the position, only making the necessary movements to guide the truck along the winding path that led back toward the most secluded trailer of the bunch. Her eyes remained fixed ahead, unblinking as she stomped on the brakes after she reaching her destination, hardly caring when the wheels locked up before throwing the gear in park. Perhaps, if she had been paying a bit more attention, she might have noticed that the scene before her wasn’t the usual, and called for at least a hint of caution. As it was, all she could seem to see were the heartbreaking images of betrayal that flickered sporadically through her mind, providing proof to the snarky words bestowed upon her earlier that day.

“You should have seen them, Aurora. Too close.” She had paused between sentences, smacking her lips, a fresh coat of blood red lipstick applied, no doubt. “His cheeks were flushed, her gloss was smudged. You need to do something about this, now. Then we can go get pedicures at The Red Door."

"The Red Door is all the way in the city, Cher."

"Your point?"

Cheryl Blossom’s words had lashed violently against her consciousness the moment they were uttered in the nearly silent locker room, spoken in a tone just above a whisper with a hint of mockery tainting the concern and disdain. Aurora knew though, that her friend was attempting to protect her in the only way that she really knew how. Harsh truth presented in a snarky, offhand manner was the fiery redhead’s trademark, despite how it could sometimes make those she secretly cared about feel. Still, her tone had been heavier with concern than her usual touch, and offering up a road trip to simply be lavished upon in one of New York City’s top nail salons further proved that, since her twin brother’s death, Cheryl was keeping a tighter grip on those she considered close.

It didn’t make what she had found any less horrifying, however.

The strawberry blonde shook her head lightly, fingers pinching at the bridge of her nose as she yanked the key from its place and threw her door open, causing the hinges to squeak in protest. If she had been paying attention in the first place, perhaps she might not have ever turned the engine off at all. She would have paused instead of sliding from the seat and tossing the back door open, reaching inside the darkened cab to gather up handfuls of flimsy plastic bag handles. The extra weight of the groceries inside caused the handles to cut into the soft skin of her palm as she grabbed one too many, though it seemed that she hardly felt it.

Or cared.

Certainly, if she had taken in the multitude of motorcycles congregated just at the edge around the place she had parked, she would have at least knocked upon the weather-worn door of the secluded trailer; you know, as opposed to nearly wrenching it from its hinges before kicking it open with her toe as colorful curses fell from her lips.

“Son of a…” Aurora grumbled, heaving the bags along as she stumbled through the doorway, twisting to avoid bumping into the short wall that separated the hallway from the living room. “Who in their right mind-“

As it was, she didn’t take notice of the bikes. Or the bikers that accompanied them, for that matter.

So all those things? She did.

The extra bodies littered throughout the sparse living room of the double wide she had long ago become accustomed to should have drawn her attentions; they weren’t small or inconspicuous by any means. Large, bulky, intimidating forms that were dressed up in leather and dark colors; they lounged upon the threadbare furniture and leant up against the faded wood paneling of the walls that had come straight out of the nineties. They were impossible to miss.

She was too caught up though, stumbling through her own waking nightmare as she put every ounce of her concentration into the bags of groceries that she deposited on the faded kitchen counter with a dull thud. The sudden relief when the counters took the weight from the bags made her hiss in a breath through gritted teeth as she fumbled to untangle her fingers from the plastic handles, blood rushing back into her limbs leaving behind a faint sting as the pale skin turned a reddish hue. Behind her, the trailer had gone almost eerily silent, but that too went unnoticed as her mumbled ramblings filled the air, bringing amused smirks and arched eyebrows to the faces of her yet-to-be-seen audience.

Huffing quietly, she pulled the hair band from her wrist, using it to pile the mass of long, wavy locks of light red hair upon her head.

The refrigerator door was ripped open in the next second, though this time her movements were visibly more careful than the previous attempts at opening things. Aurora scoffed lowly as she was met with an unsurprising, but no less irritating, sight. Takeout containers were piled among the shelves; advertising an impressive selection that was comprised of boxes from Riverdale’s second most popular pizzeria, multiple cartons from a Chinese takeout, and burger bags from Pop’s. Between them all were various bottles of beer, a carton of orange juice, and what could only be half a gallon of long-expired milk.

Her nose wrinkled as she groaned, “Fucking seriously?”

The snap of an extra-large trash bag opening cut through the quiet trailer, and the redhead soon found herself focused on shuffling the array of Styrofoam containers into the bag, followed closely by the paper towels used as she scrubbed vigorously at the few indeterminable stains clouding the shelves, each of which she was sure she didn’t want to know the origin of. Unbeknownst to her, she had begun to hum softly under her breath, the melody drowning out the low murmurs of those gathered in the living room behind her. Gently, she tossed the fresh produce she had gathered into the bare and rarely used crispers, while deli meats and cheeses were packed away into the meat tray. Gallons of milk and apple juice were propped up in the door, fresh eggs and butter filed away into their delegated spaces, and the condiments were sifted through, checking for anything out of date.

It wasn’t until nearly fifteen minutes later, after she had worked up a slight sheen of sweat over her forehead and placed bags of pasta with jars of sauce next to the stove top, that the sound of a throat clearing finally managed to break through her attentions.  

“You alright, sweetheart?”

His voice was low and raspy, like the gentle drag of sandpaper across the inside of your arm. It was coated in a layer of both confusion and concern, a mixture that was uncommon for FP Jones, and immediately called forth the exact reaction the redhead puttering around his kitchen had been trying to avoid.

Her green eyes filmed over with moisture, stinging with the tears that she had bricked away the very moment she had laid eyes on them, had seen them; blatantly refusing to give in and fulfill the overwhelming urge to cry until she couldn’t cry anymore. Her hand darted up as she ignored the heavy gaze burning into her back, swiping quickly at her nose and eyes, blinking them rapidly until the sting faded and the glassiness dissipated.

With her throat tight against the emotion, Aurora chose instead to answer physically.

She slammed the stock pot down on its burner after previously filling it with the appropriate amount of water, hard enough to shake the entire oven. Her fingers flicked out, turning the knob for the burner while the clicking sound warned of the igniter sparking before the soft swoosh of the flame catching winked to life beneath it.

“Roo?” The tall man pushed, his boot creaking upon the worn linoleum as he stepped up behind her.

The childhood nickname broke through her resolve, and a shudder of emotion rippled down her spine as she bit back a sob. She sniffled once instead, speaking quietly through the oversized lump that had grown in her throat, leaving her usual gentle tone tight with pain. Her fingers curled around the edge of the kitchen counter, gripping on to it so stiffly, her knuckles whitened.

“Forsythe Pendleton Jones II,” She snapped, though there was little heat in the exclamation. “Your son is one colossal asshole.”

Chuckles rang out suddenly in the living room, deep and hearty; Aurora spun around with a sharp gasp, her eyes widening comically and her hand rising to her chest as she finally took notice of her once silent company.

Her reaction only fueled their amusement, prompting them to laugh a little louder.

Five bodies were clustered within the living room, each of them male and each one more imposing than the last. Three were older, hovering somewhere around FP’s age give or take a few years, she supposed. Two were younger, perhaps around her own age, if not a single year older.

“Shut up!” FP chastised playfully, narrowing his eyes.

As the man at her side turned to glance into the room, fixing his guests with an obviously fake stern glance, she allowed her eyes to leisurely trail over those closest in age to her.

One was perched on the arm of the couch that had been pushed to the far side of the trailer, sitting beneath the curtain covered windows. His skin was richly tanned, his eyes a shade or two darker than the short crop of dark hair upon his head. A hunter green work shirt lay over a white t-shirt, and his dark jeans were complemented by the buckled boots at his feet. His grin was charming enough she had to admit, but it quickly paled in comparison as her eyes drifted slowly to the boy leaning up against the wall directly to his left.

It was a tangible experience, the first time that Aurora’s eyes met his.

She could physically feel the way the breath in her lungs hitched, jerking her rib-cage ever so slightly. Her fingers curled tightly around the wooden spoon she had snatched up at some point, the smooth wood biting into the same spots that the plastic bags had before. A mixture of the sudden burst of soreness and the sight in front of her, spurred the girl to sink her teeth down into her bottom lip, trapping it there firmly.

The first thought that finally managed to register through the chaotic whirling that was her mind, was just how fucking beautiful he was.

Leant up against the paneled wall in a seemingly uncaring and lazy position, one leg crossed over the other at the ankles, he was still incredibly tall. Long legs were encased in dark wash jeans, the denim pulling teasingly tight across his thick thighs. They were rumpled around the tops of his boots, both of which were blacker than night and laced up clumsily. Her seafoam colored eyes trailed upward over the enticing length of his body slowly; lighting on the way his belt buckle emphasized trim hims that filled out to a temptingly solid chest, all of which was covered in a tight black shirt that pulled over his muscles in a way that made the blood in her veins heat as it rushed through them rapidly. A blue and black flannel rested over that, the sleeves rolled up to just over the elbows, the tightness of which drew all her attention to the way his arms looked like they might split right out of the material at any moment. His shoulders were wide, the slope leading to a smooth neck that, if she tipped her head just the slightest to the side, she could barely catch a glimpse of black ink that had been etched into his skin.

Aurora swallowed, her mouth running dry.

Hair that resembled the darkest of shadows spilled down to just below his ears in messy strands, almost like he had spent the last ten minutes running his hands through it. Some even flopped down over the right side of his face, just barely tickling equally dark eyelashes. His lips were a surprising and absurdly inviting pink, and as his tongue suddenly darted out to wet them, she felt her own parting in response. His jawline was sharp enough to cut glass, she could only assume, with just the slightest filling in the apples of his cheeks. But his eyes…

His eyes smoldered into her own after taking her gaze hostage upon meeting them, their hue like that of an ink-pot tipped over onto parchment or a clear and starless night sky.

Swallowing thickly, Aurora desperately tried to suppress the sudden shiver that threatened to ripple down the length of her spine, and failed.

As a last ditch effort, she tensed her body, hoping to at least keep the reaction hidden, unnoticed to those eyes that peered back into her own, pinning her in place. Her teeth pinched her lip between them hard enough that the beginnings of a copper tang spread across the tip of her tongue, and she was sure that if she held that wooden spoon any tighter, the poor thing would snap. It would be worth it though, if she could keep the inexplicable heat that had surged throughout her entire body masked from the unnamed boy with the body of a mythical god.

Judging by the maddeningly slow and utterly sinful smirk that curled teasingly at his lips, though…Aurora was left to assume luck simply wasn’t on her side.

FP let out a lengthy groan that rumbled through his chest, conveniently failing to notice the way she had lost herself to her attentive appraisal of the strange boy, and huffed out a resigned laugh as he spoke, his tone obviously humored.

“Women…” He teased, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder in silent comfort. “What did Jughead do this time?”

Aurora’s eyes narrowed at his lighthearted dismissal, suppressing the instinctive urge to flinch as those traitorous memories flashed across her eyes after she had squeezed them shut, and her lips slowly twisted into a malicious sneer, one worthy of the tension that crept through their company when the expression settled on her face. It was all wrong, hardly matching up with her feminine and deceivingly sweet features. Her green eyes were narrowed to a squint as she whipped around, breaking her gaze with the handsome biker so that they pierced the father of her once-upon-a-time boyfriend.

“Betty fucking Cooper.” She spat, advancing a single step toward him.

Well, that certainly caught his attention.

