#this video has just been playing on my head on loop so decided to draw them

[angstyaches]

For a request, maybe something fluffy where Shayne kinda hints that he knows Charlie has a tummy kink, and kinda teases him a little bit about it. (Hope you had a wonderful break 💛)

It's definitely not my best work, but it's been a long few weeks and I'm tired lol

Thank you to the original anon and to all the anons who helped me with this prompt! Sorry this took so long. And sorry that Shayne ends up flustering himself as much as Charlie, that's just how it realistically played out. Hopefully that doesn't take too much away!

CW: stomach kink mention/implied, stomach ache (mild), belly rubs, embarrassment, a bit of silly banter as promised.

___

Shayne held his breath and waited for Charlie to look at him.

He could feel his stomach churn as it had been doing since dinner, resulting in a mild belly ache, but this was the first time that it had gurgled audibly. It was loud enough to be heard over the TV. A creaking, straining sound.

Even if Charlie hadn’t turned his head, Shayne wouldn’t have deluded himself into thinking he hadn’t heard. Charlie could easily ignore the shrieking of the dishwasher when it finished a load, but there were some things his ears just seemed more attuned to than others.

The pain in Shayne’s stomach dulled, momentarily overwhelmed by something warmer, softer. As predicted, Charlie wore a strained look of concern. His gaze kept veering down towards Shayne’s stomach, but he also seemed to be trying his best to discern the emotion in Shayne’s face.

Well, good luck, Shayne thought. He struggled to discern his own emotions these days.

“Um, sorry.”

“What?” Charlie blinked and a smile appeared on his face. The picture of innocence. “Why are you sorry?”

This bastard. Was Charlie feigning ignorance to make him say it out loud? Drawing out what was already an embarrassing moment?  

Shayne’s soul wanted to shrivel at the thought of falling for such obvious bait, but this was Charlie. If Charlie was trying to prompt him to say or do something, it was just because he thought it was... What, exactly? Cute? Funny? Shayne didn’t have a firm grasp on what went through Charlie’s head when he behaved like this, but he had the vague sense that questioning Charlie about it would shatter something that could never be made the same way again.

Shayne swallowed. He was really doing this.

He laid one hand on his stomach. He’d found himself doing this a couple of time while on a video call with Charlie, just to see how his boyfriend would react to it. Charlie had never mentioned it, but Shayne could always tell, could always see him fighting back a grin, when he noticed.

Of course, it felt a little bit more intimidating when they were in person, but since his stomach had already drawn attention to itself, he decided he didn’t have anything to lose.

He let out what he’d intended to be a sigh, but the sound could have also passed for an exaggerated groan. He slumped against Charlie’s shoulder, not because he wanted to snuggle, but because he wanted to hide his face for the next part.  

“My tummy kind of hurts,” he mumbled.

Charlie inhaled sharply. Shayne could have sworn he could hear his boyfriend’s brain rebooting like a laptop, fans whirring and hard drives turning over.  

“Aw, I’m sorry, lovely.” To his credit, Charlie’s voice sounded relatively normal. He looped an arm around Shayne and pulled him closer, pressing his face into the side of Shayne’s neck, as though hiding his expression even though it wasn’t in Shayne’s line of sight. “Is something from dinner not agreeing with you?”

Follow-up questions? Shayne hadn’t braced himself for those. He wanted to curl up in a ball, which, luckily, he was already halfway to achieving. “I don’t know.”

“Are you nervous about anything?”

Shayne shrugged. “I mean, I could be. I’m hanging out with this guy that I kind of like.”

That wrangled a burst of laughter out of Charlie. Shayne couldn’t resist lifting his head now, just to see the smile that he'd won. He wasn’t surprised at all as he took in the redness in Charlie’s cheeks, and the way he seemed to be pulling on the inside of his lower lip with his teeth.

“Oh, yeah?”

Perfect, as always. “Yeah. He desperately needs a fucking haircut, though.”

“Hey – careful.” Charlie’s eyes flashed, his gentle smile morphing into a smirk. His fingers traced the width of Shayne’s stomach, travelling lightly. “He knows your weak spots.”

Charlie’s fingers switched to a scrabbling motion that made Shayne sit up a little straighter and – once again – catch his breath. He brought both hands to his stomach now as the muscles tensed, instinctively trying to cover as much of it as possible to fend off Charlie’s hands.

“Oh – sorry. Sorry.” Charlie pulled his hands back, showing both his palms. “Sore tummy. I forgot.”

Shayne raised an eyebrow. Liar. And then, even though the tickling had only triggered a small spasm, he rubbed his stomach as if he’d been punched there. “Yeah, ow.”

Charlie hummed in amusement. “I said I'm sorry.”

He pressed one hand against Shayne’s belly, fingers out straight this time. Shayne felt a twinge of shame at the way his stomach chose that moment to churn and groan, as though it’d been waiting.

He made an exaggerated gesture of lifting Charlie’s hand from his torso and mimicked batting it away. “Um, no. Get off me, weirdo.”

Guilt passed over Charlie’s face before he – with a disbelieving glimmer in his eyes – realised that it was a joke. In fairness, it wasn’t hard to sell discomfort when Shayne genuinely felt like burying himself in the ground and never coming back up.

“Oh, I’m a weirdo now?” Charlie demanded. He shifted his weight so that he was facing Shayne a little more head-on, and propped his elbow on the back of the couch. “A minute ago, I was some guy you liked!”

“That guy turned out to be a weirdo.”

“Well, he’s a very sorry weirdo who won’t try to tickle you again.” Charlie’s smile deepened. He was still doing the lip-biting thing, though he clearly thought he was doing a more subtle job than he really was. “I’ll be super gentle. I promise.”

Shayne’s belly fluttered at the quiet desperation in Charlie's eyes. Fuck.

“Fine.” He rolled a little further onto his back and laid his legs out across the couch. The back of his head rested against Charlie’s sternum. If he tilted it back, he had a view of the underside of Charlie’s chin.

Charlie was true to his word. He gently smoothed his palm across Shayne’s stomach a couple of times as silence settled over them. Shayne closed his eyes for a few seconds, and when he half-opened them again, Charlie was looking at the TV.

“Shit, I missed everything that’s happened so far,” Charlie laughed. He reached for his phone and put the episode back about five minutes. His other hand never stayed still on Shayne’s belly for longer than a few seconds at a time. He broke up the big, sweeping strokes by massaging it with his fingertips whenever he noticed a tight point, or heard another one of its sluggish gurgles.

Shayne told himself to try to relax, but quickly realised that the ‘trying’ wasn’t necessary. He felt his t-shirt start to crinkle up under the movement of Charlie’s hand, and the first three times it happened, Charlie carefully smoothed it back into place.

When it started riding up again, Shayne reached down to lift it out of the way. He pulled it up as far as his ribcage, holding his breath the entire time.

Charlie glanced down, and the look on his face was... well, Shayne could have compared it to the look on Felix’s face when he talked about food, or Rin’s giddiness when she watched videos of ducks marching in a line, but neither of those were quite the same thing. It wasn’t the look that characters in TV shows gave each other just before they started ripping their clothes off, either.

The sigh that passed Charlie's lips might have carried the word 'fuck' with it, but... that could have been Shayne's imagination.

The warmth of Charlie’s hand against his belly made him inhale deeply to suppress a shiver. Charlie’s fingers started out splayed in opposite directions, and he dragged his fingertips inward so that they almost collided in the middle. It was like his hand thought he was scratching a cat’s head, only it was slower, and more pressurised, than a scratch.

Shayne didn’t have to fake the little moan that bubbled up in his throat. As much as he told himself it was all for Charlie’s – bizarre and unexplainable – benefit, he couldn’t deny that he was getting something out of this arrangement, too.

“Mmm.”

Charlie chuckled softly. “What, lovely?”

Shayne inhaled and exhaled again before answering, giving himself a second to think. And giving Charlie a second to stew. He closed his eyes, unable to make himself talk while Charlie’s face loomed right above him.

“You always make my stomach feel so much better.”

“O-oh,” Charlie stammered. “Really? Is that – I mean, is that the only reason you keep a weirdo like me around?”

“Shut up,” Shayne mumbled. “I know you like it.”

Charlie fell silent at that, and his fingers clenched into a fist resting at the centre of Shayne’s belly.

"I... what?" Charlie half-groaned. "What do you mean?"

Shit. Had that been too much? Had Shayne shattered the thing he was supposed to be keeping intact?

“Like… all the touching.” His mouth started talking while his mind still scrambled for something to say. “I know I get weird about it sometimes.”

“Oh.” Charlie sounded more surprised than relieved.  

Shayne tilted his head back to see more of Charlie’s face. His heart was hammering in his chest. He’d been panicking, hoping to find some half-truth he could use to break up the awkwardness and spare Charlie’s feelings, but he'd ended up saying something honest.

It felt like he’d stripped his whole body bare, not just his stomach, but somehow it wasn’t an altogether scary feeling.

“I – lovely, just...” As Charlie’s hand slowly unfurled across Shayne’s stomach again, he also carded his free hand through Shayne’s hair. “Just know I don’t ever want to rush you into anything.”

Shayne raised his eyebrows slightly. “You don’t.”

He wanted to say more. He wanted to tell Charlie he was amazing. How grateful he was for his endless patience. How loved and taken care of he felt when Charlie was around. But Charlie chose that moment to resume his gentle massage of Shayne’s belly, and the tingling sensation that filtered down through his skin to his insides made everything else fall right out of his head.

“Mmm,” he said again.

There was a soft, shaky sigh as Charlie let his head fall back against the couch cushions, no longer bothered by the fact that the episode continued to play without either of them watching.

"Mm," Charlie mumbled quietly in agreement.

#StW Shayne #StW Charlie #tummy kink #stomach kink #stomach rubs #hurt and comfort #hurt comfort #kink mention #stomach ache fic #sickfic

[justkeepwalkingnothinghere]

1 year. 1 year. Wow. Has it really been that long? Has it really been that long since The Owl House bid us farewell? Since the final "Byeee!" that was heard 'round the world? We learnd the story of The Collector, we saw Luz die and get revived, we met Papa Titan. That night, every last one of us got the opportunity to witness Luz, Eda, King and Raine all come together to kick Belos's ass and take him down once and for all. We all watched as every last character came together to build a brighter future for the Boiling Isles. It was an emotional night for everyone. All of that was 1 year ago. And it's hard for me to believe. It doesn't feel real.

To this day, I can still recall how my night went. My parents were at my aunt and uncle's wedding. Adults only, small ceremony in their backyard, I could understand. Only problem is that it left me with no other option but to stay at home, alone with my thoughts, dread, worry and fear over the finale as the minutes ticked by. Waiting until the world would say byeee to a show like no other. At 5 in the afternoon, what would become the most emotional night of my life began with me going to my music, and listening to Lacrimosa on loop for 45 minutes. I listened as I went through Reddit, Tumblr, Discord, YouTube, seeing everyone get ready to watch the finale that I don't think anyone was ready for. I made one last post here wishing everyone good luck before I cut myself off from Tumblr for the rest of the night, not wanting to get any spoilers, as I was waiting until Easter morning to watch it myself. I decided to watch a bit of YouTube to maybe clear my mind and cheer me up, especially once I saw Zeez Vov Gee's TOH video contest was up. I had made a submission of my own, so I was excited to find out if mine had made it in (it did not, sadly). By the time I had finished watching, it was 8:20. 5 minutes away from air time. So, I said good luck to some friends in a TOH Discord I'm in, muted said server until the morning, and was about to switch to watching something else, as YouTube was also a no go. Until a farewell video appeared in my feed. I watched it, being met with the chorus of the song "As The World Caves In".

And I watched it again. And again. And again. One last viewing, this time singing along to the chorus in the literal seconds before the finale aired. A fitting event that was unintentionally timed to perfection. Couldn't have given a better last second send off if I wanted to. For nearly the entirety of the finale's runtime, I listened to the full song on loop, singing along, crying at the thought of getting a hug from Luz as it was really the only thing I wanted then, doing literal shots of milk, sitting and walking while everything swirled within me. Before long, it was past 9, and I hadn't eaten dinner. Stouffer's meatloaf and mashed potatoes. And you wanna know what I did? I ate it while venting to this claymation mouse. Just the two of us, enjoying our meals. For a bit, it felt like that mouse was listening as he chomped down on his chocolate. It was oddly nice. I at least got a break from my anxiety. Turning to dessert, a mini double chocolate bundt cake while watching 30 Rock and drawing glyph doodles, a pleasure that lasted for a short while before my parents made their eventual return. At 11 o'clock at night.