The tall man bent at the waist from where he had been leaning against the counter stood next to her as he snorted with the sudden shock of her words, quickly finding himself reduced down to sputtering and choking on the beer he had just taken a sip from.

Sighing quietly, Aurora reached over to pat his sweater-covered back gently as he urgently fought to catch his breath, absently tossing a paper towel to the linoleum flooring as she mopped up the frothy mess with her foot. By the time he righted himself, FP’s eyes had darkened dangerously with something akin to fury as he stood to his full height once more, one hand threading through his salt and pepper hair while he peered down at you, searching for answers. His lips were pressed thin and his jaw was obviously clenched, the muscle ticking with the strain while the anger written across his features beckoned silence from those gathered around them.

“What?!” He nearly hissed, not at all unlike the creature stitched across his leather jacket.

Aurora shrugged her shoulders softly, the weight of the day finally catching up as she sagged against his side, leeching the comfort his warm arm around her shoulders and the scent of leather and pine provided. She closed her eyes, fighting off the urge to meet the piercing gaze directed toward her from across the room, somehow knowing already that she would find those starless sky eyes searing into her very soul. Her words left her lips in a toneless whisper, and she snuggled further into the aged biker’s warmth.

“Told you, your son is an asshole.”

SweetPeasPodSquad Taglist: @jugheadmaybe @cinn-rawr @suomalainenmaksalaatikko @ninjasbananasmonkeys @sassyfiedscribbles

Aesthetic Credit: @sassyfiedscribbles

#sweetpeaspodsquad #podsquadgoals #sweet pea #sweet pea riverdale #sweet pea x oc #sweet pea x reader #sweet pea smut #sweet pea fan club #riverdale #riverdale fanfiction #riverdale fandom #sweet pea imagines #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea fanfitcion #WordOfMouth #writing #riverdale sweet pea #southside serpents #serpent x reader #southside #fp jones #jughead jones #betty cooper

[rezathevamp-blog]

Honey, I’m Home || Noah&Reza

Was this a good idea? Considering Reza had come up with it all on his own, the answer was probably no. Like a big, fat no. But seeing as he'd went through with ideas far fucking worse than this one, he figured he might as well. After all, turning back now would mean wasting the disgusting food concoction he'd bought on the way here, the here being Noah's home. A lot had changed in the last few months, some people were completely gone or different but one thing had mercifully stayed the same; Noah was still here. For how long Reza could stay optimistic about that was very unclear. After all, the vampire had completely vanished on literally the same night that Noah had bared his soul to him, ugly scars and all. Not exactly a positive stepping stone in their... relationship? Their something. Reza really just hoped that this something wasn't about to turn into a nothing. As bad as four months cooped up with a bunch of slayers and people that sorta seemed to hate his guts had been, the one good thing was that it given him plenty of time to think. There hadn't been room for any distractions, which he'd become oh-so-very good at. So he'd thought about himself, about Noah, reluctantly about Heath and just about shit in general. One conclusion was that he needed to find out whether or not Noah even had the sexual orientation for this to go... from something to something else. As it was right now, Reza's odds looked bleak. He left the bike a short distance down the driveway, trudging up towards the door with his helmet tucked under one arm, the box of fat and empty calories under the other, and a nervous stone in his stomach. And then he knocked.

Lifting his head from his phone Noah scrunched his eyebrows a little, the sounds of the knocking ringing in his ears. It was an odd sound to hear reverberating throughout the kitchen, and even more strange to Noah. Because really A) who would be knocking at this hour? And B) who did he even know that knocked anymore? I mean most of his and Cahill’s friends practically had keys. Placing his phone coffee table Noah figured he’d better at least answer it. If not for his sake, then for the dogs sake, both of their bodies pretty wiggly with the excitement only a new person could bring. Caleb was doing a really good job of not barking though which was surprising because he usually was the first one to go balls to the walls when anything startled him “That’s my good mannered boy” Noah smiled out at the little pup a sense of happiness rushing over him. And he should have known that it wasn’t going to last, that feeling of just, happy contentment that he had whenever he looked at his dogs. The feeling that he had worked so hard to get back after the whole Reza thing. But then again how could he have known? How could Noah have known that the second he opened the door, it would feel as if all the air in his lungs had been forcibly removed? How could he have known that even after all this time he would still feel as deeply for this man standing before him as he did for the scrawny little vampire the boy had obviously left behind. How could he have known that after what seemed like an indeterminate amount of time Reza Burki would just be quietly standing on his porch again? Gaping a little at the sight before him Noah tried to get himself in gear, tried to make himself say something. Anything really. But the only thing he could manage to whisper out in the moment before the dogs came barreling out to slobber all over their old friend was “You’re alive”

Seeing Noah appear in the doorway -- hell, just smelling him and the dogs and everything with the first gust of wind from inside the house, brought memories flooding back with way too much gusto. Reza could almost feel the big, strong frame hanging off his shoulders as he'd dragged Noah inside from the driveway; could feel the sadness that had permeated Noah's very being, sadness that was somehow mingled with relief that Reza had hoped was because of his presence; could remember the way he'd been snatched into a half asleep hug while trying to get Noah into bed safe and sound and most prominently, he remembered just how much he'd wanted to do something more, something that hadn't been appropriate with a drunk and devastated Noah. And speaking of devastated... "You're alive." Resisting the sarcastic urge to correct him with an 'undead, actually', Reza smiled instead - a small and sad smile. And then dogs were barrelling into his feet, threatening to knock him off balance as he tried to pet them both while also attempting to keep eye contact with Noah. "I'm sorry," came the reply, finally, once the dogs were semi-content with the attention they received. Reza straightened out, swallowed thickly. He'd never been that good at apologies. "If you want to listen, I can explain everything," he said softly, dark eyes never leaving the shocked ones staring straight back. What if Noah just slammed the door right now and refused to listen? Reza really was desperately hoping for this to work out. "I brought food?"

Standing there still winded Noah just blinked a couple times, the urge to just knock Reza down and bury himself in the smell (who knew that “mr health conscious” would ever miss the faint hint of cigarettes?) and body of the boy prickling at the top of his skin. But then with everything came flooding back with clarity, the night where he felt just so much better about his progress. He’d shared, with someone he cared about, and they didn’t think him a horrible person. No in fact he felt. He felt like Reza may even have cared about him, in a way Noah could maybe have only dreamed of. But all of that progress was lost the instant Noah figured out the kid wasn’t coming back. And while Noah felt happy that Reza was alive and well, he just. He couldn’t forget what the other had done to him. And they hadn’t even been together. “You know what No.” He started letting his anger at Reza overtaking the joy he had from seeing him again. “Fuck your apology and fuck you for thinking you could show up with fucking food and everything would be alright. Because it’s not.” He shook his head ushering the dogs back inside of the house and shutting the door behind them. I was just them two now standing there in the dimly lit darkness of his porch. Just him and reza and the force of the rage that was swelling over every inch of Noah’s body. Because Noah deserved better, it had taken him 4+ months to get that through his head and Reza just showing up on his doorstep was not going to change that. “I-I fucking looked for you.” He started again to break the silence, knowing that if he didnt just barrel through Reza would say something. Anything. And Noah would be right back where he started. Utterly in love with someone who destroyed his fucking heart with no remorse. “After you stopped replying I looked for you everywhere. I asked everyone I could. I went into that fucking vampire club bar thing.” Noah spat arms shaking. Because yea that had been a night he never wanted to remember ever again. “But that’s not even the point. The point is, you knew. I mean I don’t know to what degree, but you knew. You knew how much this would devastate me, just-just disappearing like that, after I’ve already lost so many people in my life that I care about. But you fucking did it anyway. And while I’m happy you’re not dead or undead or whatever the fuck vampires are when they pass on. What you did to me was not ok. And sorry doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Aaand there it was. It really did seem like Reza was never getting this apology thing right, whether it was procrastinating it forever, playing the most pathetic victim ever or just showing up at the first possible chance and offering to bare his soul. Fuck. His jaw clenched as he let Noah's anger wash over him, resisting the urge to tell him something - anything to make it better. He knew he could (or hoped he could) if Noah would just let him, but butting in right now seemed like the wrong thing to do. So he waited, the leather of his gloves creaking as his hands clenched. The thought of Noah surrounded by Ashkent's scummiest scum filled Reza with a very protective feeling and yeah, made him feel even shittier for leaving even though he hadn't really left. After Noah's completely heart-shattering rant, Reza realized that he'd actually had much more of an impact on the other man than he'd initially thought. Still undervaluing how much people cared, it seemed. When he was sure that Noah had nothing more to add at this moment, Reza carefully put down the bag of food, helmet still hanging limply from his other hand. "I know it doesn't. But sorry is literally the only place I know where to start because I'm shit at this, but... I don't want you to feel like this, I really don't. This is literally the farthest thing from what I wanted." He was getting jittery, feeling like this was going South real fast, but giving up this easily was worse than vanishing in the first place. "And I really do have an explanation for why I vanished because it wasn't by choice and I really fucking hope you believe me because I would never have hurt you on purpose and-" Reza cut himself off from the rambling, not wanting Noah to feel like he wasn't able to talk more. So he just gripped his helmet tighter. "So if you wanna talk, we can talk. If you don't, then I'll fuck off."

“If you didn’t want me to feel like this you would have just told me” Noah huffed out at Reza anger getting the best of him. Because seriously what had been so bad he couldn’t at least send a small goodbye text. A ‘don’t worry about me’ sort of text. Or just. Something. Anything, other than the deafening radio silence he received. Looking up at Reza though Noah softened a little. Anger dissipating slightly. Because while it was easy to hate on Reza in the moment, he knew deep down that the boy (or rather man now) in front of him had a complicated life if he hadn’t texted him he probably really didn’t have a choice. Or at least in this instance thats what Noah was going to choose to believe. Because the alternative was even more utterly heart destroying. Walking over to the end of the porch though Noah sighed a bit, the weight of all the emotions that had been going on feeling like a ton of bricks “So, I’m sure its apparent that I really don’t want to talk” He said sitting down on the porch swing, his legs going up into their normal criss cross pattern, and his arms involuntarily reaching out for one of the ratty old outdoor pillows that was nestled in the corner. And it was a weird habit, he knew that (especially since he had gotten almost too big for the porch swing now) but it was a comforting habit to Noah, reminiscent of all the times he and Cahill would just sit out on the porch after a hard day. “But I know my therapist would be disappointed in me if i didn’t at least hear you out.’ He continued squeezing the pillow closer to him. As if it were his new armor against whatever weapons Reza was going to hurl at his battered body now. “But this doesn’t change anything.” he started again eyes looking straight at Reza with eyes narrowed. Because even though he felt more vulnerable now than he’d ever had it still didn’t quell the pit of anger inside of him “This doesn’t change the fact that I deserve better. And this doesn’t change the fact that I’d still really like to just punch you in your fucking face right now and erase your entire existence from porch and my phone and my life.”