But my entertainment wasn't over just yet. After cleanup, I still had one last thing up my sleeve. I laid on my bedroom floor, in the dark, with my phone brightness turned all the way up. Caramelldansen played through my headphones as the strobe lights danced on the ceiling, getting in one last silent breakdown before heading to bed. My night had concluded after many hours of nothing but dread and anxiety, me constantly trying to keep myself sane. My parents and I had McDonald's for breakfast the next morning, witnessing a masterpiece of animation. And I was happy at the end! Belos was dead, the coven system erradicated, everyone was at the best places in their lives! It was peace and love in the Boiling Isles! How could I not be happy about that? Unfortunately, the joy wouldn't last long. Things settled in soon enough. At first, it felt like the show wasn't over yet. It felt like there were still some stories to tell. But the reality set in before I knew it and I was left sad. I kept thinking about how much the show meant to me, to many. All it had done for me in the handful of months that I had known it. I still wasn't ready for it's end.

Nowadays, a year later, I still haven't fully recovered. This time around feels a bit dark. My 2024 has been nothing but a mess so far, although I am getting through it. But with such a stark contrast to where I was last year, I can't help but feel like things are too different. Almost like a royal fallen from grace. Life in itself hasn't felt the same since Watching and Dreaming. I can't bring myself to watch it again. Today feels weird, and I'm probably not alone. Wherever your emotions stand on this anniversary, just rememeber this:

Us weirdoes have to stick together.

#toh #the owl house #toh watching and dreaming #toh anniversary #wathcing and dreaming anniversary #us weirdoes have to stick together #farewell owl house

[maristocratie]

Hacketteers headcanons p4

My English is still not perfect, sorry for any spelling or expression mistakes

Enjoy :)

Max :

Never take max to the beach. Not just because he'll turn red as a lobster no no. Because he'll wear Hawaiian shirts. And not the ones that can be stylish, but the ones your dads wear and that your moms decided to hide because they were too ugly. With gaudy colors that do not mix well. He also has that pose, you know the hands on the hips, the hips slightly to the side a mix between your gym teacher and the mom pose. In spite of everything we love you anyway max. (btw I want to say that I have nothing against Hawaiian shirts I like them but not the bad ones)

It’s a secret for nobody he does not tan at all he just turn red. Maximum SPF for him. Moreover, as soon as they are on vacation where it's sunny Max walks with a cap or a bob, face covered with sunscreen and sunglasses. Even if he ever forgot any of those three things Laura wouldn't let him wander off like that. She still remembers the time he got so badly sunburned that they had to stay in the house for two days out of their week-long vacation. They always take care of each other.

He replaced the basic flesh-colored bandages in Laura's first aid kit with bandages with little drawings, glitter and/or dinosaurs just because they are more cool and not just for kids. Laura didn't realize it until Max got a little cut. When she saw it she knew right away who had changed the bandages. It made her laugh and Max won a kiss on the cheek because he is adorable.

Ryan :

Ryan is very reactive and sensitive to smells. He associates them with memories. If he is ever in the street or any place and he smells a scent that he knows he will search in his head where he has smelled it before. Sometimes it's not important memories (like a neighbor who has a specific scent) that are associated with these smells, it can just be places, like "oh it smells like the math room in high school".

He is close to Dylan and Kaitlyn as we have seen but he also gets along very well with Nick and Abi. He and Nick talk quite often and spend a lot of time together. Nick like Ryan seems to be not very comfortable when there are a lot of people and a lot of interactions but not as much as Ryan. So he understands him quite well. He also understands how to talk with Ryan without being too stuffy. Both of them are calm people so their interactions are calm too which is quite nice for Ryan. Plus Nick seems to be quite interested in what Ryan is saying. As for Abi they get along well because Abi is gentle with people and tries to interact with others as gently as possible because she is shy but also because she is extremely nice. Plus they both love art and everything around it, so the connection between them was easy.

Plus Ryan discovered that he and Abi liked anything that had to do with cartoons and video games.

At some point he got his ears pierced (just little silver loops) end of discussion.

He has soft hair.

He knows how to play chess.

He can play the keyboard and he started learning to play the bass.

Nick :

He's a surfer, there's no doubt about it. He's been surfing since he was very young.

Nick finds Ryan's voice calming.

He did a lot of climbing when he was younger.

Jacob-Ryan-Dylan :

Dylan, Ryan & Jacob have the best sweatshirt collections around. Jacob has the best sports sweatshirts. He has the best sports team sweatshirts, or brands like nike, adidas etc... that he got from his dad. Ryan has a very diverse collection but they are all very cool, like his aesthetic, lonely, dark, mysterious boy. His collection can be rock band sweaters as well as randoms with graphics on the back or on the front of the sweater. Finally Dylan has the most random collection of stuff that is considered a bit ugly. I don't really know how to describe it. But he doesn't wear them to camp for fear of being laughed at. So at camp he brought a selection of his most basic sweaters that he only wears there. But the ones he wears at home are the Dylan-Dylan ones. Also a lot of his sweatshirts are from thrift stores. He's going to have college sweatshirts or small gift shop sweatshirts like I said before but he can also have sweatshirts with stuff related to physic or some science stuff on it. Only he can wear that, when you see the sweater automatically you say to yourself : oh this is Dylan's, only he can have that ! Honestly he has the best sweaters because they are large due to his size but also because he wears them oversized and moreover they smell good. Even if they are vintage sweaters. They could smell like a cellar or an attic, but they still smell good.

At the camp we see them exchanging their sweaters, especially Dylan and Jacob. But it already happened that Ryan found himself wearing a sweater of the two others. Nick and Kaitlyn often steal their sweaters for the evening. Kaitlyn is more likely to take Jacob and Ryan's because she likes this style of sweater better and because Dylan's are really too big for her. Nick on the other hand is more likely to take Jacob and Dylan's because Ryan's aren't his style and are too tight for his size (let's not forget that this dude is tall).

Dylan :

Dylan is very resistant to pain, even before the incident with his hand. He rarely complains about pain and when he does it is because he is in real pain.

He has a lot of patterned socks. He just didn't bring it to camp, it doesn't match up with blasé-Dylan.

Like Max he doesn’t tan at all he gets sunburned all the time.

Thanks to Ryan, Dylan learned that Laura is a veterinarian, or rather that she is studying to become one. So whenever Dylan's cat seems to be out of sorts, he contacts Laura to find out what might be wrong with him. He describes the symptoms and Laura is there to reassure him. Generally nothing serious. Laura thinks he is a good cat owner because he is very attentive to his companion. She knows how important animals can be to people as she is a pet owner herself. In addition, she is delighted to be able to practice diagnosing while helping someone who has become a friend over time.

Through FaceTime calls with each other Dylan has become much more comfortable with others and has therefore let his true personality come out. He is no longer worried about wearing his glasses in front of others or putting on his « ugly » sweaters and/or patterned socks. Besides, he received a lot of compliments on his look.

Jacob :

He goes to the bathroom with his phone and plays candy crush for a long time. It's a real pain in the ass.

Emma :

She knows how to play poker and she is good at it.

Abi :

As I explained before Abi enjoys anything associated with cartoons and video games. I think she plays pretty regularly. She also watches live on twitch when she is drawing or doing a manual activity when she is at home.

She’s interested in everything related to dubbing. She finds it a fun and passionate profession because she thinks it's amazing what you can do with just your voice.

#the quarry #headcanon #jacob custos #dylan lenivy #max brinly #nick fucillo #ryan ezrahler #abigail blyg #emma mountebank

[sometimes-clones]

two

#just the two of them….. they can make it if they try :) #this video has just been playing on my head on loop so decided to draw them #mimi type null #cici mewtwo #general #art post #anyway sorry for not doing any actual asks lately just have been. busy.

[fruitcoops]

Two of A Kind

I’ve been focusing on asks a lot lately because of everyone’s awesome ideas, but I saw a Cut video that was similar to this and just couldn’t resist. Hope you enjoy! Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for mentions of sex and endless simping!

“Are you ready?” Marlene asks behind the camera. Kasey sits alone on a stool in the middle of the room, drumming his fingers on his knees.

“Yep. What am I doing again?”

The video cuts, revealing the same room, this time with James Potter on the stool. “You’re going to be answering a few questions,” Marlene explains. “And then we’re also going to be interviewing your wife and comparing your answers.”

“Oh, God,” James laughs. “Okay, hit me with your best shot.”

A title card appears on the screen. First Question: What was your first date?

Remus thinks for a moment. “Like, our first official date, or something that was definitely a date but we were both too dumb to notice?”

“Kasey took me to an ice rink,” Natalie says. She is inexplicably sitting on a folding chair rather than the stool. “We spent about three hours there, drinking cocoa and talking. It was a ton of fun!”

“Ice skating.” Kasey grins. “She told me she could skate, but she had never stepped on the ice in her life.”

“It was at Sid’s.” Sirius smiles to himself. “We had been together for about three months at that point.”

“Remus asked us to define ‘first date’,” Marlene says, sounding amused.

“Is there a different definition that I’m not aware of? We hung out at Sid’s a bunch before we actually got together, but those didn’t qualify as dates.” He pauses. “Looking back, they kind of were dates. We just didn’t know it.”

The video transitions to Lily and James, whose interviews are lined up side-by-side. “Lily took me to get ice cream after we went for a walk in the park,” James answers with a bright smile.

Lily laughs. “Our first date was a disaster. It was twenty-five degrees outside and we got ice cream. I think our brain freezes lasted about three straight minutes, but I had a great time.”

Second Question: When and where was your first kiss?

“Our first kiss happened on our first date,” Natalie says. “Kase caught me when I fell over and I just leaned right in.”

Kasey’s dopey smile makes his eyes crinkle. “At the ice rink. It felt like something out of a movie.”

Lily frowns in thought. “Oh, god, maybe our sixth date? He dropped me off at my apartment and kissed me goodnight.”

“I pulled a move straight from a John Hughes movie.” James grins and stretches his arms out. “Walked her to the door and everything. It was perfect.”

“Pascal Dumais’ basement,” Sirius says with a light laugh. “Which is a surprisingly romantic place.”

“It happened right after Sirius’ birthday party, which I was tricked into attending.” Remus gives the camera a mock-serious look. “Always be suspicious of Pascal Dumais. Always.”

Third Question: Who said ‘I love you’ first, and what was your reaction?

Sirius bites his lip. “I said it first, but only by two seconds. It was a long time coming, to be honest.”

“Sirius said it first.” Remus smiles at the memory. “We were both kind of wrecks at the time, but it was…amazing. I think I just cried harder and kissed him.”

Lily rolls her eyes fondly. “James said it first. We were both super drunk and he just blurted it out in the middle of the club.”

“She ran away!” James practically shouts as the video cuts to him. “I told her I loved her, she gave me this shocked look, and then disappeared! I get a text an hour later saying she caught a cab and went home, and she signs it with ‘love, Lily’. What the fuck was I supposed to do with that?”

Natalie coughs slightly. “Um, I don’t remember who said it first.”

Kasey grins at the camera. “Natalie said she didn’t remember,” Marlene calls.

“Oh, she remembers.”

Fourth Question: How’s your sex life? Anything you can do differently?

Sirius, who was taking a sip of water, chokes. “Excuse me?”

Remus is dead silent for a second, blinking at the camera in shock. “It’s, uh, good.”

“If we gave you some alcohol, would your answer change?” Marlene asks.

“Probably. Does anyone else feel like they’re suddenly in danger?”

“What sex life?” James snorts. “We have a baby. There is no time or energy for anything anymore.”

Lily raises an eyebrow. “You think I want him anywhere near me after I just shoved a baby out of my crotch?”

“It’s damn good.” Natalie winks, uncapping her own waterbottle. “Pro tip for anyone looking for a hockey boyfriend: go for the goalies. They’re flexible.”

Kasey is laughing into his hands when his interview appears. “She said that?” he manages. “Oh, Christ.”

Fifth Question: Do you dirty talk?

“Yes.” Kasey and Natalie say at the same time. James winks, and Lily shrugs with a sly smile.

Remus gives the camera crew a disbelieving look. “Are all the questions like this? Were we lulled into a false sense of security?”

“Answer the question, Loops!”

Remus sighs deeply. “On occasion, yes. I’m going to regret saying that.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Sirius says, narrowing his eyes as he sets his water down.

Sixth Question: How well do you sleep?

“Not bad,” Remus says. “Better than I used to, that’s for sure.”

“I don’t sleep,” Lily scoffs. James just looks at the camera and wordlessly gestures to the shadows under his eyes.

“Pretty well,” Natalie muses, slinging one arm around the back of her folding chair.

Sirius nods. “I’d say I sleep well most nights. It’s more comfortable with another person, which was surprising.”

Seventh Question: Why do you feel obligated to share a bed?