Noah's anger was still bubbling and yeah, Reza had made some astounding self improvement with his own patience and anger issues but there was still a long ways to go. If things continued on this path where Noah assumed what had happened and Reza continued to feel like shit, then the path would be a very short one. Thankfully, due to whatever fairness the universe might have owed Reza, Noah seemed to deflate all of a sudden. Reza watched warily as the heavy frame trudged from the doorway over to the other side of the porch, still waiting for the next burst of anger. It didn't come right away and it seemed like Reza was actually going to get a chance to explain himself - before Noah's eyes narrowed and he hurtled out what was probably the biggest possible 'fuck you' to Reza's fairly fragile confidence. Jaw clenched, face turned away from Noah as to hide the familiar feeling of his eyes changing hue, Reza forced air into his stupid, useless lungs. When it did literally nothing, he tore off his gloves instead and shaky hands dug out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket. It wasn't until he'd lit one up and taken a seat on the porch's steps, far enough away from Noah as to not suffocate him in the smoke (because he obviously deserved better than a disgusting smoker), that Reza spoke. "I think they snatched me up right about.... there," he pointed with the cigarette to a patch of grass a good few feet from the porch, "and then, y'know, bagged my head and knocked me out cold. A group of heroic slayers, that try not to kill the 'innocent vampires' out there but instead, use them to do their dirty work." Sarcasm dripped from every word and Reza continued without looking over at Noah. "It took them a while to consider whether or not my connection to all the shitty people back in the day made me just another expendable pile of dust but lucky me, they decided it didn't. Since I haven't actually killed anyone, they 'let' me be part of their program. Track down vamps that have killed people or deal drugs or sell slayer blood -- the list of crimes that warrant death goes on." Reza inhaled some smoke, trying to gauge Noah's reaction without looking. "Best part is, I didn't have a fucking say in any of it. They drove me off to some shit place town hours away from here, smashed my phone, cleaned out my 'apartment' apparently, and pretty much made me vanish. Too risky for them to let me contact anyone, just in case I was trying to sic some of those pesky, killer vampires on their HQ. Which meant no contacting you, or my sister, or anyone." He finally couldn't take it anymore, turning his head to look over to the balled up Noah (something that Reza definitely would have poked fun at under different circumstances). "I literally got back last night. You're the first person in this shitty town that I came to see. Even though I'm starting to suspect it was a mistake. And sorry to break it to you but erasing me is going to be a real bitch because I'm stuck here while there are still vampires to hunt down and kill. But I'll try my best to stay out of your way. It's the least you deserve." Fuck. Had his eyes gleamed red again? His own anger was rearing its ugly head so Reza figured now was a good time to shut up. So he sat on the porch steps, taking more shaky drags from his cigarette.

Looking out at the large expanse of lawn before him, Noah started by justing listening to Reza, fully expecting the lamest excuse. You know something that would have justified Noah’s anger. But what he didn’t expect was the worst. The god awful worst for Reza, and the way his heart just melted as the other spoke. Sitting there for a few moment moments with his emotional whiplash Noah chanced a look at the other boy. It was easy to tell that Reza was upset. And it was all Noah’s fault. Noah had made him upset by assuming he was a shitty person. Fuck. Slowly the older boy extricated himself from his position on the swing caught between the overwhelming need to just smother the hurting boy before him with attention and just not wanting to be around him at all. Because he was bound to hurt him again wasn’t he? Thats was just Reza’s life wasn’t it? “So we still need to talk about us.” he said slowly easing himself down towards Reza the urge to just reach out and smother the damn cancer stick he’d lit strong. But that was just it. Even though he hated that damn cigarette Noah would probably never ask him to change. Because it was a part of Reza. Part the good and part of the bad, and at this moment he wanted all of it. “But i just-” Noah paused not even knowing where to go with all of this information his hands caught between pulling Reza closer and pushing him away. “Are they hurting you?” It was less of an actual sentence and more of a whisper between them, as he finally looked in Reza’s direction Noah’s eyes full of worry. Because no matter what happened between them, no matter how this ended, with Reza in his life again or gone for good Noah would always worry for his safety. Because Reza was his… his friend. His pack. He was one of the few people the Hawaiian boy had opened up to and one of the few people that he didn’t want to ever leave him, if his tantrum was any thing to go by. But that was something for another time. Right now Noah’s focus was solely on Reza’s well being.

Reza wanted to be mad at Noah for his choice of words. He wanted to lash out more and lather every syllable with scathing sarcasm but all of that completely faded away when he heard the porch creak under heavy feet. Aside from the very important fact of not having come here to snap at Noah and make him feel bad, Reza also realized that for the millionth time, he was settling into a victim position. The fact was very much reflected in Noah's eyes, looking torn between anger and pity and as much as he would have liked all the comfort in the world from those big arms, he didn't want it like this. Toughen up, Burki. His mind nervously skated past the 'us' part, not quite ready do dive into the deep end just seconds after he'd managed to calm himself down, and instead Reza took notice of Noah's disapproving stare. Right. Smelly cigarette. With one last quick drag, Reza crushed it under his boot. "Not at all, actually. Aside from the initial kidnapping part. I mean, they've been bossy and mean and really sarcastically judgemental over my fashion choices but... I got set up with a half decent apartment and..." he grimaced, "a food supply. To keep me on the side of the angels, ya'know?" Reza smiled wryly, shooting a glance over at Noah. The Noah who still managed to find space in his clearly packed tight mind to care whether or not Reza was in trouble. "I'm sorry about your football sitch," he added after a beat.

Watching as the other quickly stomped out his cigarette Noah practically rolled his eyes at the other. Because it was not his intention to make Reza stomp out his cigarette even though he was happy that he did. “You don’t have to-” He started trying to figure out how he wanted to phrase what he was going to say next. Because on the one hand he did really hate smoking, but on the other hand he didn’t want his needs to always supplant Reza’s own comfort “I think what i mean to say is If you want to smoke, smoke. I’ll get over it. Plus its not like you can get cancer or anything so I really have nothing to worry about with you.” He shrugged out kinda wanting to get off the topic. Though their new topic wasn’t a great trade off either. “Well that’s good they aren’t hurting you. And are treating you well it seems” He nudged Reza with his elbow eyes shining a little. Yea. He’d noticed how Reza was filling out clothes better. But then again who wouldn’t? “How did you know-?” He started eyebrow raised not pegging Reza for someone who knew about sport schedules until it hit him like a ton of bricks “Oh” Reza had been stalking his profiles. Trying not to let the second wave of hurt wash over him at the thought of Reza being in the know about him but in turn Noah knowing nothing the older boy ran a hand through his hair “Its alright. I mean my body is thankful I’m not constantly putting it in danger of being hurt anymore, but my soul is-” Noah paused looking down at his bare feet on the steps. “It’s hard. Football was my thing you know. And to not have it anymore. Lets just say my anger and like pent up werewolf aggression hasn’t really had an outlet for a while. So sorry about, well-” He motioned with a hand hoping Reza would get the hint. Because yes he was angry at Reza but there were better ways to handle your anger and exploding and yelling expletives at someone was not one of them.

Reza huffed out a little laugh, waving off Noah's concern. "Just say thanks. These things are gross and I used to hate it when people smoked them around me so don't even mention it." 'So does you getting over it imply that we're actually going to spend time together..?' The nudge was unexpected but so many types of welcome. "Yeah, I mean, with nothing else to do while they found me... something to do, I kinda got dragged into their ridiculous training for a while. Which is nice, y'know, not looking like a used mop swallowed by clothing." Wait, was that even what Noah had been mentioning? Or had it just been the lack of permanent eyebags? Fuck, well... "It's fine," Reza assured him, cold hands rubbing together in his lap. "I get... pent up aggression. So to literally throw your old offer back at you; if you ever wanna, like, spar or something then I'd be happy to. Get rid off all that angst." Reza's very poor impression of Noah had him chuckling to himself and yeah, maybe it was inappropriate considering how tense the mood had literally been five minutes ago but he didn't care. Hanging around Noah made him want to just have a nice time and not worry about all the harrowing shit all the time. Even if that meant making jokes on Noah's expense.

“Then why do you? Smoke I mean.” Noah asked curious as to what would change in Reza’s mind. He couldn’t think of any situation which would change his mind on the habit so it would be interesting to hear Reza’s take on it. Letting the better atmosphere fill the air between them Noah tried not to blush as the subject of Reza’s new body came up. “Yea well, you did-” He paused trying to gather his thoughts for the upteenth time today. Because really what was he supposed to say to that? Just the fact that they were on this subject was dangerous territory, especially for their ever precarious relationship. “Well. You did well. I mean I think the way you looked before was still good too but” Noah shrugged off eyes averted, wishing and praying they could just like drop this subject now. Or bury him in a whole before his whole body just turned scarlet. That would be nice. Feeling the embarrassment though drop straight out of him as Reza tried to joke though Noah narrowed his expression. “Don’t tempt me right now Nosferatu” He replied rolling his eyes at Reza’s horrible impression of himself “I’ve been oscillating between wanting to kick you down the porch stairs and being happy that you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere since I saw you” The statement still had a slight bite to it, part of Noah still completely serious about the whole kicking him down the porch stairs thing and part of him just playing.

Reza shrugged, not that surprised by the question. "Peer pressure. And now I'm too much of a wimp to quit. Plus, it's this whole aesthetic thing and I'm going to stop that joke there because you might actually believe me." It was always a relief, seeing Noah get mildly flustered just when Reza had convinced himself that he was definitely the more awkward out of the two, and making things more or less tied once again. A decent balance. Not like the very precarious balance Reza had tested by making fun of Noah. "Sorry, sorry, bad timing. Bad everything." At least Noah wasn't too angry for nicknames -- a positive sign. "But you have mentioned physical violence like... a lot so if you actually do want to spar, just for a chance to smack me in the face, then I'm definitely accustomed to a beating." A pause. Reza resisted the urge to flop back onto the porch. "That sounded awful on every level and I take it back, it's just nerves from this whole apology thing and all of this and feel free to just kick me in the face right now to end this." And here he was, once more going for the crown of awkwardness. "I practised some simple defensive fighting a while back, is what I meant to say." Yup, he was definitely regretting that cigarette he smushed, hands feeling much too fiddly and empty. "Also, please do something with the food I brought because I'm obviously not going to eat it. You can have at it and still be mad at me, promise."

"So what you’re saying is I basically just have to peer pressure you to stop and you’ll stop?” Noah replied shaking his head a bit playfully at the other boy. God leave it to Reza Burki to pick up a bad habit simply because it looked cool. Biting his lip slightly Noah tried his best to not butt in while Reza gathered himself. Because it just. It all sounded wrong and it all just made Noah feel even worse about the things he had said and the things he’d threatened. “You know I’d never actually hurt you.” he said quietly as he looked out across the dark expanse of lawn in front of the boys, a somberness ot his demeanor. “I mean on purpose that is.” he went on to clarify, because you know if they did ever spar there could be an outside chance of hurting Reza on accident. And Noah would be loathe to eat his own words, even if it was not taken that way at all. “I mean I’m angry at this whole situation yes, and I talk a lot about physical violence because, well that’s just kind of the angsty werewolf way. But I would never actually hurt you. Just you know for your information.” It wasn’t as relevant to the conversation as Noah would liked but part of him felt that it needed to be said. Because for all his joking about beating Reza up and hurting him (just as much as Noah felt hurt right now), that was really the last thing the older boy ever wanted to do. Because Reza was. Well Reza. and their situation was complicated yes. But if this night proved anything Noah was pretty much ride or die for this boy. “It’s good though that they taught you defensive skills. Those will definitely come in handy here in good old Ashkent.” He nodded slightly trying to figure out how the hell he’d actually probably made the situation worse. Looking over at the food though Noah could feel the awkwardness dissipate a little and their conversation switch back to the jokier side of things. Which was obvisouly where the two felt the most safe. “Depends what did you bring me, Edward? he questioned grabby hands reaching out for the bag.

Rolling his eyes, Reza sniffed in offence (barely). "Try me. Although that would almost be like a nice favor on your part. I'll consider letting you bully me into quitting." All this back and forth was making Reza's head spin, his own mind going from nervous anxiety to relief to embarrassment to whatever the hell else, and Noah right next to him not seeming to fare any better. The constant switching of anger and very soft, cinnamon bun caring was rough on Reza's teetering anxiety. "Some solid information to have," was the only thing he could muster as a response, lame as it was, but thankfully Noah had accepted the very obvious food-related change of subject. "It's really tempting to reply with dog food but... this place close to where I live has these things that I'm pretty sure are bred from some pizza and burger mix, maybe fries, I'm not sure. All I know is that people like it and it's probably going to wrap around your heart and squeeze it to death with like... a noose made out of transfats. Which sounded like something you'd enjoy. The food, not the... death part." The bag was dropped on Noah's lap, seeing as the space between them on the porch had become a bit to sparse. Clearing his throat, Reza shifted around on the porch, wondering how long he had here before he too would start to feel the first prickles of hunger. Probably not that long.

Snorting slightly Noah smiled, the first time he truly felt like doing so since Reza even arrived. “It would be less bullying and me just being so annoying about shit you’d have to quit.” Because it would. Noah practically lived at the hospital for the year or so after his transplant, he could spout of tons and tons of mundane medical facts. Especially for the bad habits. They usually had literature. Clearing his throat a little as the whole conversation was switched back to sad, Noah just nodded. They were going to have to have “the conversation” sooner or later. The one they kept ramping up to and never actually getting to. He knew it. Reza knew it. Hey even Jesus probably knew it. But apparently that was going to be a topic for another time. Which was fine by Noah, the boy pretty exhausted from the emotional whiplash just seeing Reza had given him. “Well Kea and Caleb get a raw diet, so i mean, if you wanted to go there the dog food I have wouldn’t actually be that bad” Noah chided sticking his tongue out at the other as he graciously accepted the bag. See as long as Noah stopped thinking about how just utterly devastated he was when Reza left him everything would be fine. Just fine. Right? Focusing on what Reza was saying though Noah just rolled his eyes. “Kid if you think the way to my heart is food that would kill me, then you would be spot on” He grinned light heartedly taking the box out of the bag, and opening it. Wow, that looked interesting to say the least, but the smell was amazing. “Alright here goes nothing” Noah started picking up the burger thing as best he could and taking the biggest bit he could manage. And it was. Amazing utterly amazing and just, Fucking Reza Burki. Goddamn him. “Holy Fuck.” Noah breathed out still chewing, eyes blown wide in disbelief. “This is almost better than sex. Like. Seriously. And I’ve fucking had some good sex.” Noah practically moaned out taking another bite of the burger/pizza/thing.

So moving onto food had apparently been the worst possible change of subject but really, how the fuck should Reza have been able to predict... that. Was he squirming? No, thank fuck for this being literally the only time he wasn't fidgeting. Although not fidgeting might look suspicious now but with the way Noah was going at it, it was doubtful he'd notice anything. It didn't even seem like he was noticing those... sounds he was making and yeah, no, Reza could not take this for another second - fuck that. "Are we flirting?" he blurted out before his brain caught up to his mouth, and then his mouth simply went ahead and fucking continued. "This... whatever, the whole back and forth and joking and when I got to use your shower and, and... you calling me when you're drunk and talking about sex and doing... that." Reza gestured a bit too wildly in Noah's general direction, realizing that he was on his feet now and there was no stopping this immediate train wreck and after all the work he'd put into the apology, this was how he was going to ruin it? "Am I reading into it or not because not knowing is making me crazy and it's fine if you're not gay, or whatever, or if you are something not straight but not into me at all because I'm cool with... that but it's most of what I thought about for the last four fucking months and I can't not know. So... uhm..." The realization of his monolouge hit him like a slap in the face and Reza wondered whether vampires could pass out from sheer panic. "I... sorry."

Deep down inside Noah knew that this day would come, the one where both he and Reza would finally define their relationship for good or for bad. But what Noah didn’t know was at the exact moment it was going to happen he’d be stuffing his mouth with the most delicious pizza/burger/thing known to man. “What?” Noah mumbled out eyes completely in shock as the boy just kept going words flying out of his mouth. But see while Reza was choking on the weight of his confession Noah was actually choking. Like as in I was so surprised that you are confronting me about if i like you or not that the burger went down the wrong pipe and I can’t breathe I think i might die type choking. Because that was just Noah Kalani’s life apparently. Coughing violently Noah turned to the side, the burger all but abandoned in the box on his lap now. Damn it. Noah could feel this moment going south very quickly, the tears already welling up at the corners of his eyes as he went through his fit. But he tried his hardest to pull himself together and finally after what seemed like forever he took a fresh breath, his whole body shaking now with the effort he just exerted. Leaning back onto the hard wood of the porch porch Noah just well laid there, trying to catch his breath. And trying to make sense of everything that Reza was saying. Because it was true, they had been flirting and Noah was into him and probably bisexual as the day is long he just. Didn’t have the mental or the lung capacity for any of that right now. So he just laid there on the porch, breathing heavy and trying not to look at Reza.

If Reza had possessed even just an ounce of confidence upon coming to Noah's house, the last shreds of it had definitely gone up in flames at the sound of Noah completely and utterly freaking out at the questions. Because who wouldn't when berated with... whatever the hell had spilled out of Reza's mouth, he couldn't even remember what the fuck he'd said and Noah was... choking? Oh, no... Horrified of doing anything to make the situation even worse, the vampire just froze and dumbly listened to Noah's pounding heartbeat, like the stone in his gut was keeping him completely grounded. No, he wasn't actually choking to death - thank fuck. No need for any physical contact that would inevitably fuck things up worse, even though he doubted things could get worse than Noah trying to wheeze some air back into his lungs while doing everything but meeting Reza's pathetically desperate gaze. His mouth opened and immediately closed. There was nothing more to say except another pitiful "sorry." It was surprising that his legs actually held him up as he turned for the cycle, helmet and gloves abandoned for the sheer need to get the hell out of here. This had been a mistake, start to finish and as if to further verify that, Reza's phone was vibrating with a text. If he didn't check in soon and let them know why he was at an unfamiliar address, well... it was a good thing Reza was leaving, anyway.

Laying there Noah almost didn’t realize Reza was leaving until he heard the small sorry from the others lips and jolted back into a sitting position. Fuck. Reza was walking away, they were losing each other again, all because of some ill-timed choking and Noah’s inability to well. Come out essentially. And well, if he had had it another way, something better, he would have taken that. But it was now or never essentially and we wasn’t about to let Reza run away from this. Vaulting off the porch with his supernatural agility Noah closed the gap between them reaching out of any small piece of reza to sop the boy from leaving. “Reza” He called out grabbing the others hand. It was the first time they had touched since Reza came back and Noah could tell his heart was just going off the rails with the content, the wolf side of his brain now screaming good things at him and the human side of his brain screaming that this was a mistake. He should just let him go because all he was going to do was hurt him agin. Standing there though as Reza turned back to face him Noah just. Noah didn’t care about any of it anymore, and he just let the words fall from his lips. “It’s true I’m- I’m and idiot that flirts to much, and just loves too deeply and falls too hard and just doesn’t even know his own sexual orientation anymore because who would have thought he liked dudes now.” Noah paused feeling his heart start to beat even more widely in his chest. He’d never actually said it out loud and even just hearing those words. Internally he wanted to hide and never speak about this ever again, but for Reza’s sake he pressed on. Because to Noah no matter the outcome keeping Reza in his life was worth this risk, worth, someone knowing that their perfect little straight football jock kid may not be as well heterosexual as they thought. ”But I can’t.-“ He stopped again trying not let himself get so worked up that we was crying. Because yea that was sexy wasn’t it “Don’t. Please just don’t leave me” he whispered still holding on to Reza’s arm and unspoken again hanging in the air between them

Was this the way all genuine relationships worked? Or non-relationships or whatever the label was? Like a badly written scene from a B-class movie where neither character knew what in the actual living hell was going on? Reza very limited experience with any sort of relationship hadn't prepared him at all. Trying to deal with someone else's struggling feelings while also juggling his own was hard -- scratch that, devastating; and he'd been genuinely wondering just why the hell people continued to put themselves out there for this stupid, risky relationship thing when there were far more important things to worry about in life, when the answer arrived. In the form of Noah grabbing his hand. Right. Stupid, panic inducing risk equals a slim possibility of reward. Feeling a phantom pounding in his chest, reminiscent of when something had actually beat inside there, Reza clenched his jaw and turned back. His teeth were piercing the inside of his cheek (were there fangs too? Maybe, he didn't trust any of the sensory signals his body was giving off right now) and even thought there was no clear, vocal confirmation that Noah... well, felt the same, the implication was strong enough to make Reza's mouth go dry. Aside from the blood due to his cut cheek. "I won't. It's the last thing I wanna do right now. Or at all." Reza had never experienced someone wanting him around this vehemently. It was overwhelming, but something he wanted to get used to. Something he wanted to live up to, despite all the shitfuckery that was dropped on his life on a regular basis. He wondered whether he'd literally begun to shake before realizing it was his phone again. Shit. "I really... really need to answer this text. To not get a very pissed of Slayer in your driveway," he said softly, eyes locked with Noah's for the first time without the wave of awkwardness and uncertainty.

Standing there feeling more vulnerable than he ever had before Noah focused on Reza and the hand under his. He’d never noticed before just how cold Reza was, and how badly his werewolf blood just wanted to warm him up. holding onto that hand for dear life Noah could practically feel the vibration just as Reza had eyes still locked on the other. “Alright” Noah breathed out heart still pounding away in his chest a little. Squeezing the other’s hand a little the older boy managed to let go of it (it was a heavy mental struggle with that one though), trusting in Reza’s words and wanting to give the kid a little space to text his “bosses” or whatever they were. “I’ll just be over here uh then” Noah said pointing back toward their little area on the porch. The aftermath looking a little awkward. with the abandoned pizza thing just spilled haphazardly on the side of the porch from when Noah jumped up “You know cleaning the porch and trying to figure out how to tell my future kids that their dad initially kinda came out after nearly choking to death on a pizza hamburger hybrid” It was another joke, an awkward one at most considering they hadn’t really defined their well everything. But if their relationship was going to ever go back to the way it was Noah needed to get back to that place. And that place was flirty jokey, awkward and kinda utterly in love with Reza Burki. So thats what he was going to do.

Reza smiled gratefully before rushing to pick up his phone, eyes continuously flicking over towards Noah as if to make sure he wasn't just going to sneak off into the house or get one of his alpha buddies to come make good on that 'beat up the vampire' threat or whatever else paranoid thing Reza's brain could come up with. Instead of all that, the lovable mass of muscles was simply fiddling with the carnage of the calorie fest and awkwardly joking and Reza had no regrets whatsoever. Well, regarding this, at least. "I'm sure they won't be surprised by..." Reza trailed off as soon as he unlocked the phone, the three new texts worse than he'd been expecting. "I... can't believe I'm fucking saying this but I have to... go. Just to take care of a thing. Here, in town. For like a few hours max and..." Reza's hand ran roughly through his hair, frustration seeping from every pore. "Fuck, I'm sorry, just... Can I give you my new cell number? And address of my apartment, just in case and, uh..." he rambled while hastily typing out a reply and making his way closer to Noah again. "Leaving is literally the fucking last thing I want to do and... I'd tell them to fuck off if I could but... I'll call, okay? Soon as I'm done? Promise."