“Obligated?” Sirius and Remus say with matching tones of incredulity.

Lily’s smile becomes softer. “I really like sharing a bed. It makes me feel safe.”

“Oh, I love sleeping next to Lily.” James’ gaze turns dreamy. “She smells nice, she’s so warm, and sharing a bed makes childcare much easier when the other person is within reach.”

“You can’t tell her I said this, okay?” Kasey looks around at the camera crew before answering, and his cheeks turn light pink. “Nat’s side of the bed faces east, so if I get up for practice and the sun is rising, she glows a little bit. I dunno, I like it.”

“Kasey is really warm and cuddly.” Natalie says after a moment of thought. “He’s like my own personal heater and I’m never cold if he’s there. Don’t tell him I said that.”

Remus bites his lip before speaking. “I’m not much of a cuddler, but I sleep better next to Sirius than I ever have before. It’s incredible.”

Sirius cocks his head to the side with a smile. “Hmm. Having someone there to hold, especially someone I care about so much, is the best feeling. If I ever wake up in the middle of the night, he’s just…always there.” He half-shrugs. “It’s sappy, but it’s true.”

Eighth Question: Rate your attractiveness on a scale of 1-10

“Eleven,” Lily and Natalie say in unison, as if it’s obvious.

“I’m going with a solid six,” Remus decides after a moment’s deliberation.

“Eight, maybe?” Kasey answers.

Sirius makes a face. “Six? Seven?”

James is mid-laugh when the video cuts to him. “Um, seven. Lily and I have talked about this before and I got in trouble for saying ten, that’s why I’m laughing. Sorry.”

Ninth Question: Rate your partner’s attractiveness on a scale of 1-10

Not a single one hesitates. “Ten.”

“Remus said he was a solid six,” Marlene says as the camera focuses on Sirius.

His eyebrows shoot up. “What? Where is he? Re!”

“What?” a distant voice shouts back.

“You’re a ten!”

“On what scale?”

“Nat said eleven, didn’t she?” Kasey asks with a grin as the clip changes. “I love it when she does that.”

Final Question: What animal is your partner and why? Give three reasons.

Lily gives Marlene a hard look. “Marley, I love you, but what I say right now needs to stay confidential from my husband.”

Sirius laughs quietly. “Oh, he’s going to hate me for this.”

“Lily is a lioness,” James says immediately. “She’s strong, fierce, and unbelievably brave.”

Natalie tilts her head. “Good question. I’m going to go with a bear, since he’s got a big, tough reputation but he’s all soft inside. He’s a pretty solid guy, too, and he likes cold weather.”

“Nat is one of those really colorful birds,” Kasey says. “The ones with big personalities and the pretty feathers.”

“James is a lion.” Lily thinks for a moment longer. “It’s not just that he plays for the Lions, but he really is one of the bravest people I know. He’s protective of his family and cares a lot about keeping everyone together.”

Remus grins at the camera. “Sirius is a dog, and I will happily tell you why. Number one: he loves going for walks. Number two: he is endlessly loyal to the people he cares for. Number three: peanut butter.”

“So, Re is either a cat or a dog, and I really can’t choose.” Sirius’ eyebrows draw together in thought.

“You can choose both if you have reasons,” Marlene calls behind the camera.

“Really? Alright, he’s a dog because he’s friendly, loyal, and brings people trinkets as gifts. Um, I don’t have a legitimate reason for the cat one, but do any of you know that one vine with the cat that’s being dragged around on a leash?”

The camera crew bursts out laughing, and a small picture of the cat appears in the upper left of the screen.

“Anyone who has tried to pick Remus up knows that he looks exactly like that. Goes completely limp, it’s the funniest fucking thing.”

The video cuts to Remus, who raises his eyebrows. “He said what?”

The title card appears and Marlene’s voiceover begins. “Thanks for watching, Lions! Special thanks to Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, James and Lily Potter, Natalie Darcy, and Kasey Winter for being with us today. Like and subscribe for more!”

#sirius black #remus lupin #james potter #lily evans #kasey winter #natalie darcy #marlene mckinnon #social media #sweater weather #coops #jily #kat #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic

[welllpthisishappening]

It all kind of happens in slow motion.

One second, Emma hears the crack of the bat and the requisite roar of the crowd, and the next her eyes have widened to a size most scientists would likely advise against. Because, standing at home plate, that same home plate multiple baseball players are sprinting toward, is her kid. More or less waiting to be run over. That is, of course, until Killian Jones.

———

Word Count: 4.1K Rating: Flufffy fluff fluff of the fluffiest variety AN: Writing has been something of a legitimate challenge for me in the last few weeks, but earlier this week @ohmightydevviepuu sent a link to this tweet, tagged me, and said what I basically took as an unspoken prompt. Like, you’re going to send me video of a bat boy getting scooped up at home by a player in the middle of the game and then think I won’t write about it? Not possible. Even with the aforementioned writing challenges. Nothing stands a chance against my love of baseball. Here’s hoping the Yankees turn it around in the second half. Neither Aaron Judge or I deserve the season we’ve had so far.

———

Biologically speaking, Emma Swan is perfectly aware that the current positioning of her heart is more or less impossible. 

Stuck somewhere between the back of her throat and the pit of her stomach, it makes her all too aware of the now-empty chasm in her chest, stretching out toward her arms and threatening the structural integrity of her lungs, neither of which appear all that intent on working properly. Oxygen is a luxury not currently afforded to her capillaries. Instead, nerves mix with anxiety and the telltale flush of adrenaline that probably also makes her look relatively crazy because her pupils are definitely dilated and she does not know nearly enough about science to be making any of these claims. 

Whatever, really. 

It feels like that ooze from that movie. FernGully, Emma thinks. With the fairies. She thinks they were fairies. She’s not entirely certain they were fairies. 

And the ooze was definitely oil, obviously. There was a message involved in that movie. Not one that she appreciated when she was seven and Tim Curry’s animated-oil voice sort of freaked her out. But, like, she gets it now. The environment, and everything. With or without fairies. With Robin Williams, though. 

She’s positive about that, at least. 

Robin Williams was definitely in that movie. 

Less positive about the ability of her heart to actually split itself in half, as it seems wont to do at the moment. So, as to make it easier when it inevitably soars out of her mouth and falls onto the scuffed-up clubhouse floor beneath her feet. Naturally, this will happen simultaneously. For maximum effect. 

Much like the fireworks currently exploding over the left-field bleachers. 

She’s not sure if fireworks do explode, actually. That seems dangerous. Likely to lead to injuries and sounds that don’t resemble the  oohs and ahhs a ballpark generally inspires. Explode probably isn’t the right word. Maybe something more like…detonate. 

No, that’s worse. Way worse. She’s got to learn more words. Find a thesaurus or a dictionary or—a fireworks expert would be ideal, honestly.

Someone who could give her a detailed description of the inner-workings of a Yankee Stadium pyrotechnics display on a Tuesday in July, enough words that Emma’s mind would still for a few moments, allowing her to catch her breath and reestablish a consistent heart rate, and both of those problems could also likely be solved by sitting down, but the chair to her left looks a little wobbly, and her legs appear to have minds of their own because science is rather quickly becoming a lie and—

“Is he alright?” She spins. Nearly falls over. Her knees are also awfully wobbly, that’s why. 

Despite all of that, and the overall circumference of her pupils, the voice doesn’t retreat. Doesn’t even flinch. Shows absolutely no signs of imminent stumbling. And that’s probably because the voice is a man, one who is in possession of world-class instinctual reactions, and his hair is still damp from his post-game shower and it absolutely makes her something of an atrocious mother to acknowledge that last thing as quickly as she does. 

His shirt sleeves are noticeably sticking to his biceps, so that helps too. 

Opening her mouth, Emma is going to say words that are both vaguely intelligent and passably accurate, absolving this Major League Baseball player of any of the guilt he so obviously feels. Which is just patently stupid, really. None of this was his fault. None of it was anyone’s fault, really. 

Except maybe the idiot who left his bat at that particular angle across home plate, but Emma’s an adrenaline expert these days and walk-offs are understandably exciting. First walk-offs more so. 

She’s happy for Scarlet, really. 

They won the game. 

Everything is fine. Great, even. She nearly jumps twenty-six feet in the air at the next boom of fireworks. 

The pinch between the Major League Baseball player’s eyebrows gets—

Pinchier. 

The little roll of skin draws Emma’s attention, effectively robbing her of the ability to respond like an almost-sane person, but she’s also still trying to rationalize why she can remember the words to several FernGully songs while also being unable to recall what flavor PopTart she had for breakfast earlier this week and she figures watching her kid nearly get run over by professional athletes approximately forty-two minutes before gives her a fairly reasonable excuse. 

For opening and closing her mouth no less than eight consecutive times. 

Like a goddamn fish. There were no fish in FernGully. Least not so far as she remembers. 

It’s entirely possible she squeaks on attempt number five. 

The Major League Baseball player’s eyebrows do not move. It’s equal parts frustrating and incredible to behold. 

“I should probably thank you, right?” Emma asks, not quite regretting the words immediately, but it’s awfully close. That gets her some movement. Of the eyebrow variety. One eyebrow, specifically. Arching up, it somehow still manages to pull her attention directly toward eyes that should be the star of their own marketing campaign. Not quite Yankee blue, but distractingly blue, and it takes everything in her not to huff as dramatically as she wants to. Once the athletic trainer is done with Henry, Emma is going to make him examine her lungs. Rationality rules the day. 

Major League Baseball player shakes his head. It’s dumb to call him that. She knows his name. Knows at least some of his history. Is still staring obnoxiously at his freakishly attractive face. 

Freakishly is kind of mean, too. As far as descriptions go. 

“Unnecessary,” he says, an undercurrent of worry still clear in the letters. Ducking his head, he takes a cautious step forward, almost as if he’s wary of what Emma will do, and she supposes that’s fair. What with the impressive vertical she’s in possession of these days. “Anyone would do that.” “I’m not sure they could, actually.”

At some point in this otherwise shitty experience of a night, Emma is vaguely confident something will go the way she wants it to. Aside from winning. She’s glad they won. Seriously. 

“No?” “No,” she echoes, and it’s not like she can feel him. A few feet of space separates them, so whatever heat appears to be wafting off the Major League Baseball player in front of her, with his damp hair, and stupid, stupid, stupid eyes is as impossible as any of the various impossibilities currently taking place within her person. 

And yet. 

He sticks his hand out. 

It’s disarmingly earnest. 

“Killian Jones,” he says, confidence replacing the nerves, and Emma begins to see why there are so many stories. And Twitter threads. Regarding his face and the potential for that face to date a variety of other attractive faces across at least four of the five boroughs. Somehow Emma doesn’t think Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, is schlepping out to Staten Island for a date. 

Nor does she believe that Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, has ever once let the word schlep pass through his conscious mind. 

She takes his hand. 

It is—

Surprisingly warm. And...not quite soft, that’d be impossible with the job he performs almost nightly. But the calluses on the pads of his fingers aren’t as rough as Emma expects, which also suggests she’s managed to ponder the overall texture of Killian Jones’s fingers in the last twelve point six seconds, and that’s not entirely true. What is true is that Ruby thinks Killian Jones is real good-looking and has determined that the phrase quite a catch is the pinnacle of humor, so, sure, Emma has possibly considered the possibility of paths crossing and intersecting, and her hand looks minuscule wrapped up in his. So, that’s something to think about later. 

Their arms move. Bob up and down as society dictates they should, and he’s smiling at her, and she’s trying not to look like a serial killer, straining to hear the voices behind the door, and it does not work. 

“Why do you think people are so consistently fascinated by fireworks?” If he’s surprised by her absolutely inane question, he doesn’t show it. That’s points. For what, Emma hasn’t totally decided yet, but it’s something, and it’s probably good, and they’re going to play that clip on loop for weeks. Longer, probably. 

Every goddamn day if the Yankees make the postseason. 

When the Yankees make the postseason. 

Her dad wouldn’t appreciate the buffer. Leaves room for loss, and that is not the Nolan way. Not when there are championships to win, and this was supposed to be the best possible time. Smack dab in the middle of the season, with the All-Star break looming, Henry would get to suit up as batboy for one game that didn’t mean much and wouldn’t draw too strong of a spotlight, no murmurs about nepotism by internet trolls who couldn’t possibly define the word with any sort of accuracy, but also like to shout about canceling and culture with an almost alarming sense of self-righteousness, so, of course, the whole thing was now blowing up in their face. 

Much like the goddamn fireworks. 

It wasn’t Will Scarlet’s fault. 

Wasn’t Henry’s fault, either. 