And there is was again. The other shoe dropping right out from under him as Noah was just picking up the pieces. Reza needed to go. Reza was going to leave again. Fuck. But this time was different, this time Noah was able to turn around and see the frustration on the other boy’s face, to see just how much he didn’t want to go. And for that moment it was enough. Meeting Reza in the middle Noah took the phone from his hand programming his own phone number into it. He was going to call him when he was done. And Noah was going to have to be ok with that. He had no other choice after all “Go kick ass for me ok” He said trying to smile at Reza, trying to be ok when he clearly was not. “And you don’t have to actually call or anything jut a quick text. Just so I know you got home alright” Noah nodded trying to quell the still ever present panic. Reza was saying goodbye at least. So even if Noah never saw him again it wasn’t a complete disappearance. “I’m-i’m going to hug you now ok” Noah said with a gulp not knowing why this whole thing was so damn awkward. I mean he and his friends hugged all the time, gave them out like candy to babies. But then again most of his friends also didn’t just confess to possibly liking him,, or whatever the hell the past ten minutes were. So there was that. Putting his arms around the other boy though Noah drew him as close as he could noticing just how much more of Reza there seemed to be now. Not that they had hugged or anything before. But still. Sniffing slightly Noah took in Reza’s scent for reference, mentally cataloging it in case he needed to go on a manhunt again, the possibility of Reza just up and leaving again never far out of his mind. “Stay safe” He finally whispered against the smaller boy’s head as he let him go, hoping that this wouldn’t be the last time.

It seemed like all that chaos earlier, the frustrated yelling and scathing remarks, had been enough of an outlet for both of them as the two very different boys had their first serious and calm conversation. Reza could have imploded with relief; Noah wasn't mad and seemed to actually believe him. It felt pretty damn nice. The feeling of complete implosion only got stronger when Noah wrapped his arms fully around him. The height difference made it so that Reza's head was nestled rather comfortably in Noah's chest; it was almost overwhelming, the raw smell of Noah that Reza had grown accustomed to, the warmth of his skin, the soft yet so damn firm muscles and the steady beating of a heart. Reza would have been content just standing here for an undecided amount of time, his own arms curling back around Noah's shoulder blades. But aside from the fact that hugging forever was just highly unpractical, Reza really did have to leave. And yeah, he most definitely had a very soft, content smile on his face as they broke the hug, his own skin feeling that much cooler without the Noah's warmth. "I will. And I'll call," he added, because Noah deserved more than just a casual text. Reza's phone vibrated again. With a very frustrated huff, he went for his helmet and gloves. "Talk to you soon," he called over his shoulder as he bolted for the cycle, a different kind of jittery feeling taking over as he left one nerve racking situation for another.

#strap urselves in it's a long one #p:noah #touchofchatzy #tw noah freaking finALLY ADMITTING TO THE THING #you go noah im so proud

[rhinnie]

Second Law of Thermodynamics

Once, Trevor didn't think they could work.

They were gasoline set too close to an open flame, complex chemical mechanisms and low relative flash points Trevor could list off by heart once upon a time, but now knew it was just asking for trouble. For all intents and purposes, Trevor should have been terrified--it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that two combustible substances and no safety equipment between them spelled imminent disaster. Nothing but heartache and pain and a rift that could never be repaired.

Trevor could admit that if his life had gone a different way, if he'd continued down the path his parents had so meticulously laid out for him before he was even born, then perhaps he would have been petrified. But, no. This Trevor craved chaos, this Trevor lit kerosene on fire in the middle of his organic chemistry lab, and set homemade fireworks out in the park so he could watch, enraptured, as the trees became engulfed in flames. This Trevor set his house on fire as a graduation gift to himself, a final fuck you to his parents, drove out to Los Santos and never looked back. Found like-minded individuals with the same thirst for bloodshed and the same fire in their veins. Fell in love with the boy who was entropy personified--whose words were dipped in poison and grins were like daggers and bled ichor like only the gods themselves could. The untouchable Golden Boy.

Not so untouchable now.

"Fuck, fuck, Michael cover me! Gavin! Gavin, you fuck, fucking answer me!"

Trevor could barely hear past the buzzing in his ears, couldn't feel his fingers digging painfully into the cushy leather chair as he stared at the screen in horror.

"Visual?" He snapped at Matt hoarsely.

"Fuck, I'm trying, I can't--"

"We're taking fire! Ryan and I can't hold them off much longer!"

"There's more cops pulling up!"

Trevor took a shuddering breath.

"Boss?" Andy whispered, giving him the same wide-eyed, distressed look everyone else in the room was sending his way.

The heist had gone from bad to worse, a tripped silent alarm from a too-brave bystander led to a swarm of cops straight to the Fakes' location far earlier than anticipated. Michael was hurt, Ryan and Jeremy pinned, Gavin--

Trevor clenched his eyes shut. He took another breath and steeled himself. They needed him.

"Jack," he rasped, letting the cool professionalism flow through him. "Get to Michael, now. Jeremy, Ryan, retreat. Use the back alley before they converge there."

"But--"

"Geoff," he steamrolled right over the sudden outcry. "Get Gavin and get to the safe house on the west side. There's a med bay all set up."

"I need to--fuck--stem the fucking bleeding."

"Do the best you can while Jack and Michael cover you. Stay alive, people."

He watched Ryan and Jeremy retreat into the alley and out of sight, saw Jack come to a screeching halt close to Michael's location to lay down some cover fire, enough for her to pop open the door and for Michael to limp over into safety, still firing.

"Got it," Matt said suddenly. Trevor whipped his head to the side, zeroing in on the tableau in front of him. He could feel his breath catch in his chest. God there was so much blood. Geoff was knelt down, blood staining the knees of his trousers, and his hands were already saturated grotesquely as he worked frantically to stifle the bleeding.

"Is he--"

"He's alive," he grunted brusquely, suit jacket stripped off to press roughly to the gut wound. "Sorry buddy." Geoff took a deep breath and then hauled Gavin into his arms, Gavin's head lolling limply against his shoulder.

The rest was a blur, a fugue like state Trevor would later try to remember but be wholly unable to. He called Caleb on autopilot, directing him to the safe house Geoff was trying to get them to. He called Burnie, sent Dan a text, ignored his team's worried looks and drawn faces as he resolutely tried to forget how peaceful Gavin had looked this morning and how...dead he looked now.

He was there when Jeremy and Ryan silently filtered through, roughed up but no worse for the wear. Jack half-carried Michael in nearly an hour later, blood staining his jeans. She set about cleaning his wound clinically, carefully avoiding the topic until she was done with the sutures.

"Anything?"

Trevor shook his head, not moving away from the computer as he tracked the police activity. Thanks to Burnie's contacts, the hunt seemed to be winding down a bit.

"He'll be alright."

"I know," he responded shortly. He zoned out again for an indeterminate amount of time, alternating between watching Matt attempt to erase any trace of them from the security footage, tracking the updates Weazel News had, and remembering how sickeningly domestic that morning was--with Gavin continuing his pre-heist tradition of a full English breakfast for two, and the lingering kisses the two shared, Trevor using his height advantage to hold up Gavin's Crunchie bar over his head, only conceding when he threw his arms around his neck and dragged him in for a heated kiss.

"Trevor."

He startled horribly, nearly toppling from the chair, saved only by Jeremy's quick reflexes.

"Jesus Christ, scared the shit outta me."

"You alright?" Matt asked quietly, taking off his headphones.

If it were anyone else, he would've snapped at them. Would've bristled and gotten up in arms and very well might have just stormed out. Because what a fucking question. The heist was a complete failure, Michael was injured, their fucking boss hadn't checked in yet, and Gavin could very well be dead. Dead, just like that. No more tea brewing at all hours of the day, no more camera flashes in his face when Gavin got the sudden urge to photograph Trevor in various stages of unawareness, no more squeaky laughs and bright eyes that reminded him of the things he loved when he was back in school--glowing nebulae and vast galaxies and the feeling of being so small and yet so comforted by this force you couldn't ever hope to control.

He didn't realize he was shaking until Jeremy grasped his shoulders tightly.

"He's going to be okay."

"You don't know--"

"I do. He's a stubborn bastard that loves you too much to leave you. And too much of a dramatic fuck to let something like a gutshot be the thing to kill him."

Trevor let out a watery scoff. Jeremy grinned at him. "Atta boy. Now c'mon. Caleb hates visitors but he's gonna make an exception this time."

--

They took the long way to the safe house, still too worried about the patrolling cops to just gun it like Trevor wanted to. It probably would've been smarter to take any car other than the Armored Tim, but Trevor couldn't fault Jeremy the comfort it brought.

The ride was thirty minutes of near silence before Jeremy abruptly said, "I know it's going to be hard."

"What?"

"I mean, yeah the PT's gonna be a bitch, but the sex ban? How will you two survive?"

"Fuck off, ass!" But he laughed, a small huff that already had Jeremy beaming at him. He punched him lightly in the shoulder, feeling his body lose some of the tension. "We'll manage perfectly fine. In fact--"

"Ugh, gross."

"Jeremy, let me regale you with a story of two handsome lads, a broom closet, three glitter bombs, and--"

"God, you're such a slut," he laughed, rolling his eyes when Trevor gave him a quick eyebrow flash and winked. The mood remained relatively light for the remainder of the ride, and Trevor couldn't help but be immensely grateful to his friend. The atmosphere dropped considerably when they reached the safe house.

Jeremy punched in the gate code swiftly, and Trevor was out before the car even stopped. He pressed his keycard to the scanner and waited impatiently as it ran through whatever complicated mechanism Matt and Gavin had set up. It clicked and Trevor threw open the door.

He saw Geoff first, sitting on the small couch in the living room, elbows resting heavily on his thighs, dashes of dried blood still clinging to his hands. He looked up when Trevor barged in, looking so defeated, Trevor's mind immediately went to the worst case scenario.

Geoff read his mind before the panic could settle in, "Caleb's still sewing him up. Lost a lot of blood but the bullet's out. There's worry about infection but," he shrugged tiredly. "We'll deal with it."

"You--" he cleared his threat when his voice cracked, walking over to sit across from him. "You should get some rest."

"Nah," he sighed deeply, rubbing his face. "Wanna talk to Caleb first." There was a beat. "Everyone alright?"

"Yeah. Jeremy's parking the car now. Everyone's okay, Michael's leg's fine--just a graze. Jack patched it up and sent him to bed."

"Good." His body loosened up; Trevor was relieved to note he looked less beleaguered with that news. He looked up at Trevor then, maintaining eye contact. "You did good, Trevor. Kept everyone calm, kept your cool while you delegated."

"Well..." he averted his eyes, focusing on a bit of paint splattered on the hardwood floor. "I didn't exactly--"

"You did. It couldn't have been easy to see that, but you still lead the crew. Kept them safe. I'm proud of you, buddy."

Trevor couldn't help the bashful smile that spread across his face, nor the embarrassing blush he was positive was coloring his complexion. "Thanks boss."

"Yeah, don't get used to it. You're still a piece of shit."

"Always feel the love from you, Geoff."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. Trevor scooted over once Jeremy entered the house, making space for him and drifting off while they talked about what went wrong in the heist. He probably should've been paying attention, analyzing what goes wrong was a part of his job, but if he thought about it, he'd remember Gavin's pale face and horribly limp body and all the blood and...no. He wasn't going there.

He was the first one up when he heard Caleb walk down the steps, looking absolutely exhausted, but calm, which settled something in Trevor. Caleb didn't even look surprised to see him.

"He's going to be fine," he started before anyone could ask. "Nothing vital was hit. On transfusions now, gonna keep an eye out for infection, and his pain's gonna be off the charts, but we're stocked up on morphine. You can stay with him, just don't wake him up and don't fuck around with any of the IVs."

Trevor didn't waste a moment, gave Caleb a distracted salute and a small but sincere smile, and bolted up the steps. He entered the room as quietly as he could, breath catching when he saw his partner attached to the plethora of indistinguishable leads and IVs, looking so small and so incredibly fragile. Trevor crept forward, standing next to the bed and looking him over. God he looked so pale, closer to Trevor's own complexion than his normal tanned glow. Face lax, the tiniest splatter of blood on his neck. The once untouchable Golden Boy. Trevor could feel emotions start to bubble up, threatening to overflow no matter how hard he tried to stifle it, and he took a shuddering breath that ended in a sob. He grasped Gavin's hand as tightly as he dared.

"You bastard," he whispered, barely able to choke it out through the vice in his throat. "I told you to be careful. I wouldn't call this careful, Gav."

He leant down, brought Gavin's knuckles to his lips and just pressed against them, eyes squeezed shut. He scooted into bed beside him, thankful that they'd insisted on king sized beds for every safe house, and gently rested his arm across Gavin's chest. He kissed his temple and then his cheek before he cuddled in flush against his side and nuzzled his neck.

"Wake up soon so I can yell at you, you ass." He pressed another kiss to Gavin's neck and cuddled in as close as he could.

In a few hours, Gavin's going to wake up, groggy and in pain, but with still enough lucidity to give Trevor a wide, sappy smile and rasp out "lo luv." In a few days, he's going to be aching and restless, eager to get back to work, much to the chagrin of everyone, and Trevor will allow him to zip tie his neck to his fucking ankle in order to get Gavin to remain in bed. And in a few weeks, he'll be right back with the crew and right back to Trevor, the way it was before.

Trevor thought he should probably take this as a sign, that everything--them, their relationship, their job--is just too volatile to survive, but pressed up against Gavin, his heart beating steadily under Trevor's hand and his head unconsciously nuzzling against Trevor's, he can't help but think that nature has a way. Entropy in an isolated system is always increasing, nothing can stop that. But he sure as fuck can go along for the ride.

#trevin #freelins #freellins #fahc trevor #fahc gavin #fake ah crew #fahc #guess who wrote trevin!!!!!!! #Took the entire day but I did it #turned out a lil different than i expected #and a lil longer #but eh #trevin y'all #i adore this ship #I really wanna write more for it #but gonna put that too the side for a bit #got so many wips to work on #again completely unproofread #my writing

[maliwarm]

“have you lost your mind?” (for Shayne?)

HaHA SURPRISE. Bet u thought I forgot about this sitting in my inbox! :y

Ikindofdidonandoff……oops. :,,,L

I had pretty much all of this done from ages ago and actually kinda like how it turned out. Which is why the hoverskiff’s way different from how you portray it. What I thought it might’ve looked like back then was something of a much smaller version of the sand skiffs from S.tar Wars, but with a couple of seats so it’s slightly safer and can transport two or three people at a time.

Sorry the ending’s abrupt. I forgot where the hell I was going with it. >_>;;

-

The deal had gone bad. The other party had already sold themselves out to Rendain prior in hopes he and his Varelsi horde would spare them from the impending end of the universe. Stupid, cowardly bastards. And the ensuing firefight made the situation worse; three against some twenty or thirty something amount of thugs were terrible odds enough on their own, but even more so when she was the only one carrying a gun. It made thinning the ranks tricky. And positively heart-stopping every time Shayne slipped out of cover, cloaked or not, and darted straight into the middle of the goons and their own (bigger, faster, deadlier) guns to punch and stab them with fists and boomerang and hulking rock monster.

“Have you lost your goddamn mind?!” she’d yelled the first time, when the kid came sprinting back with a couple of scrapes and an already purpling cheek. … And received an irritatingly casual shrug and a positively infuriating, shit-eating grin as a response.

Fucking teenagers… she’d seethed silently, jamming a fresh clip into her pistol. Snapped, “Gimme some sorta warning the next time you feel the urge to eat some lead so I can make sure you don’t, y'know, die. Like an idiot.”

Aurox hissed his agreement. Shayne ignored him; saluted sloppily, grin widening so more crooked teeth could flash at her. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

The next few passes had been pretty uneventful, with the kid suffering injuries no heavier than occasional scrapes and bruises; something she was grateful for. It was only towards the end, when their opposition was running low on numbers and getting desperate, that the scales tipped to an unfavourable balance. At some point, one of the goons had somehow crept up behind her without her knowledge or awareness of the fact, with the intent to gun her down. By some stroke of coincidence or luck, Shayne had been in the midst of breaking off a skirmish to get back to her and caught the bastard in the act; managed to get out a warning holler before the asshole clubbed the back of her head something nasty and left her completely out of it for an indeterminate period of time. When she came to, the fight was over and Shayne had one of her jacketed arms wrapped over a thin shoulder and was trying to haul her to her feet.

“C'mon, boss. Upsy daisy…”

The walk to the hoverskiff was a fragmented blur. But she clearly remembered Shayne struggling valiantly under her weight, with a pronounced limp no less, and the feel of Aurox’s claws gently pinching the back of her jacket to help keep her upright. The hellish heat washing from his open ribcage onto half of her body had her squirming and groaning her discomfort every so often. When she finally came to properly, her head was pounding something awful. She was also already on her ‘skiff. Weird. She didn’t remember getting there in the first place, but whatever. Habitually, she shuffled towards the wheel, ready to head for home, but was stopped by a burnt hand wrapping itself firmly around her bicep.

“Ohhhh no, no, no, no, no.” Shayne said, ushering her back towards the passenger seats. “Si'ddown, Reyna, I got this.”

“Gotta get us home,” she slurred out, trying unsuccessfully to wriggle away.

“What, with a concussion?” The kid scoffed. “Have you lost your mind? Geez. I’ll get us back. Just take it easy.”

“Y'can’t even drive.”

That cocky grin again as long, clever fingers reached for one of the rarely used seatbelts and clipped her into place. “I can, actually. Self-taught. With a couple of lessons with Whisk on the finer points under my belt, too.”

She scowled. The last time the little turd drove her hoverskiff, it was to steal it. Distinctly, she remembered the paintwork on one side had been scraped something awful on the way out the hangar, and one of its thrusters had damn near been broken off while Shayne had been trying to dodge a rock towards the end of the chase.

The kid must’ve remembered too, because the grin she was flashed became sheepish. “Look, I’ll be careful with it this time. Promise.” When her scowl didn’t relent, Shayne sighed. “Reyna, c'mon. That was years ago now; I’ve changed since then, remember? Don’t you trust me?”

Her scowl became a wince. What a button to go pushing. “Well… yeah, but-”

“But nothing,” Shayne interrupted, waggling a finger. “Just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

She watched the kid limp back towards the wheel, frowning. Was that little red bandana always wrapped around Shayne’s calf? Wasn’t it supposed to be just above an ankle? She squinted through blurring vision, noting that red seemed to bleed out from the bottom of the bandana, onto Shayne’s pants. It took longer than it should’ve for what that meant to click, but when it did, her concussion-induced fog seemed to clear a little. “You’re hurt.”

Shayne plopped into the seat, carefully keeping weight off the injured leg. “Yeah.” Then, as an afterthought, “But I’m not concussed, and I don’t need it to drive this thing.”

Her struggle against the seatbelt became more heated as protective instincts took over. Almost succeeded in freeing herself at least three times. “Out. Now. I’ll drive.”

“Nope. Aurox, make sure the passenger stays seated.”

The omnidimensional horror rematerialised, all smoke and cinders and irritated growling, and floated towards her. He flicked her fingers away from the seatbelt with his ungainly claws, the motions carefully gentle, but full of obvious contempt. Eventually, she gave up, slumping defeated against the seat with a one-eyed scowl. She was this close to crossing her arms and pouting like a petulant child. Aurox continued to watch her with beady, critical eyes to ensure she didn’t attempt escape again.

Below her feet the 'skiff hummed to life, throttles flaring and whining, and small screen lighting up with various meters and numbers next to Shayne’s left hand. Their liftoff was surprisingly smooth. Dust and rocks whizzed by as Shayne began driving, the 'skiff zooming across the terrain with far less bumping and jostling and panicked veering than she’d expected. Despite herself, she was impressed. “Whadd'ya know. You actually can drive.”

“Told'ja.”

She hummed. Then, after a beat, “Go straight t’ medbay. Get that leg patched up.”

“Only if you come too to get your head checked.”

She grunted an unhappy affirmative. Shayne just laughed. “Don’t be like that. We’ll get to be recovery neighbours! What’s better than that?”

“Literally anything,” Aurox growled under his breath at the same time she said, “A steaming cup of caffe.”

More laughter, followed by a tone ripe with mock pouting. “Fine then. I’ll hang out with Whiskey instead. At least he appreciates my company.”

She huffed out a laugh. “It’ll be a cold day in hell when he chooses you over me, kid.”

“I mean, you’re probably right.” Shayne expertly zigzagged through a cluster of rocks, not clipping a single one. More flat, barren desert stretched on, but if she squinted, she could see a thin line of green where it ended and the forestry began. Ekkunar’s terrain was weird as hell. “But I like to think the decision’d be difficult for him. What, with me being his favourite and all.”

A playful scoff as she grinned at the kid’s back through the gaps in Aurox’s torso. The wall of heat that kept the ugly sucker moving warped the image. “Don’t kid yourself, I’m his fav.”

“Okay. I’m his second fav, then.”

“Nope. Toby is.”

“Third.”

“Pendles.”

“I’ve gotta be fourth then. No way Orendi’s beating me.”

“Nah. That’s Gruesome here’s position.” She gestured at Aurox, even though the kid was busy focusing on not sending all three of them colliding with rocks and becoming a glorious fireball. Aurox cocked his head at the admission. She got the feeling he’d raise an eyebrow instead if he had any. “You an’ 'Rendi are tied for last.”

“Okay, now I know you’re talking bullshit.”

“Language,” she admonished, to which Shayne flapped a dismissive hand.

“Whatever. Whisk’ll back me up on the recovery neighbours thing anyways, and you know it. He’s almost as bad at mother-henning as you, y'know.”

She slouched in her seat. It made the belt sit strangely; slightly loose, but not nearly enough to actually slip out of. She fiddled with it sulkily, eye slipping closed in a half-hearted attempt to block a fresh headache. “Can you blame me though; for bein’ a mother hen? The stunts you pull sometimes scare me shitless…”

Too many times in the fight they’d just come from alone, she’d been all too aware of all the ways Shayne could’ve died to bullets or daggers. Hell, even a strong, well-placed kick or punch to the throat could’ve done the silly brat in.