His job was to get the bats out of the field of play. Doing it while the field of play was still active was a mistake any kid could have made. Just so happens that it’s Emma’s kid, and the grandkid of the Yankees’ hitting coach, and that means something to the New York media and the New York fans, and if Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman with an arm that can make cross-field throws with ease, wasn’t also so quick-thinking and sure-footed, scooping Henry up as he crossed home plate and avoiding the ensuing swarm of players at home plate, all intent on celebrating Will Scarlet’s first-ever career walk-off, Emma can only imagine what would have happened. 

Trampled. Stepped on. Broken bones. Concussions. 

They’re checking Henry for a concussion now. He absolutely does not have a concussion. He was laughing while he was carried off the field. Like he hit the walk-off. 

Front office is absolutely petrified she’s going to sue them. 

The thought hadn’t even once crossed Emma’s mind. Plus, she’s sort of busy. Holding Killian Jones’s hand. His stupid, warm hand. 

“Bright colors,” he says, responding to a question Emma’s nearly forgotten about. Jumping is more challenging when his fingers tighten ever so slightly. “Flash, boom. Taps into baser instincts, I think.” “You think people’s base instinct is to enjoy explosions.” “Phrasing that as a statement makes me think you don’t agree with me.” “You didn’t want me to thank you,” Emma points out.

“Well, no,” he says, and the precise way his eyes drop does something specific to all of her instincts. Leaves her flush with a heat that reminds her of Fourth of July sparklers rather than any sort of massive explosion, and that’s not bad, per se, although it’s admittedly a little surprising. As is the slight uptick of precisely one side of his mouth. It takes her a moment to realize he’s smirking at her. And another for her subconscious to admit that it’s working as intended. Her shoulders drop half an inch. While Emma pulls her hand back to her side. “Thanking me suggests I did anything to warrant the thanks.” “Big words.” “For a dumb athlete, you mean.” “That wasn’t a question, either.” “No,” Killian repeats, “it wasn’t.” “I’d really like to thank you. I—Dad told him when to come out of the dugout, so he definitely knew the rules, but I think he was super worried about you tripping over the bat.”

The smirk becomes a full-blown smile. Which is no less than forty-seven thousand times more powerful. Equivalent to staring directly into a solar eclipse or gazing upon the dark side of the moon, and Emma should at least do some research before coming up with these internal examples. Basic Google searches would provide her with the necessary information. 

“That’s more or less what he told me, yeah.” Emma’s nose creases. “Talked your ear off after your daring rescue, huh?” “Keep complimenting me like this, and my ego won’t know what to do with it.”

She hopes she’s not blushing as much as it feels like she is. The state of Killian’s eyebrows and the precise curl of his lips make that seem unlikely. “Your reflexes are unparalleled.” “Something about big bucks and why I get paid them.” “Oh,” Emma laughs, unable to stop herself, and she doesn’t remember deciding to stop pacing, only that her knees appreciate it once she has, “you think you’re real funny, don’t you?” “I think I’m moderately funny, not the hero you’re suggesting I am—” “Oh, I never used the word hero.” “—And you never actually told me your name.”

“Because you don’t know who I am.” It’s not a question, either. Neither one of them mention that. 

“I do,” Killian concedes, “Henry was also fairly quick to mention exactly who he was and where his mother was sitting.” Emma’s nose is going to freeze in this position. “But I gave you my name, which makes it only fair that we’re all square and whatnot.” “Whatnot, huh?” “Yup.” He pops his lips on the letter. Which is also unfair. In, like, the grand scheme of the world. The black ooze that is not actually oil when used in this particular metaphor recedes. Leaves Emma with a chest cavity that is partially full of butterfly wings and the growing sense of anticipation that isn’t quite as nerve-wracking as it should be. Like she’s about to step into the batter’s box with two outs and runners in scoring position. She’s totally going to hit against the shift. Fluttering her fingers at her side, Emma doesn’t lift her hand. It doesn’t matter. 

Killian’s eyes drop. To the movement. And her. And part of her shies away from that because part of her has spent a lifetime tucked into a shadow that didn’t belong to her and doesn’t belong to Henry, but now there’s some joke about Peter Pan to be made because they live in an internet-age and Killian Jones has a very good face. So. Viral video, enter stage right. Starring Henry Swan, Killian Jones, and the inevitably uneven pitter-patter of Emma’s traitorous heart. 

“Emma Swan.” “I think you should sit down.”

“Why is that, exactly?” “I’m worried about your legs.”

Whatever noise she makes can’t quite be classified as a scoff. It hurts her throat too much. And it’s not a laugh, either. Even as the butterflies threaten to rise up in mutiny of Emma’s more rational feelings, and she gets the distinct impression that Killian is reading her mind. Trying very hard, at least. 

“Sounds like a line.” “Might be a line,” he admits, which draws another wholly inhuman sound out of Emma’s barely-functioning lungs. 

“Did he kick you on the lift?” Killian hums. “You’d kick too if you were just hauled off your feet, so I understand the reaction. What I’m more worried about is the inevitable bruise on my foot from the bat landing there.” “Ah shit, really?” “I’ve had worse.” “But not in 4K video that people will play on loop for the rest of the news cycle. If not longer.” Narrowing his eyes, Killian doesn’t immediately respond. Mind reading requires a modicum of focus, Emma assumes. Instead, he rests a hand on her shoulder, directing her toward the chair and ignoring the soft crack her left knee as it bends. “That’s what you’re worried about.” “Stop sounding so confident.” “I can only sound how I am, Swan.” “Oh, I’m not sure we’ve reached nickname status yet,” she mumbles, pushing down the soft rush of metaphorical insects doing their beset to soar out of her barely-parted lips. “But, yeah, I—I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was totally terrified in the moment.”

“Understandable. Grown men barrelling down the third-base line at your kid are a lot to take in.” She snorts. It’s not cute. Not dignified. Killian smirks. “Should you be concerned that the Scarlet was making such solid headway behind you? Are you exceedingly slow?” “I am league average.” “How fast can you get out of the box to first?” “I’ve never timed it.” “Liar, liar.” “Please don’t make a crack about my pants,” Killian says, “I won’t be able to cope.”

“Oh God, you think you’re charming, too.” “I’ve had no complaints.” “To your face, at least.”

Throwing his head back, the laugh that erupts out of him is not of volcano proportions. Of which there was also one in FernGully if Emma’s memory is to be trusted.  An arm circles his middle, stretching muscle and ensuring that Emma notices just how corded that same muscle is, the slight bend of his wrist leaving her off-kilter. When he meets her gaze, she swears his eyes are brighter. “Yeah, yeah, that’s true,” Killian concedes, “no one has flat out told me I was lacking charm to my face.” “This thanking you thing is going great.” “And I continue to not need thanks. Why are you worried about the video getting out there? Filmed in 4K like you suggest, at least we’ll all look great. Sharp pixels and whatnot.” “What do you know about pixels?” “You basically heard the extent just now.”

She’s getting better at laughing. The ooze has almost all but disappeared, Emma twirling a strand of hair around fingers that are intent on moving, and it’s an old habit. One Killian’s gaze catches on. Immediately. Quickly. Seriously, Emma needs a thesaurus. “Baseball’s always been my dad,” she says. “And that’s—well, we’ve lived this game, me and my mom, weekend series and West Coast swings, waiting up for him to get home because the flight got delayed, but Henry’s just a kid, getting thrown into this world because of his last name and who his family is? That sucks. Nothing was supposed to happen tonight.” “Nothing did happen.” “Because of you.” “I’d like to believe Scarlet, ridiculously fast as he might be, would not run over a small child,” Killian says. “And, uh, for the record and all that, I got a bad jump off first because I didn’t know if they were going to catch it in left. No one wants to get caught on the base paths.” “Yeah, that’d be embarrassing.”

He must hear the hitch in her voice because the next thing Emma realizes, her fingers are twisted back up in Killian’s, and she’s warm and falling and flying, and it’s good and weird, and the door swings open. 

They both jump.

So, that’s something. 

Rushing out quickly enough that he nearly trips over his own feet, Henry’s head leads the way and finds Emma’s stomach, a tangle of limbs, and overly-excited words, all of which rival the now-finished fireworks display in volume. 

It takes Henry about five and a half run-on sentences to notice Killian standing there. 

His eyes widen. His mouth drops. Killian grins. Emma tries very hard not to die. It only sort of works. 

She blames the faulty body parts she’s in possession of. 

“Killian,” Henry exclaims, clamoring back to his feet and nearly falling again in the process. Hands that belong to both Emma and Killian dart out, steadying Henry while their eyes meet over the top of his head. Killian winks. He tries. It’s more like a blink than anything. “Hi, hi! You did so good tonight! And we won, and I got to go on the field and—and, it was so,” Henry heaves a deep breath, “we were so good.”

Collective pronouns do something to Emma’s entire state of being. 

Flips it on an axis she hadn’t been aware previously existed until it almost feels as if this was the path they’d been directing themselves toward from the start. Her eyes flit toward Killian. Who is already watching her. 

“We did,” he nods, “maybe next time, though, you wait one extra second to grab Scarlet’s bat, ok?” Seeing her own nose scrunch reflected back on her kid is not the worst thing that’s ever happened to Emma. The vibrating phone in her back pocket, might be. 

It’s one-hundred percent, Ruby. 

“That’s what grandpa said too,” Henry grumbles, digging a toe of the cleats Emma’s mother bought him last week into the ground, “but I wanted to make sure you didn’t fall.”

Definitely dying, then. A systematic shut down of all necessary internal organs. It’s not as bad as Emma would have expected. 

Neither one of Killian’s knees crack when he bends. That seems heavy-handed. 

“And I don’t want you to fall either,” he says, “so we agree, right here, right now, not to let the other one fall, huh?” Emma holds her breath. Ignores the pinch in her lungs and the clearly unstable nature of both her mind and her heart, digging her nails into her palms. To ensure she isn’t tempted to haul Henry back toward her. Or push that one strand of hair away from Killian’s forehead. 

Henry nods. “Deal.”

They hook their pinkies together. 

It’s adorable and as endearingly charming as everything else Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, has done since he walked into that hallway. Less so when her dad emerges from the office, the athletic trainer on his heels to not-so-quietly inform Killian that he can’t just blow off post-game like that, and the second wink is as bad as the first. 

She does her very best to memorize the movement. 

And the joy on Henry’s face the next morning when a box arrives on their doorstep, a genuine, game-worn Killian Jones jersey inside. She doesn’t notice the note at first, tucked between the cardboard and the tissue paper someone must have bought for him. He can’t have bought that tissue paper himself. He just—it’s unfathomable. 

Emma knows he bought the tissue paper himself. 

As clearly as she knows that those numbers in that particular order will lead to Killian Jones answering his phone and that her voice likely won’t shake when she replies to the question written in surprisingly loopy script. Which is why, Emma will argue, she does reply. In the affirmative. To several questions over the course of the remaining season, and they don’t star in any more viral videos, but there are a few pictures once they clinch the division. 

Drops of champagne cling to the tips of Emma’s eyelashes and the ends of Killian’s hair, hands on her waist that blaze a quick path up her back and around her middle, and she has to tilt her head up to get the right angles. Of lips. While they kiss in the middle of the clubhouse, the hat someone forced onto Emma’s head falling and it’s impossible to hear over the sound of celebratory fireworks, but she can somehow still hear Henry’s laugh ringing out from the general area near Scarlet’s locker, and his jersey collection is growing at an impressive rate. 

No one can withstand the overall cuteness of him. 

Emma included. Emma, especially. 

Sometimes she worries she’s so happy she’ll burst, unable to contain the sort of emotion her body is still acclimating itself to. But then she realizes just how dumb that is and happiness cannot possibly be quantified, and her head is buzzing enough from champagne that she nearly misses Killian when he says, “people love the bright spots, Swan.” It’s not the most romantic thing he’s told her. Doesn’t crack the top five, quite frankly. She swoons all the same. With her kid laughing and her team winning and that’s about all the sentiment she’s willing to acknowledge before her tongue is in Killian’s mouth. He groans. She grins. 

And he’d been right about the video. It wasn’t the embarrassment Emma worried it could be. Was mostly relegated to the corners of the internet set aside for formerly popular content as soon as the season ended, spoken about only in fond recollection as the other seasons went on and the wins kept coming and all three of them stand on a parade float with the World Series trophy a few dozen feet away, several Novembers after that first game. 

It’s a Thursday afternoon, then. 

And yet Emma never entirely forgets. What the video meant and what it did and she’s not remotely surprised when it finds its way back to the forefront of the sports zeitgeist on a Wednesday in July. Most mentions come with similar taglines and messages. Something about feeling our age and wanna feel old because that bot boy, David Nolan’s grandson, Killian Jones’s stepson, he’s getting drafted now. 