#Bite's writing #Battleborn #Battlebarn #reynavaleria #Reyna Valeria #Shayne and Aurox #now I just have one more prompt u sent me to finish off :v

[avecorviidae]

Fic: Aubade - Chapter One

Fandom: Mob Psycho 100 Rating: M Relationship(s): Kageyama Ritsu/Suzuki Shou Word Count: 4196

Ao3 Link

Ritsu takes the overnight train from Grain City. His mother had told him to take the day train, given that they both knew he wouldn’t sleep on the ride home, and it would be better for him to arrive in the evening and go straight to bed, instead of arriving at dawn and spending all day trying not to fall asleep. She was probably right, but Ritsu was more or less an insomniac anyways, and night trains tended to be far less crowded, so. If he didn’t have to sit anywhere near a small, loud child, it would all be worth it.

He leans against a stone pillar on the platform and waits for the train to pull in. Despite the heavy summer air, the stone is cool at his back, seeping into his t-shirt and providing a pleasant contrast to the hot coffee in his hand. It should be cooling down a little soon, he thinks, staring at the sky, painted in soft pinks and oranges that darken into a deep red where the sun has disappeared behind some distant mountains. He cranes his head in the other direction to see where inky blue is starting to appear on the horizon, fading abruptly into the soft light of the sunset in broad strokes. It reminds him of the time he and Mob had found their mother’s watercolours when they were little, and decided to ‘decorate’ Ritsu’s bedroom walls. He spots a couple of white pinpricks in the distance, and distracts himself with trying to figure out if they’re stars or planes until the train pulls into the station, stopping at the platform with a shuddering sigh.

The only other people who would take an overnight train all the way to Seasoning City are a small crowd of salarymen making a commute for work, and Ritsu is infinitely thankful that they all seem to be as tired and antisocial as he is, because he finds himself alone in a passenger car aside from one dead-eyed guy in a suit who sits as far away from Ritsu as he’s physically able. Ritsu dumps his backpack onto the seats across from him and sits down, careful to hold his coffee steady as the train starts to pull out. He’s found that he can usually pack light when he’s going home for breaks, so his backpack just has the essentials. His wallet, phone charger, laptop, toiletries, a couple of books, a jacket, and some clean underwear are all he really needs to grab. While he knows that his brother’s old bedroom has been converted into a sewing room of sorts since he moved out, his mother has been loathe to change Ritsu’s room at all, so all of his clothes and such will still be waiting for him at home.

He settles back in his seat and lets himself stare out of the window as the train speeds up, until the station and the outskirts of Grain City fades away and the landscape turns into an indistinct blur. After a while, he remembers to pull out his phone.

TO: SHIGEO Got on the train, I should get into town early tomorrow

His phone buzzes with a response about a minute later.

FROM: SHIGEO Ok, be safe! You should try to get some sleep :0 If you tell me when youre getting close, me and Teru can pick you up at the station

TO: SHIGEO Im going to get here pretty early, youll probably still be asleep But thanks You should sleep too, ill see you tomorrow

FROM: SHIGEO Ok, see you!! <3

Ritsu wrestles with his pride for a few moments before sending back a ‘<3’ and shoving his phone back in his pocket.

He lets himself sit for another while, sipping on his drink and grimacing. Eugh. Cheap train station coffee is only tolerable while it’s too hot to taste. Still, he’s spent money on this, so he’s committed now. Night’s fallen quickly, and now when he looks out of his window, all he can see is murky blue, and the vague lights of some buildings in a city off in the distance. They’re just far enough outside of the city that Ritsu thinks he might be able to see the stars, except that the glare from the thin LED strips above the window is reflecting off of the glass too much to see anything but his own face.

A chill settles over the compartment. Not a bad one, or a particularly ominous one, but without the sunlight, the speed of the train and the air conditioning is enough to make him shiver in his thin shirt, reach over to grab a hoodie from his bag.

He shouldn’t leave himself alone with his thoughts, he knows, even as he continues to stare off at nothing. He’s notoriously introspective at this time of night, and he knows he’ll work himself into a panic if he just starts thinking, about this past year and himself and what he even wants to do… He shakes himself out of it. Come on, dumbass. You’ve got ten hours in here, let’s make it past the ten minute mark without dealing with this again. He should distract himself. Read, or play on his phone, or something, but as per usual, he can’t really bring himself to drag himself out of his daze. It’s an oddly comforting feeling, his mind retreating to the point that he barely feels real, like nothing actually exists in the pitch black beyond the window.

Time passes haphazardly, like it’s having trouble squeezing into the stale air of the compartment. His eyes lazily trace patterns on the ugly fabric of the chair across from him for what feels like minutes but could be hours, and despite the caffeine, he finds himself nodding forward, eyes blurring and drifting shut. By the other door, the nondescript businessman has pulled out his laptop and has been typing something for an indeterminate amount of time, and he latches onto the steady tap tap tap tap of the keys, the rapid taptaptaptap when he’s hitting the backspace, turns it into white noise in his mind that blocks out his actual thoughts.

He almost, almost jumps when his phone vibrates in his pocket again. FROM: YOUR FAVORITE ;) yo r u awake

TO: YOUR FAVORITE ;) Yes. what do you want, shou? FROM: YOUR FAVORITE ;) omg why r u up its like fuck in the morning s l e e p anyways teru says ur on ur way back to seasoning u didnt drop out right

He squints at the text, momentarily confused, until a glance at his phone’s clock informs him that it’s almost one in the morning. He must’ve actually fallen asleep for a while. He has a sneaking suspicion that the businessman over there has a very, very close deadline.

TO: YOUR FAVORITE ;) I told you what date i was coming back home a month ago. You know. When i planned this trip. Shockingly, shou, college students get summer break too.

FROM: YOUR FAVORITE ;) i was busy!!!! i forgot!!!!!! how long r u in town :3

TO: YOUR FAVORITE ;) Two weeks. Im just dropping by to see my family and sleep for a while, really.

FROM: YOUR FAVORITE ;) and get a haircut

TO: YOUR FAVORITE ;) And get a haircut.

FROM: YOUR FAVORITE ;) anyways it is like 1 am u should be sleeping

TO: YOUR FAVORITE ;) So should you. I’m on a train, what’s your excuse?

FROM: YOUR FAVORITE ;) :p

Ritsu snorts quietly. Stunning argumentation as always, Suzuki.

He wonders absently if Shou will be around. He’d stayed a couple of cities over for high school, but he’d started travelling as soon as they’d graduated. Apparently, there’d been some overseas business of his father’s that he had to take care of now that he was eighteen, so Ritsu hasn't seen him at all this last year, even during Christmas break. It hadn’t stopped Shou from texting him almost nonstop, however, regardless of different timezones. He wonders if Shou’s even in the country right now. Is it really worth it to get his hopes up, though? He’s already excited to see his brother, and Teru and Reigen, and his parents, so there’s no point in being disappointed if Shou has business elsewhere. They’re not kids anymore, it’s stupid of him to expect Shou to drop whatever obligations or responsibilities he might have to show up in Seasoning City, just to see Ritsu.

His phone buzzes with a new message.

FROM: YOUR FAVORITE ;) hey do u know if ur mom still makes those rlly nice weird caramel cookie things i miss them deeply almost as much as i miss ur dumb face ive almost forgotten what ur angry frown looks like

—

He pauses at the front door, hand resting on the doorknob.

Auras are still… interesting, to Ritsu. Even despite six or so years of being able to use his powers, he still doesn’t really get the buzzing frequencies of energy that roll off of espers in waves, resonating with something in the back of his mind, like plucking on a violin string pulled too tight. He’d eventually gotten used to people’s auras, of course. His brother’s, he’d grown up with. Teru’s was a brainfreeze and a burn all at once, a rush of blood to the head that was strange, but not entirely unpleasant. Shou’s was, well. Shou. He hadn’t realized that places had auras as well. Standing in front of his house, though, he can feel it enveloping him like a blanket right out of the dryer, can feel it in the strange places that his powers seem to manifest, climbing in pinpricks up his arms and heavy at the roof of his mouth, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. It’s achingly, painfully familiar, and it’s only been a year, but he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed living in a place that’s lived and breathed psychic powers, that’s still imbued with them despite both of its resident espers moving out, and this house feels like home.

Mob is on him almost before he’s through the door, arms wrapped tightly enough around his shoulders to knock the breath out of him. Mob is only a few inches taller than him, but Ritsu is still struck with the feeling of being encompassed by his brother, and it feels in a sense similar to the aura of their house, but there’s something different, something uniquely Mob about it.

Ritsu lets himself enjoy it, hooking his chin over Mob’s shoulder so that he can return the hug without getting crushed completely. “Hey, Nii-san, what are you doing here?” He should be at his own apartment, theoretically. After all, it’s not like he has a bed here anymore.

Mob loosens his grip on Ritsu enough to take a step back and look him in the eyes. He beams at him a moment before his smile is dampened a little by sheepishness. “Ah, well. We thought we’d spend the night so that we could be here when you arrived.” Ritsu has a moment to think ‘We’? before Teru appears in the front hallway, weird hair and atrocious green sweater and all. “Hey, Little Brother!” he calls out with a wave, before weaving around Mob to give Ritsu a hug of his own. “Don’t call me that,” he scolds, whacking him on the back of the head even as he’s letting Teru try his damndest to squeeze him to death.

Teru and Mob have set up a fairly impressive pillow nest on the couch, and the TV is still on low volume, the tail end of some competitive cooking show marathon. That was a ‘thing,’ with these two, for some reason that Ritsu couldn’t understand. They just tended to be stupid competitions with stupid people who’d decided to embarrass themselves on television. Mob had told him it was “kind of stressful, but Teruki likes it, so it’s alright,” while Teru called it a “valuable bonding experience”. Ritsu wonders, sometimes, if all people in relationships are this weird, or if it’s just these two.

Once Ritsu has sneaked past his parents’ room and dumped his bag in his (as predicted, completely unchanged) room, he collapses onto the sofa with them, infinitely grateful for a chair that wasn’t actively trying to murder his back. For the rest of the train ride back, he’d had the good sense to shove another hoodie in between his neck and the window, and it had served as a pillow well enough, but God, his neck was killing him. Well, at least he’d come out of it better off than the businessman, who’d walked off of the train with an imprint of a keyboard on his forehead. Teru curls the other end of the sofa and Mob sits in the middle between them, pulling a pillow into his lap. Ritsu flops down with his head on it, scooching around until he’s mostly comfortable.

The silence that falls over the room is drowsy and comfortable, despite the muffled screaming coming from the television set. He knows that when his parents wake up in a few hours, there’ll be a barrage of hugs and wet kisses and questions about his school and his dorm and his grades and his friends, and a thousand other things that had always seemed so important this last year, when they took up every waking moment of his time, but thinking back now, feel so minuscule and pointless, just part of the drivel of everyday life. So for now, he’s content to let his eyes glaze over until the light from the TV fades into a blue haze that fills the room and lulls him into a sense of nothingness. He must fall into that grey area between asleep and awake, because at some point he becomes aware that Mob and Teru are talking, but he only catches snippets, keeps drifting off too much to follow the flow of the conversation. He catches, “-opening up the office this week? Shishou said…” from his brother, and something like “Ugh, please, no,” from Teru. Mob comments at some point on Ritsu falling asleep, and he’s not, not quite, but he’s also not nearly awake enough to dispute the fact. The only time he properly wakes up is when he feels Teru’s socked toes poking his head, playing with his hair. “-have got to cut this,” he’s saying, and his voice is soft and syrupy-slow, so Ritsu guesses he’s not too far off from sleep himself. “I mean, I know he’s got college and everything, but would it kill him to buy a pair of scissors?” Ritsu attempts to respond, but he all that comes out of his mouth is a series of jumbled word-sounds that are half-muffled by the cushion in his face, so he has to take a moment to blink himself awake and reorient himself before he can mumble, “I did trim it.” It’s not his fault if his hair is gravity’s natural enemy. And sure, he could actually get himself a proper haircut in between breaks, but in his defense, he doesn’t have to pay Teru.