Got drafted, technically. 

Third round, video of the soon-to-be third baseman for the San Diego Padres makes the internet circuits and garners plenty of interest. It’s not the most exciting video, though. Henry just hugs his family. Who hug tightly back. 

What is more exciting is the box that arrives on Emma and Killian’s doorstep. With a note that eventually earns a frame next to the last one and a wholly official, game-worn jersey that has a noticeable streak of dirt across the left sleeve. From sliding head-first into home plate.  

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #do not ask me why this is so full of ferngully references #i do not have an answer for you #the google doc title for this was: BaseballCuresWritersBlock #thanks baseball

[cyberloops]

I think it’s not just pandemic fatigue that’s been making it hard for me to work lately. I think I’ve been feeling disconnected from my music. I keep sitting down with a guitar or at my keyboard and noodling around. Lately I just haven’t been able to sit down and open up Acid or any other DAW and start fiddling around in there.

I was thinking about using my stimulus money to finally take the plunge and actually buy some equipment. Up until now the only real equipment I’ve bought are things like keyboards that plug into computers that I already own, and software to do things with it. But there’s a disconnect. There’s a layer of abstraction between me and the sounds I’m making.

I tried to see if I could solve that by making my own digital synths, so I downloaded Synthedit and played around with it a while back... but all it really did was make me want to get into making actual modular synths, not just emulating them. And in the long run, that’s a hell of a deep rabbit hole for me to fall into, both in terms of time, space in my house, and money.

I’ve spent most of my life on the edge of poverty, so the idea of just... spending money on something that I want is completely foreign to me. I know in my head that I have the money. It’s there to be spent. I can afford it. I can’t afford actual vintage synths, of course, those are way too *&%ing expensive. I also don’t have much space in the house, since both my spouse and I had to set up an office in the house during the pandemic. The space on my desk next to my computer keyboard where I was going to put my small MIDI keyboard is now taken up by my work computer. The room that was supposed to become half art studio for my spouse and half recording studio for me is now half office, and the drawing table and the spare desk that were supposed to be for our personal use are shoved in the corners. So whatever I buy will have to be small.

But the last couple of days I’ve been looking at what’s there. Looking at what’s within my price range. I don’t expect to spend thousands on a modular synth right off the bat, hell, I’d barely know what to do with it. But I think I can afford a small setup. Something that I don’t have to boot up and start a program and fight with audio drivers to use. Something that I don’t have to stop playing, go back, listen to the track, and click with a mouse to add points where I want to raise or lower one single attribute at a time.

I think if I start with a couple of cheap Behringer analog clones, I can at least get some bass and drums for pretty cheap, then figure out what else I want from there. It looks like the TR-3 and RD-6 are coming out in new colors, so I can even get them in purple. (which is generally the first question I have when I’m deciding whether to get something. Does it come in purple?) A decent synth that can do polyphony for chords will be a little difficult to find in my price range, I might have to settle for something like the Yamaha CS or DX Reface for that. (Yes, I know that the Korg Volca FM is half the price, and is a great imitation of the DX... but it only has 3 note polyphony. I like having the option to make richer chords, or to have a solo or bass line in the same instrument going while I do chords with the other hand.) And I definitely want at least one decent analog synth, but anything within my price range is only going to be monophonic, or like the Korg Volca line, they won’t have enough polyphony to do more than three note chords. The only decent ones that are polyphonic are generally over 300 dollars, and even with the stimulus money, I’m not sure I can justify spending that much on something that will likely not earn me any real money. And on top of everything else, just getting a decent multi-track recorder will probably cost as much, if not more, than a small synth. Most of the ones that are under 300 dollars will only record two tracks at a time, which won’t work well if I’m trying to hook up 3-4 synths and maybe a microphone. I’ve got a few spare speakers around the house that I could probably use as a monitor, so at least I’ve got that covered. (I hope. I haven’t actually plugged any of those speakers into anything in years, who knows what condition they’re in?)

On top of all of that, my spouse is trying to find an excuse to actually use the art table, and so we’re thinking about also using their half of our stimulus money to get a couple of webcams to stream video of them doing art. So if I do set up a small live synth studio in the desk in that room, we can stream together, with me making music on one screen, and my spouse drawing on another.

Over the last decade or so, I’ve been so afraid to actually spend any money. And for probably 8 out of those last 10 years, for good reason. I genuinely couldn't afford to. I only have an electric guitar because it went on sale and was incredibly cheap. I only have an effects pedal for it because I got lucky and found a halfway decent one that had multiple functions on sale used. I only have a full sized MIDI keyboard because my spouse gave it to me as a combined birthday/christmas present. But not being able to spend money just to survive meant that I couldn’t afford to get the things that I need in order to really live, and not just survive. I need musical instruments that I can touch and feel and use. But I think right now I also need to set up a spreadsheet and figure out what I can actually afford.

... anyway, I realized I got to the end of this huge rant and never mentioned anything about the piece I just uploaded. Short version - I was trying to use digital instruments similar to the sort of things I was looking at buying, and seeing what kind of music I could make by just quickly working up a sound and  a couple simple loops for them. So one of the basses is just a pretty generic synth that happens to have a sequencer that is similar to some of the analog synths I was looking at. The other is a digital clone of the TB-303, which is also similar to one of the synths I was looking at. I only used one drum machine synth on this one, since I can’t justify buying more than one when I start this physical setup. And the solo, chords, and arpeggios were all using similar sorts of synths to the real ones I’ve been looking at and researching online lately. All of the loops that I would have put into a sequencer while using a physical synth setup were the ones that I went into the MIDI files and manually quantized everything to match exactly what I would have done with a sequencer. For the solo lines and a few other sections I only fiddled with the MIDI timing enough to fix any errors due to input lag. And I tried to throw in a few tweaks to the synth settings on the fly like playing with the filter or whatnot, y’know, the kind of thing that I’d literally be able to do with one hand while I’m playing with the other if these synths were actually sitting on the desk in front of me. But of course I had to actually do those afterward with the mouse, since I didn’t have the actual synths in front of me, with actual knobs and sliders that I could touch.

#synth #synthwave #retro #retrowave #cyberpunk #cyberpunk music #cyberpunk soundtrack #synthesizer #music blog #synthpop #should i actually do it #should i bite the bullet #vaporwave #cyberpunk aesthetic #aesthetic #synthwave aesthetic #retrowave aesthetic

[wonder-womans-ex]

‘Cause Boy I was Made for You

By wonder-womans-ex for @inloveoknutzy Sweater Weather secret santa exchange 2020

When Remus Lupin was eleven years old, he learned about soulmates. 

“Almost everyone gets a soulmark on their nineteenth birthday,” Mr. Holliday, his fifth-grade teacher, had explained. “A design, like a tattoo, on their left wrist. And out there, somewhere, someone will have a matching one.

“Some people don’t get them until later—no one knows why. Some don’t get them at all. It’s rare, but some people have more than one soulmate, or their soulmate changes. 

“Can anyone tell me why this might be?”

Trust a teacher to turn this into a lesson, Remus thought, and put up his hand. 

“Because people change, and the person who your soul matches could change, too?” 

“Very good, Mr. Lupin.” 

***

When Sirius Black was eleven years old, his parents kept him home from school. Instead, they sat him down at the dining room table—which was only ever used for special occasions; he couldn’t fathom why this might be considered one—and told him three things. 

“One,” Walburga said, bony fingers and long nails that reminded Sirius of talons drumming on the centuries-old wood, “your career comes first. Always. No matter who your soulmate turns out to be or how you feel about it, you are expected to make the choice that benefits yourself and your role in this family.” 

“Two,” Orion put in, “you are the only person who can prove who your soulmate is. If the reality is something that puts your future or your reputation at risk, lying is the best option. Remember, listen to your head, not your wrist.”

“Three—” this was Walburga again, “—your soulmark, when you get it, will remain covered at all times. No one else is permitted to see it. Are we clear?”

Sirius nodded. 

“Speak up!”

“Yes, Mother. Yes, Father.”

***

When Remus Lupin was thirteen years old, he had his first kiss. It was with a girl from his first aid course to whom he’d never really talked before, and it was wet and clumsy and didn’t taste very nice. In six years when he got his soulmark, he probably wouldn’t even remember her name. 

***

When Sirius Black was thirteen years old, he fell asleep in math class twice. He’d spent the entire night practicing—under his father’s instructions, of course—and the words in the textbook began to swim in front of his eyes. 

His mother slapped him across the cheek when she found out. Though he told no one for a very long time, that was when he started drinking coffee. 

***

When Remus Lupin was fifteen years old, he googled what if your soulmate doesn’t love you. 

***

When Sirius Black was fifteen years old, he found out what it was like to be famous. He enjoyed it, at first. There was so much to enjoy: the attention from his parents, the people who recognized him in public and smiled, and the hockey. 

The hockey was everything. 

He wouldn’t have thought so, but it was freeing, really, to be on the ice, doing what he loved, and know that the whole world was watching. It showed him he was enough—better than enough. He was the best. He’d been working towards being best his whole life, and now he finally got to feel good about it. What wasn’t to like about that?

Amycus Carrow, apparently. The first guy on his team to notice he was different. “Queer,” he whispered, as Sirius packed his gear up. 

Sirius wasn’t sure who he was trying to prove something to by sleeping with Janie Clearwater—Amycus or himself. 

***

When Remus Lupin was seventeen years old, he and his mom picked his little brother Julian up from daycare. Jules had a crude drawing of a star on his wrist in green washable marker. 

“My teacher has one! So I wanted one too!” 

Remus smiled, ruffling Julian’s hair. 

That night, he locked his bedroom door and looked up Sirius Black. Video after video of slapshots, passes, interviews, until he finally drifted off to sleep thinking that’s the sort of person I want to be loved by. 

***

When Sirius Black was seventeen years old, he had his first panic attack. He wasn’t sure what triggered it; he wasn’t sure how he pulled himself out, but he ran a thumb over the red marks where his fingernails had dug into his skin and tried not to cry.

***

When Remus Lupin was nineteen years old, everything went wrong. He woke up on his birthday to his wrist itching, and it took all his willpower not to look at it. He wasn’t quite ready yet. 

It was like Schrödinger’s cat, he reasoned—if he didn’t look, he couldn’t confirm what had been nagging at the back of his head for a while now. He couldn’t deny it, either, but it was better than nothing. 

Julian ran to hug him when he got downstairs, grinning to show off his gap-toothed smile. “I got you a present! Wanna know what it is?”

“I think,” Remus told him, “I’m about to find out anyway.”

Two weeks later, Fenrir Greyback approached him in the locker room. 

***

When Sirius Black was nineteen years old, he found himself signed to an NHL team he wasn’t supposed to be on and with a soulmark he could make neither head nor tail of: a silver wolf and black dog, intertwined like yin and yang, two crossed hockey sticks behind them. He remembered, distantly, being told that soulmarks were meant to make sense. 

The black dog was probably meant to represent him—black dog, dog black (he still hadn’t forgiven his parents for that one)—and the hockey sticks almost definitely had something to do with, well, hockey, but the wolf he had no idea about.  

***

It is now that these two stories meet. There is a split second, a fraction of time, and it seems as though the whole world is holding its breath. Will their paths cross, only to continue on their separate ways? Will they travel together for a time, before they are destined to part once more?

“Hello,” says Remus, and when Sirius holds his hand out coldly, their fate is decided. 

***

“Pots, c’mere a second!” 

Sirius is happy, almost. He’s got the team—he’s one of them, now, really and truly, but there’s something still off. He knows what it is, but he doesn’t want to. 

“I’m coming, Captain! Keep your head on!”

James comes to a stop in front of him. “Hi. What do you need?”

“Please poke Dumo.” A few of the guys chuckle, and this makes Sirius smile. He likes making other people laugh. 

“What, and you needed me for that? You couldn't do it yourself?”

Finn walks into the room, then, jersey half on. “Why do it at all? What did poor old Dumo do to you, anyway?”

“Yeah,” Pascal says from where he’s sitting by his locker. “Respect your elders!”

“Elder, you say? Edging on retirement, are you?”

“Tais-toi!” 

Glancing over to Remus, Sirius allows the barest flicker of a smile to pass over his face. He gets one in return. 

“Alright, everyone get moving,” Coach tells them, opening the door and surveying where they’re all arranged, faces like guilty puppies. “You’re paid to play hockey, not sit on your asses and gossip. Practice starts in five minutes, or you run laps around the outside of the rink. In skates.”

Most of them groan, and Kasey downs a Powerade. “Well, boys, that’s my cue.”

James is the next to go, then Finn, then Logan. Leo and Talker continue their argument—something about George Harrison; Sirius isn’t really listening—out onto the ice, and Adam follows them with Olli and Nado close behind. Dumo winks at Sirius before he goes, too, and then it’s just the two of them. 

“What did he do?” Remus asks, after Sirius has laced and relaced his left skate three times. “Dumo, I mean.” 

“Nothing much. Just… well, if you must know, he put shaving cream in the fridge, once. Guess what I had on my waffles that morning.” 

“Waffles aren’t on your diet plan.”

“It was last year.”

“And you waited until now to get James to poke him?”

He knows Remus can see right through him. He always can. “Never question the methods of a hockey player, Loops.”

He meant it as a joke, but Remus stiffens for some reason, jaw clenching and eyes darting away. There’s an awkward pause before Sirius says, “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be.” 

“Right.” He clears his throat, trying in vain to find something else to say. He would be lying if he said Remus didn’t mean something to him—he knows it. But, after all, knowing something and acknowledging it are two very different things. 

Sirius runs the laps. 

***

That night, after practice, Remus is about to head for the bus station when Sirius steps in front of him. He’s walking backwards, even with his hockey bag slung over his shoulder, and Remus isn’t ashamed to say he’s a little impressed. (From a purely objective point of view, of course. It has nothing to do with Sirius and everything to do with the skill it would take, hypothetically, to do such a thing.) (He’s not fooling anyone, least of all himself.) 

“Want a lift?”

“You don’t even know where I live.”

“Well, we’ll just have to fix that.”

Remus rolls his eyes; he pretends to think about it. “All right,” he says, finally. “On one condition.”

“Which is?”

“I get to choose the music.”

Sirius lets out one loud ‘ha!’  It’s the most beautiful thing Remus has heard in a long time. (That would go well: “Oh, I’ve changed my mind. No need to put on the radio, I’ll be content if you just keep laughing.”) (There’s a reason people like him are off to the side, out of sight, instead of right in the spotlight with a microphone.)  

Remus is glad that Sirius waits until he’s parked outside Remus’s apartment building to bring up their earlier conversation. It says something that they say “So, about this evening—” in unison, but Remus isn’t going to think about that. 

“You go first,” Sirius tells him, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. “Please.”

“I suppose,” Remus says, slowly, “That I haven’t quite been honest with you. Any of you. I wasn’t always a PT.”

“Of course not. You’re my age. You can’t have always worked for the Lions—before that you were a teenager. A student.”

Remus shakes his head. “No. Before that I was a player.” 

“You played? Why’d you stop?”

“Bad hit,” he says, shrugging. “I’m over it. But I… I know what it’s like. The pressure. The rules. So, if you need someone to talk to… just remember—I know what the game does to a guy. You’re not the only one who’s been told to be something you aren’t by someone who forgets you’re a person off the ice, too.

“See you tomorrow, Cap. Thanks for the ride.” 

***

Sirius is probably the one person in history who has managed to burn eggs without even turning the stove on. 

“How on earth did that happen?” James asks when Sirius phones him. 

“I dropped them into the toaster—hey! Stop laughing! It could happen to anyone!”

“Yes,” he hears from the other end of the line, “But it didn’t. It happened to you.”

It takes exactly two minutes and thirty-seven seconds after hanging up on James for Sirius to decide to call Remus. Cooking failures might not have been quite what Remus meant when he said Sirius could talk to him, but it’s the problem at hand right now. 

(Remus laughs just as hard as James, but at least he has the decency to apologize for it afterwards.) 

“Well,” he says, once he’s calmed down, “What are you going to eat now?” 

“I’m not sure. Cereal?”

“Practice is in two and a half hours. You need more than that.”

“I’ll be—”

“If you end that sentence with ‘fine,’ I’ll take the laces out of your skates and strangle you with them. Do you want me to walk you through, I dunno, a pancake?” 

“Sure. What do I need?”

“Flour, butter, eggs, milk…”

Twenty minutes later Sirius is left with milk on his shirt, flour in his hair, butter practically everywhere else, and a microwave that won’t start. 

“I think,” he tells Remus, “I should have cereal.”

“You are going to eat a pancake if it’s the last thing I do—”

“Why don’t you just come over here and make it for me, then? I’m sure you’ll have more success.” 

He holds his breath for a moment, hoping this wasn’t a step too far, before Remus responds. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll be over in… half an hour?” 

“Sounds good.” 

Click. 

The instant the call is over, Sirius opens the freezer and grabs one of the popsicles he secretly has stashed there. They’re not part of his diet plan, but he needs one. Then he takes a sponge and starts trying to get the butter out of the sole of his shoe. 

***

The first thought that crosses Remus’s mind is that Sirius’s tongue is purple from one of the popsicles he thinks no one knows about. If Remus kissed him, he’d probably taste like grapes. (The thought is banished from his mind the moment it enters.) 

“So,” he says, surveying the damage. “I am going to teach you how to make a pancake.” 

Sirius, it turns out, is infinitely better at following instructions when they’re simple, and the two of them work out a system quickly. Remus makes the pancake, Sirius gets the ingredients. It works. 

“That’s salt, not sugar. Try again.”

(Most of the time, at least.)

 “Really?” Sirius is squinting at the package. “Why doesn’t it say so?”

“It does. Right there.” 

“How am I supposed to read that?”

“You need glasses, Cap.” 

“I have glasses. I just never wear them.” 

“What?” This is news to Remus. Visions of Sirius with glasses and bed hair are swimming in front of his eyes. “Why?” 

A shrug. “I look stupid.” 

“I’m pretty sure you’d be drop-dead gorgeous in anything.” 

There’s a beat of silence. Remus realizes that, yes, he said that out loud. “I mean, all those fangirls certainly seem to think so.” 

“Right. Yeah.” Sirius clears his throat. 

“Anyway, pancakes! I think these are almost ready to cook—can you turn on the element?”

“The what now?” 

“The element? The coil on the stove?” 

“Should’ve just said that in the first place,” Sirius grumbles. “Fucking Americans.” 

“Fucking French.” 

Suddenly, Remus has a spatula pointed at his nose. He has to cross his eyes to see it properly. “Say that again; I dare you.”

“Fucking French?”

“Awright, that’s it! En garde, bitch!” 

And so begins the great whisk-vs-spatula duel of 2020. There is very little batter left once they’re done—in the bowl, at least. Most of it is on their clothes. 

They look at each other. “Cereal?” 

“...Cereal.” 

***

Kasey’s eyes go wide—almost comically so—when they show up to practice together. 

“Cap giving rides?” He says, and Sirius isn’t sure what accent he’s trying to fake but he ends up sounding like a scandalized duchess from the movie adaptation of an Austen knockoff. (Maybe that is what he was going for. It’s hard to know, with Kasey.) “I thought the day would never come.”

“Shut up.” 

“Make me.”

Remus’s elbow digs into Sirius’s rib cage. “You don’t want to say that. He tried to make me shut up this morning—it’s something I’ll never recover from.” 

Sirius almost laughs at the expression Remus makes when he realizes exactly how that sounds. 

“He dumped pancake batter down my shirt!” 

“You didn’t!” The look on James’s face is aghast. “First the eggs, now this—what will people think?” 

Finn looks up from his phone. “Eggs?” 

“Sirius here dropped the eggs he was going to eat for breakfast into his—”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” 

Dumo slings an arm around his shoulders. “The price you must pay for telling James to poke me yesterday. Learn from this, mon fils. Learn.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do, old man.”

“Treachery!” 

Shrugging him off, Sirius grins. “I am the kitchen monster. Cross me and I will slaughter you in a food war.”

“Try me.” This is Logan speaking; Sirius hadn’t even realized he was there. 

“You’ve been warned!” 

***

“Look, there are twenty-two hockey players in this arena, and I ain’t one of them,” Moody says, and Remus can’t be sure, but he thinks Sirius looks at him. 

***

“You’re favouring your right leg,” Remus comments as soon as Sirius is off the ice. “Want me to take a look?”

“It’s fine, really—”

“I’ll try again. Want me to take a look?” 

“Yeah, that would be great. Thanks, Loops.”

“That’s what I thought you said.”

They walk into the PT room in businesslike silence, Sirius hoping all the way that one of them will break it. Neither does, and it isn’t until Remus has taken off both his skates for him, now expertly examining his left ankle, that he realizes what he should say. 

“You mentioned you played, last night.”

The finger tracing his Achilles tendon stills. “I did.” 

“Were you any good?” He knows, somewhere, that he’s entering forbidden territory. He can’t bring himself to care. 

“I’d like to believe so.”

“Be honest.” Sirens are blaring in his head. He keeps going. 

“There were rumours…” Remus bites his lip, glances away. “People said I was set for first.”

“What? How come you never said anything? C’mon, you need to play with us sometime, just scrimmage or something—”

“Maybe. That hit…”

“Right. God, I’m sorry, Rem.”

If Remus’s Adam’s apple bobs at the nickname, Sirius doesn’t notice. He certainly doesn’t try his best not to jump to conclusions. (Double negative; that’s a yes, a voice that sounds suspiciously like James’s says in his head. Shut up, he tells it.)

“It’s fine. Really. I just don’t like talking about it. And besides, I like this. Working with the team, even if I can’t be a part of it.”

“You are. A part of the team, I mean. Just as much as I am.”

“Sure.”

There’s another awkward pause before Remus clears his throat. “So, I’m gonna put on some anti-inflammatory gel because it’s a little swollen, but don’t get used to it. I want you to keep doing some stretches, not too much pressure. Capeesh?”

“What the fuck is a capeesh?”

“Just say it.”

“...Capeesh?”

“Awesome.” 

Remus leans forward towards him, their foreheads almost touching. Sirius’s breath catches. 

It’s over just as suddenly. The tube of extra-strength Voltaren is in Remus’s hand, and Sirius feels stupid for thinking he was going to—

Nope. Not thinking about that. 

When he feels tears start to prick at his eyes, he glances up at the fluorescent lights overhead; at least then he’ll have an excuse. There’s a moth resting on one. Its wings flutter once, twice, then go still. Fragile things, moths are—maybe it’s died, maybe it hasn’t. He could read into that, but he won’t. 

He jumps when the cool of the gel on Remus’s hands touches his foot. “Hey!” He yelps, looking quickly down. 

Sirius hates to succumb to cliches, but he would be lying if he was to say his heart doesn’t still. 

Because Remus has pulled the sleeves of his jacket up to his elbows, and his wrist is turned to the sky—to Sirius, who has seen that mark before somewhere. 

Somewhere. He’s kidding himself. He’s seen it every day whenever he bothers to look at his own soulmark, and he’s seeing it again now. 

“You know what, I’m fine,” he blurts out, shaking his ankle out of Remus’s grasp. “Thanks, though. See you later, Loops.” 

***

Remus stays there for a second, watching Sirius leave. He doesn’t know what he did wrong, and he’s not sure he wants to. 

When he gets up to leave, tossing the container towards the first aid kit on the bench and allowing himself a small smile when it lands perfectly inside, blood rushes to his head. He closes his eyes, waiting for the dizziness to pass. 

And then he crashes into Finn. 

“Whoa, sorry,” Remus says, stumbling backwards.

“Nah, don’t stress it. There’s just something I want you to check on.”

Remus is hit by a sense of deja vu. He wonders if Finn, too, is going to leave without explanation. He follows him back into the PT room, Finn gesturing for him to lock the door. 

Though he may be the shorter of the two, Remus knows it’s his job to be the bigger person. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

Finn waits another moment before yanking one sleeve up to reveal three paw prints, each no bigger than a thumbnail, clustered together—one forest green, one golden, and one a deep navy blue. 

“Your soulmark.” Remus doesn’t understand. “What? Is something wrong?” 

“There’s three of them,” Finn says. “Which means there’s three of us.”

“You have two soulmates?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s fine, Finn. It may not be common, but it’s not unheard of. You don’t have anything to be ashamed of.” 

“It’s not that. It’s… hey, you can’t tell anyone this, okay?”

“I know. Doctor-patient confidentiality, remember?”

“Right.” Finn takes a breath, squeezing his eyes closed. “What if I told you I know who they are? Or I think I do?” 

“Hypothetically?”

“Hypothetically.”

“Well, I’d ask you if they knew.”

“And I’d say I don’t think so. One of them’s pretty stubborn—wouldn’t see love if it stood up on the ice and sang the national anthem—and the other isn’t nineteen yet, so he doesn’t—I mean wouldn’t—have his mark yet.” 

“His?”

Finn’s eyes widen. There is a pause before he nods, slowly. “Yeah. Got a problem?”

“Trust me, I’m the last person on earth who’d have a problem with something like that. Hypothetically.” 

This, at least, earns Remus a smile. “Are you…?”