“This is it trimmed? I’m actually scared to imagine you growing it out.”

Ritsu makes a noncommittal hmm noise, just for the sake of acknowledging that something was said. He blinks slowly at the wall on the other side of the room, having to take a moment to remember where, exactly, he is. The TV has been turned off at some point, so the only light in the living room is coming from the windows, whatever muted grey light has managed to slip above the horizon and filter through the clouds. It’s not quite dawn yet, Ritsu thinks, but it will be soon. He thinks he could probably get up now, maybe should get up, and weighs the option in his mind. Pros: good coffee and food in the kitchen. Actually being awake at a normal time to talk to everyone today. Cons: this sofa is very comfortable and warm. He manages to make himself turn his head to look up, and sees that above him, his brother is either already asleep, or most of the way there. Listening carefully, he can hear Teru’s breathing shift into something that’s just a little too close to snoring to be conscious. The movement, however small, makes something twist in his stomach and crawl up his throat, the weird sort of nausea that screams too early! Waaaaay too early! Well, if nobody else is awake…

—

He actually, properly, really wakes up to the sound of his mother talking, and the smell of something sweet filling the house.

“Shigeo, close the bedroom doors, or the whole house will smell like cinnamon!” Teru shouts back, “You say that like it’s a bad thing!” and Ritsu hadn’t realized that Teru was still on the sofa with him, so it almost scares him out of his skin. He feels toes poking at his head again, sharper jabs than earlier, and he has to take a moment to admire his brother’s willingness to compromise in a relationship, because really, even on a sofa, who sleeps in their socks? Teru’s voice is gentle when he speaks, as if he hadn’t just bellowed halfway across the house. “Hey, Ritsu, you should wake up. Your mom is making breakfast.” Ritsu rolls onto his back, groaning and blinking blearily at the ceiling as he listens to the distant sound of the bedroom doors shutting. Mob has somehow extracted himself from under Ritsu at some point, because his head is a lot lower than he remembers, and he can hear his voice from somewhere else in the house. Not loud enough to catch what he’s saying, but gentle and distinct enough to identify it as him. His mother’s response is drowned out by the clattering sound of a pan or a pot in the sink, but he’s guessing that Mob must’ve been sent to fetch them, because Ritsu hears, or… wait, no, more senses him approaching. He’s always had a little bit of trouble distinguishing his psychic sense from his physical ones when first waking up. He’s staring, eyes half-lidded, at a little dark speck on the off-white ceiling, so he can only really see a vague idea of Mob’s location as he comes up to the back of the sofa, leaning over to speak quietly to Teru. “Is he awake?” “I think so? His eyes are certainly open, but that doesn’t mean much with him, does it?” Mob laughs softly, more of a quick exhale than anything. “Not really. I’m setting the table. I’ll come and get you when it’s done.” He can’t be certain, but he’s pretty sure that Mob just leaned down to drop a kiss on Teru’s head, so he does his duty as a little brother and makes a face. It’s brattish, sure, and above his maturity level by far. He likes Teru quite a bit, and they’ve had mature, adult conversations in which Ritsu described in precise detail exactly what he would do to Teru if he ever hurt his brother intentionally, but, well. He did just finish his first year of college, so he’s reserving the right to be childish and annoying at least once. He leans his head back until he can make eye contact with Teru and stick his tongue out. Teru, smug bastard that he is, just raises an eyebrow and says, “Ah, I guess he is awake.”

Mob, still leaning over the back of the sofa, beams at him. “Ritsu! Morning. There’s French toast, are you hungry?” He hadn’t really noticed until this exact moment, but holy shit, he is starving. Sure enough, as soon as he steps foot near the dining table, his mother and father are all over him. He manages to get through his mother’s almost violent physical affection with minimal injuries, just by virtue of being much taller than her. His father’s bear hug, on the other hand, is a whole other ordeal. Still, he finds himself sat at the dining table with a plate in front of him, with Mob on his left, and Teru sat on the short end to his right. Despite quite a bit of it being about him, most of the conversation seems to pass right over his head, with Teru and his brother fending off most of his parents’ questions. Most of them seem to be just for the sake of chatting during breakfast, seeing as they already know what his roommates are like, how he likes his professors, and how he did on his finals. His mother had made a habit of calling him at least once every week while he was away, “just to check in”. It always feels like family dinners with Teru and his parents should be unspeakably awkward. Sure, his parents seem… okay with Mob and Teru, at least to their faces, although they seem convinced that either Teru and Mob are just really good friends, or that Mob is eventually going to get over this “phase of his” and marry that nice Takane girl he’d gone to school with. Bad enough that he’s not even going to school, he’d overheard his father say once, without this nonsense on top of everything else.

Still, Teru has something of an irresistible personality, a natural charm that has only grown under Reigen’s watchful eye. A single sentence and a sweeping gesture could enrapture a whole room, and he could talk you out of your life savings and leave you thanking him for it. Turning up the charm for his boyfriend’s parents is hardly any effort at all. Spirits and Such is lucky to have him. Ritsu is certainly grateful for the way Teru sends his parents’ questions flying back at them with a smile, leaving Ritsu to work his way through his toast and gulp down coffee until he feels at least marginally alive.

It also doesn’t hurt Teru’s case that he insists on helping to clear the table, and offers to do the dishes until Ritsu’s mother actually kicks him out of the kitchen.

Ritsu’s still feeling a little hazy; Shou has described jetlag to him, and although he knows it has to do with timezones, he’s starting to think it might also be a general lethargy that comes with travelling long distances. Still, he’s awake enough to thank his mother for breakfast, and walk through to help Teru and Mob to fold up just about every blanket in the house, and put them back in their rightful places. Ritsu ends up with an old fluffy blanket piled in his hands, bright green with little cows printed on it, and he’s already halfway through the door to Mob’s old room before he remembers that there’s no bedroom in here anymore. He squints at the makeshift studio, trying to recall what it had looked like before Mob had moved out. The bed had been by the closet… No, they’d moved it so it was by the window eventually, so he could keep it open during the summer. His desk had been replaced by a bigger one, with an old-looking sewing machine plugged in on top of it. He feels like the room had been so much bigger when his brother had been in it, although, admittedly, he hadn’t had much stuff to fill it with. Now, between the desk, the piles of fabric heaped around the room, the… well, he assumes they’re quilts… it feels cluttered. Unfamiliar, certainly. Where did this stuff even come from? I don’t recognize any of it. “Ritsu?” Mob’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts, and he makes his way quickly back to the living room, pausing to shove the blanket into a hall closet as he passes. Teru starts speaking to him as soon as he’s in the room, even as he’s simultaneously typing on his phone at a frankly alarming speed. “Oi, Ritsu. We’re not opening the office this week, but we should probably head over there later today. That way, you can see Da- uh, Reigen, and I’ll take care of your hair quickly. Get it over with, you know? We can go out to lunch and stuff afterwards.” That last bit strikes Ritsu has odd, said with a tone that’s just barely on-edge,  like Teru thinks he needs some incentive to go out with them. Still, it probably doesn’t really matter. He’s probably just trying to think of a way to get Ritsu to agree to eat at one of the bizarre, alleged ‘restaurants’that he seems to frequent. So, Ritsu sits down on the sofa beside Teru, saying, “You just can’t stand to look at my bangs falling in my face anymore.” Teru neither confirms nor denies, just keeps typing, which is enough of an admission in itself. “Yeah, sure, sounds like a plan. I just need to shower and stuff first.” Teru nods. “Yeah, Mob’s already getting ready. I was thinking we set off in, oh, forty-five minutes?” “Alright.”

#/ #// #/// #//// #///// #robin fic #mp100 fic #fic: aubade

[fukette]

Should You Go Outside Today?(Hint: No. Because You're A Garbage Person.)

Would it shock you to know that right now, more than likely right outside your door, a rapist is holding a Marie Claire magazine and a falafel is planning to violate you in ways that may not be immediately clear, but still have frightening implications?What if I were to tell you that creditors are no longer relegated to just harassing you over the phone? Congress recently passed legislation that will allow lenders to abduct a family and hold them in an undisclosed location for an indeterminable amount of time if you are more than 30 days late on a payment. If you thought Comcast had absolutely no chill before, imagine waiting on an Xfinity representative to show up and pick up the agreed upon ransom between the hours of 3 pm and whenever the fuck they feel like it. Of course, with the world being as unimaginative and just plain unhilarious as it is, neither of these scenarios have happened. What is true, however, is that life can be uncaringly harsh at best and unrivaled in its heartlessness at worst. Wouldn't it be best if you were just to stay inside your house and never come out? Like, ever.

Leaving your house could result in awkward conversation with this man on a packed train with no clear exits. Is that what you want? Is it really?

Let's continue forward with the completely plausible premise that you and everything unique about you is of no concern to anyone. Meaning that no one will notice if you just suddenly stopped showing up to the Facebook invites that were sent to your inbox because Carol mistakenly pressed "send to all" instead of hand-picking the guest list (Fucking Carol.) This includes any "friends" you incorrectly believe you have or even family members you successfully delude yourself into thinking look forward to your presence during the holidays. What are you missing out on if you were to take all the Montel Williams self-help books you own and barricade yourself inside your house, never to be seen again with the exception of the coroner tasked with finding out what the horrible smell is coming from your dilapidated home? A nation that just elected a cheeto-dicked egomaniac that regards the concept of World War 3 as a personal challenge instead of a global threat? A social networking platform whose mandate of over-sharing is more likely to give you a lowered self-esteem complex that makes healthy relationships unsustainable instead of its intended purpose of reconnecting estranged friends and playing bullshit internet games? A universal imbalance that demonstrated its twisted sense of irony by killing George Micheal on motherfucking Christmas but has yet to compel O.J. to part two his epic kill streak by strangling Tyga in Kris Jenner's kitchen nook? To quote American feminist, journalist, and social and political activist Gloria Steinem "Nigga buck in the club like, fuck that shit/ Got my tone in the club like, fuck that shit/ Fire a blunt up on the dance floor, fuck that shit/ Straight walk up to that boy like, fuck you bitch."

She burned bras and marched topless in an era when most people assumed women could only bleed and fix dinner. Fuck with her. 

To summarize, the state of the world makes the prospect of further interaction with it as appealing as an apprenticeship at the Bill Cosby School of Craft Cocktails.

Consider staying inside not only for your own sense of well-being but the safety of others. Earlier, we established that you're more than likely what people would politely describe as a "garbage person." To expose unsuspecting passersby to your existential fuckshit could have severe, and possibly irreversible, effects. What if, in your daily routine of mediocrity, you were to pass an elementary school playground while the children were on recess? Your consistently underachieving character could result in secondhand low-expectation and influence a child to come up in the crack game and smack the taste out of the mouth of anyone that fails to refer to them by their street name "Lil Big League?" That particular scenario is just a hypothetical, but of course, the risk of it coming to fruition gets higher and higher with each impulse you have of sating your biological need for human interaction.

Must you really be so selfish?

Be considerate. Die Alone.

#DieAlone #Lonely #GarbagePeople #SelfEsteem #Agoraphobia #Don'tGoOutside #Fukette #funny #funnyaf #hilarious