“Yeah.” 

“Cool.” Another pause. “What if I told you, still hypothetically, that they were both on the team?” 

“Then I’d say get the fuck out of here and win them over before they start thinking you’ve forgotten about them.” 

Finn, smiling ear to ear, starts to leave. “Wait,” he says, hand on the doorknob. “You said you were…”

“Gay.”

“Yeah. Do—do you know who your soulmate is?”

Remus opens his mouth to say ‘no.’ He really does. But what comes out—when he takes into account the look of recognition on Sirius’s face when Remus had his sleeves rolled up; the understanding that had passed between them outside Remus’s building (god, that was just last night); the way they’ve always just clicked—is most certainly not ‘no.’ 

“Oh, fuck, I think I do,” he says, and he and Finn run out into the hallway together. 

Sirius’s car is pulling out of the parking lot when Remus arrives, out of breath, at the front doors of the arena. 

“I don’t know why he’s in such a hurry.” Remus jumps. He hadn’t heard James come to stand beside him. “Just packed up his gear at the speed of light and left. Didn’t even shower; he said he’d do it at home.”

So Sirius had been so appalled—disgusted, even—at Remus being his soulmate that he’d left without explanation, with barely even a goodbye. There was a pleasant thought. 

He turns so his back is against the door, sliding slowly down to sit on the floor. 

“Y’know,” James says, sitting next to him, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you needed a hug.”

There’s a moment of comfortable silence before Remus says, “James?”

“Yeah?” 

“I need a hug.” 

James gives the best hugs. Everyone says so. But until now, Remus has never been on the receiving end of a true James Potter hug—warm, strong, and friendly as hell. (“I want that on a t-shirt,” James says when Remus tells him so.)

But eventually, James has to go, too, and Remus heads back to the PT room. He passes Logan in the hall, looking like he’s been hit over the head with a two-by-four. Maybe it’s Finn’s doing; he had mentioned that one of them was oblivious. Logan, Remus knows, is the definition of oblivious. 

***

“And I think that’s all,” Coach Weasley says, glancing around, “Unless anyone else has something to say? Moody? Cap? Loops?” 

“Actually, yes,” says Remus after a moment. “Checkups! Not naming names but Kris lied about his rib acting up so now all of you get to be interrogated.” 

Sirius swallows. He’s not anxious to be alone with Remus; not after yesterday. There’s no way there aren’t going to be questions. 

Kasey goes first, Remus taking just under five minutes to deem him ‘good to go.’ Kris, surprisingly, is only kept for eight, despite the claim of his ribs acting up again. Finn takes the longest—fifteen minutes—and as soon as he’s out he grabs Logan and Leo by the wrists and marches them off somewhere. Sirius’s turn comes last, right after Pascal’s, who gives him a knowing look as he enters.

“Hi,” Remus says, first aid kit nowhere in sight. “Sit down.” 

“Where?” Sirius gets only a shrug in response. 

He hesitates a moment, then sits on the floor, picking at the sole of his sneaker. 

“How are you feeling?” Remus asks suddenly.

“Fine. Ankle’s not bothering me any more.”

“No, I mean how are you feeling?”

Scoffing, he starts to stand up. “I’m not doing this.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.” 

“Sirius Black, sit your ass back down before I make you.” 

Sirius sits his ass back down. 

“Good. Now, how are you feeling?” 

“I’m… confused,” he says, trying to be honest without being specific. “And nervous. And I cried myself to sleep last night, which I haven’t done since I was like seventeen, so there’s that. But mostly I’m just really fucking mad.” 

“At me.” It isn’t a question. 

“No, not at you! At me! At the—” he gestures wildly. “—Universe, or whatever. Can I go now?” 

Remus doesn’t even acknowledge his request. “So you’re disappointed.”

“...Yeah.” 

“May I ask why?” 

“I’m pretty sure you fucking know why.” 

“Maybe I do. But I’d like you to explain it to me.” 

The stupid thing is that Sirius wants to talk about it. He really does. And Remus is the only person he can conceivably talk about it to. But he still chokes on his words when he says, anger burning his throat, “It was never supposed to be like this.” 

“What do you mean by that?”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Sirius practically screams. “Stop trying to fucking— psychoalalyze me or something, for fuck’s sake. You fucking asked, and I—” He tears his fingers through his hair, feeling his chest start to constrict. “Just stop talking!” 

The echoes of his shouts fade out too quickly, and the only thing worse than the voices is the sound of his breathing getting faster and faster. Remus’s hand twitches, as though he wants to touch him but thinks better of it.

“It was always supposed to be someone different. Someone faceless; nameless. Someone I could run away from. I can’t fucking run away from you, Remus.

“I always thought I could lie. That I could—pretend, or something. Just keep hiding. It was supposed to be someone I could hide from, because I’ve spent my whole life fucking hiding and that’s all I know how to do. It was never supposed to be someone I could fall in love with.” 

There’s a choked noise from where Remus is sitting on the bench, but nothing else. Sirius refuses to look at him. 

“And I just—I just fucking hate this, because all I’ve been told is that hockey comes before my dreams. And that’s made sense until now because until now hockey was my dream, but now there’s you. Yeah.” 

Remus, to his credit, waits until Sirius’s breathing has calmed down and he’s furiously wiped the tears from his eyes to speak. “What do you need?” 

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean forget everything. Forget your family, forget the team, forget me—what do you need?  

“Right now? For the rest of my life? Because those are two very different things.” 

“Let’s start with now. Can I do anything for you? Can you do anything for yourself?” 

“I need a hot chocolate.” 

***

They wait until everyone else has gone, and then make their way outside to Sirius’s car. There’s only one other in the parking lot—a grey Toyota Remus thinks belongs to Nado, or maybe Kris. He’s not sure why he thinks it matters, because it doesn’t. 

Silence hangs around them the whole four blocks to the nearest Tim Horton’s. Inhale; exhale. Inhale; exhale. This doesn’t necessarily mean anything. 

That doesn’t stop Remus from hoping. 

He knows it’s wrong; of course he does. It’s Sirius’s choice, in the end, because Sirius is the one who will be most affected. His career, his life—all on the line if he decides to trust whatever plan the world has in store for them. It’s not like that for Remus. Not anymore. 

There’s a parking spot right outside the front door. Sirius pulls into it, but he doesn’t get out right away. He glances around, makes sure there’s no one immediately in sight, and then he looks down to where his hands now rest in in his lap. Slowly, he pulls up his right sleeve to expose, bit by bit, his soulmark. 

“I don’t know why I never guessed it could be you—Wolfy McWolf Wolf.” 

Remus feels his lips twitch upwards into something resembling a smile. “I could say the same, Dog Black.” 

When he puts his hand on the console, Sirius rests his on top of it. It’s not much. 

But it’s something. 

***

Sirius looks longingly at the Boston cream doughnuts. “Please. I haven’t had one in so long.” 

“Think again, Mr. I’m-on-a-diet-plan.” 

He’s not surprised. What was he thinking, having his PT as his soulmate? (Well, he wasn’t. He didn’t get to choose. But, he thinks to himself, the point still stands.) 

“I’ll have a medium hot chocolate, please, a plain toasted bagel,” Remus looks at him and sighs. “...And a Boston cream doughnut.” 

When the food is set down on the pickup counter, Remus snatches it before Sirius has a chance to. “Hey, this is my doughnut.” 

Sirius pouts. 

“You’re cute. Here.” He tosses him the brown paper bag, and Sirius removes his prize carefully. He‘s going to eat every piece of chocolate glazing if it kills him. 

Back out in the car—this is a conversation neither of them is willing to have in the public dining area—Remus chews on his bagel thoughtfully. Sirius tries and fails not to swear when his hot chocolate burns his tongue.

“Shit!” 

Remus glances over at him. Their eyes meet for a moment, then both look away. “So,” Sirius says after a while. “I think we need to talk.” 

“Yeah.” 

Silence, then—

“You go first,” they say at the same time, and laugh. Some of the tension is broken. 

Sirius reaches hesitantly to where Remus’s arm rests between the seats. He doesn’t need to voice his question—Remus sees it in his eyes; nods. 

Up close, he can see that there are a few differences between their marks. Nothing that could possibly mean they aren’t soulmates—just the discolouring on the dog’s tail; the angle of one of the sticks; the faded white gash that stretches from one side of Remus’s wrist to the other, separating the wolf’s head from its body. Sirius doesn’t quite know what he’s doing when he presses his lips to the scar. 

When he looks up, he sees that Remus is trying not to cry. And that’s when he makes his decision. 

“I want this,” he says, voice soft but sure. “All of it.”

#sweater weather lumosinlove #coops #soulmate au #remus lupin #sirius black #remus x sirius #sweater weather secret santa #tw: panic attack

[6rookie-writer0110]

Let's make a playlist of your favorite songs

Cassie Lang x Male Reader Stark

Request - Can you do Cassie lang x Stark!reader where he and cassie are the same age since they are born in 2007 and should be 16 in 2023. R is Tony's son and survived the snap. Before the snap he was best friend with Peter and ned when he was like a kid and the three of them hang out. Plue Y/n and peter do like spiderman ideas. After the snap he was living with Tony, pepper, and his little sister in the lakeside cabin. In the year 2021 he got bitten by a radioactive spider but has an alchemax logo and number 42.

Since you were a toddler you have been friends with Peter and Ned. Always together playing together. Even during high school, you didn't lose your friendship with Ned and Peter. You have always been into creating music and art, sometimes you would like to tag the buildings and the trains. Only, Peter and Ned knew they are your supporters.

Sometimes you and Peter would do parkour. You and Peter have sketchbooks and notes of being a hero and being called ’Spiderman’

You, Peter, and Ned never left each other side. People always saw you three spend time together all the time.

-----

Spring 2018... 50% of the population disappeared. The older you got, you started to study what happened during the fight against Thanos. You collected notes, hacked into your father’s computer and his friends’ computers then into Shields.

You survived the snap when you found out what happened it broke you. You cried when Peter didn't survive, or when your dad is stuck in space. You would spend hours in your father’s lab and look at his stuff.

”Y/N, I knew you would be here. You are like Tony can work on something for hours or days” Pepper said.

She put her hand on your shoulder.

”I miss him and Peter,” You said.

”I miss them too. You should see Ned, he came by earlier” Pepper said.

You nod.

”I will go see him. *sighed heavily* I want Thanos to suffer” You said.

”One day he will,” Pepper said and she kissed your head.

Later, you went to see Ned. Ned did give you new ideas for your spiderman gadgets so it won't break half of the time. You and Ned start to work together on it.

✬ ✫ ✯ ✬

The year 2021...

You walked through the alley for a short cut. You dropped your cell phone, you bend down to pick up. You stood up and checked your phone while walking you hit a web. You tried to get rid of the web and you didn't notice the radioactive spider crawl on your shoulder and bite your neck.

”What the hell?” You yelled.

You rub your neck then noticed the radioactive spider on your forearm. You noticed the spider has an alchemax logo and number 42.

”You are coming home with me” You mumbled.

You went home and straight to the lab. You put the spider in a small tank and watched it move around.

-----

The next day you woke up feeling strange. You couldn't explain it, you are in shock just seeing electricity go through your hands. You start to breathe hard and your heart started to beat fast. You go to the bathroom to wash your face suddenly you turned invisible.

”I have powers!” You yelled.

Your mood changed, now you are happy that you have powers. You always dreamt of being a hero and having powers, you couldn't stop smiling. You called Ned and told him to meet you at your house. Ned did help you figure out what kind of powers you have.

----

You stare at your father’s suits and you thought about using them. But you wanted to make your identity as a hero, you want to give people hope again.

the first suit you made with Ned it's an armored suit. Ned helped you pick out the colors red, white, and black. When Ned saw you wearing the armor suit, he freaked out.

”Dude, it's awesome! You will be the coolest hero ever” Ned said.

”Thanks. I can't wait to go to the city and start saving people” You said.

You and Ned high five each other. You go to the city and start saving people. Everyone started to talk about the new hero on tv and the Internet, you felt proud of yourself.

✬ ✫ ✯ ✬

Being a hero wasn't easy for you. You found out working alone is hard, some people didn't like what you are doing. Other people do cheer for you. Balancing life and being a hero is very hard. But you got an idea and you worked day and night to make the app called ’Friendly Neighborhood 1.0’

People can report crimes and you will go save them and keep you in the loop, what happens in the city.

Today is slow and no one is in trouble. You decided to go tag some places. You swing to an abandoned building, you take out the spray cans, and started to draw. You stopped to put on your headphones then you started to draw again. Once you are finished you took pictures then tagged the subways.

----

You got an alert on your app, gang gun shoots in downtown. You started to swing fast and you see people caught in the crossfire. You started to venom blast to fight them and you used your web to take their guns away. You noticed the boy is deaf and you started to do sign language and he smiled.

”You know sign language?” Cassie asked.

You nod. ” Yes. I thought to learn so I can communicate with someone who is deaf”

You asked questions to the boy and you're glad he isn't hurt.

”I’m Cassie and this is Roger,” Cassie said.

”I’m Spiderman,” You said and it in sign language.

Later on...

You and Cassie became friends. She found out your secret when your mask fell apart while fighting Kraven the Hunter. Sometimes you would swing to her place to see her. She would always smile when you're around.

---

Cassie noticed you set a spider-free and didn't kill it.

”I hate spiders I don't know how you stand them,” Cassie said.

”it was a harmless spider. I don't feel scared when bugs are around” You said.

”I hate all kinds of bugs. But it's cute, you liking bugs and not killing them, bug boy” Cassie smiled.

You laughed and smiled back at her.

”Bug boy?” You asked.

She nods.

”Your new nickname” Cassie giggled.

”Thanks for the nickname?” You giggled.

”Anytime, Y/N” Cassie smiled.

~The next day~

Cassie went to your house. She met Pepper then Cassie goes to your bedroom. Cassie didn't say anything, she watches you make beats and you started to sing, you have your headphones on. She kept watching you and you keep making beats. She tapped your shoulder and you looked up, your eyes opened wide.

”Cas!” You said too loud.

”Hi Bug boy. You are talented” Cassie said.

”Thanks. Sorry, I didn't hear you come in” You said.

”So, you're into music?” Cassie asked.

”Yes, also I'm into art. If you want I-I-I can show you my work” You said shyly.

”I will like to see it, Y/N,” Cassie said.

”Cool!” You said.

You grabbed your sketchbook and she starts to look at your art.

✬ ✫ ✯ ✬

The year 2022

You told Cassie you wanted to upgrade and design a new suit. Again Cassie caught you making beats this time you teach her how to make beats.

”This is fun, Y/N,” Cassie said.

”I’m happy that you're enjoying making beats,” You said.

”Y/N aren't you scared when you swing around the city?” Cassie asked.

”At the very beginning, I was terrified when I would swing and jump from extremely tall buildings. Much later on, the fear went away so I'm not scared anymore. If you want you can swing with me around the city” You said.

”Okay. That would be an interesting experience, but yeah let's do it. Oh, I got an idea how your suit can look” Cassie said.

”Tell me,” You said.

Cassie started to explain how your suit should look with what colors. Music is the main inspiration for your suit 2020.

----

You are standing on the roof with Cassie. She wrapped her arms around you very tight.

”Ready?” You asked.

”Y-yes,” Cassie said.

You hold her tight and you start to swing. Cassie’s heart is beating faster and faster, you feel her grip tighten. You keep swinging and you noticed how scared she is. You stopped on top of the hotel building.

”Are you okay?” You asked.

She put her hand on her chest.

”No!” Cassie yelled.

You laughed and she smacked your arm.

”I’m guessing you had fun?” You teased.

”I got scared halfway. I thought I was going to fall, I don't know you get used to that” Cassie said.

”Takes time. I got over my fear the more I started to swing” You said.

”I won't do it again,” Cassie said and you laughed.

----

Cassie is sick and you went to buy soup for her. You knocked on her window, she opened it and let you in then you take off the mask.

”I got this for you, Cassie,” You said.

”Thank you, Y/N” Cassie smiled.

”Cassie, I know we been friends for a while but I really like you a lot and I hope we can be more than friends,” You said.

”Y/N, I like you too a lot. I would kiss you but I don't want you to get sick” Cassie said.

You smiled and she sneezed.

You and Cassie do spend time together mostly watching tv or movies. Cassie finds it sweet that you're taking care of her. You gave her medicine and reheat the soup. Later, you and Cassie do play board games, video games and asked questions about each other.

You noticed Cassie has in her bedroom for a while. You go upstairs and you can hear her crying

You sit next to her on the bed ”Cas, what's wrong?”

”I miss my dad so much” Cassie cried.

You wrapped your arms around her and she starts to cry more. You rub her back and you listen to her.

You did try to make her feel better worked for a little bit, but she is still feeling depressed. You stayed with her all-day

✬ ✫ ✯ ✬

Finally, your 2020 suit is complete. You can't stop smiling and start to put on the suit. The led mask, you loved it when Cassie told you about it. You got an alert on your app

”Time to test out the suit,” You said.

”Be careful, Y/N” Cassie said.

”I will,” You said.

Cassie watched you swing away.

You were busy saving people, Doctor Octopus and Kraven the Hunter kidnapped Cassie. They sent you a message and you got angry. You started to swing rapidly to Doctor Octopus’s lab. Cassie is tied up in a chair and she is feeling terrified.

You start to fight them. You used venom blast to punch Kraven, then Doctor Octopus grabbed you. Kraven punched you then you kicked him in the face and you used your web to cover Doctor Octopus’s face. You turned invisible and you started to fight them.

----

You grabbed Cassie and left the lab. You stopped on a roof and she hugged you tight then she smacked your chest.

”What was that for?!” You yelled.

”You know I hate it,” Cassie said.

”I’m not a speedster. I had to swing us away from them” You said.

You take off the mask.

”I know but I still hate it,” Cassie said.

Cassie started to ramble on then you did the same ramble on. She kissed you and you kiss her back, you and Cassie pulled apart and smiled. It's the first kiss.

✬ ✫ ✯ ✬

Time Skip~

Everything changed for the best. You found out Tony came back from space, you ran to him and hugged him.

”I missed you, dad,” You said

He kissed your head and held you tight.

”I love you 3000, Y/N,” Tony said.

Peter came back and he hugged you and Ned. Ned told everyone by mistake you are dating Cassie. No one knew about the relationship just yet.

”Sorry, bro,” Ned said.

”When we will get to meet her, Y/N,” Tony said.

”Soon, dad. Don't worry about it, Ned” You said.

You celebrated with everyone and you can't stop smiling.

----

You and your family moved to the woods, now live in a cabin. Now it feels like a family and you don't want that to change. Your little sister started to scream and ran towards Pepper.

”Why do you have a pet spider?” Tony asked.

”I hate spiders,” Morgan said.

Pepper was going to kill your pet but you stopped her.

”Stop!” You yelled.

The spider is in your hands.

”The spider is my pet. I got used to him being around” You said.

”Y/N, I will never understand why. But please just keep him in the cage” Pepper said.

”I will,” You said.

You go to your bedroom and put the spider in the tank. You feed him and just watch him.

✬ ✫ ✯ ✬

Date Night...

You arrived with pizza and she kissed you. You and Cassie played videos and it became competitive. You were going to take her out, but there is a rainstorm. The night is going well, she is having fun with you. You and Cassie eat pizza and started to debate what is the best movie and worst movie.

Later, you and Cassie started to play Uno but you and Cassie argued about the rules. You and Cassie eat more pizza and tried to play Uno again. Later, you and Cassie watched a movie on the couch, but end up falling asleep.

----

Scott found out what happened, he is in shock. He rushed home and knocked on the door. Cassie opened the door, they start to cry and they hugged each other. You did spend the night at her place, then Cassie introduces you to Scott.

“Wait, you're Tony’s son!?” Scott said.

“Yeah, I'm his son,” You said.

“Hurt my daughter and I will go after you,” Scott said.

“Dad!” Cassie yelled.

“I won't break her heart,” You said.

“I will keep my eye on you, Y/N,” Scott said.

“UGH!” Cassie mumbled.

Later, Scott joined you and Cassie for breakfast.

---

Later, you meet up with Peter to show him your 2020 suit. Peter is loving the suit and asked many questions about how you build your suit. You and Peter worked together to save people.

#cassie lang #cassie lang x reader #Cassie lang x male reader #Cassie Lang imagine #marvel x male reader #marvel imagine

[alexbraindump]

Night in the Woods & Optimistic Nihilism, Pt. 1: Constellations

“So I believe in a universe that doesn’t care and people who do.”

Night in the Woods manages to create one of the most realistic narratives I’ve ever seen crafted in a video game. And that’s a bold statement, one that shouldn’t be tossed around lightly. Yet I feel entirely concrete in saying it. It’s quite the diverse game, dealing with a range of topics so wide that it’d be hard to cover all of them in one single post. I hope to cover more of them someday, but today I’ll be narrowing in on one specific point that resonated especially well with me personally: finding purpose in an existence that is inherently devoid of it.

And it’s here that I’m going to say that, to anyone who hasn’t played NITW yet, stop reading this right now and go pick it up. It’s only $20 and with it comes an experience that remains consistently enjoyable and impactful throughout its entire runtime. I won’t be holding back from relevant spoilers for the rest of this post, so now’s your only chance. Go away. But come back once you’ve played the game. That’d be pretty cool I think.

~~~~~~~~~~~MILD SPOILER TERRITORY BELOW~~~~~~~~~~~

Now that the uninitiated are gone, it’s finally time to wrap back around to that quote at the beginning of this post. A universe that doesn’t care, and people who do. It perfectly aligns with the definition of optimistic nihilism, a term seemingly dubbed by a youtube channel in 2017. For those who are unaware, optimistic nihilism is exactly what it says on the tin. It’s the philosophy that the universe is inherently uncaring, that there’s no concrete meaning to life that we can grasp onto, yet we as human beings are uniquely capable of creating our own meaning without requiring some higher power or order to do it for us. We can choose to pursue what we wish for out of our lives, free to choose our own individualized path through the blank slate that is existence and draw whatever patterns we may choose from it.

As you read through that brief summary you may have already begun to understand exactly why I consider Night in the Woods to align particularly well with optimistic nihilism. The game is not exactly lacking in the theme of finding meaning within things that may be meaningless in the most literal sense. It’s been there since the very beginning, with NITW’s first supplemental game Longest Night. It’s a simple little game featuring Mae, Bea, Gregg and Angus identifying various constellations and making characteristically entertaining quips about each of them. Despite the game’s relative simplicity it acts as an early (over 3 years before NITW itself released!) establishment of NITW’s ever-present theme of establishing meaning in things that don’t have meaning by themselves by using one simple thing: constellations.

Constellations are a perfect medium to establish the philosophy of optimistic nihilism and it is evident that Infinite Fall were acutely aware of that from a very early point in the development of NITW. All constellations really are just patterns of stars we may see in the sky at night that people have assigned their own patterns and meanings to. Most stars sit so far away from the Earth that the human brain struggles to even comprehend how far away they truly are beyond a simple “Wow! That’s pretty far!” They’re balls of gas, unable to care about or even recognize whatever we humans see within them. Most of them have existed for longer than we have and will continue to persist long after we die. Yet the human race has taken it upon themselves to assign patterns to them and continue recognizing said patterns long after we’ve obtained knowledge about what the stars that form them truly are. In nature they hold no inherent meaning and have no rhyme nor reason to their locations relative to each other from our perspective, yet we have used our minds to instill meaning into them and draw patterns that can only be drawn from where we stand. The universe did not care about how it put them there nor how any living being may interpret them, but people cared enough to give them meaning.

Years after the release of Longest Night, Night in the Woods proper came out. And in it the usage of stars was far from ditched. Their function as being one of the elements perpetuating NITW’s optimistic nihilism was only expanded. Every two days in the game you are offered the opportunity to choose to hunt for dusk stars with a character named Mr. Chazokov. The interactions with him themselves don’t offer much in the ways of adding upon the pre-established theme of finding meaning within none, though their mere inclusion does help cement the theme as an important part of the game. The true point in which the theme is finally brought front and center is when the player can choose to go ghost hunting with Angus at Possum Jump. After some uneventful ghost hunting, Mae and Angus decide to rest at the top of a hill and do some stargazing. At this point the game essentially retraces (literally and figuratively) all the ground covered in Longest Night. Mae connects constellations together and Angus names them and gives a brief explanation for each of them. It’s a charming little moment that eventually evolves into Angus explaining the abuse he endured throughout his childhood to Mae. But what’s relevant to this specific analysis is Angus’s attitude throughout. He continually stays true to and loops back upon the fact that, while the stars themselves are very real and the stories given to them do very much exist, the stars really don’t mean anything by themselves. It all culminates with Angus explaining his tragic childhood to Mae. But what’s important to the overall narrative of this essay is Angus’s response when Mae asks him if he believes in anything.

It’s at this point that the game gives its most obvious addressal to its philosophy of optimistic nihilism. It’s like the pot finally boils over and it says “alright, time to finally talk about this.” As a response to being prompted about his beliefs, Angus explains his thoughts by using the constellations recently outlined as a convenient example. It’s here that the quote that spurred this whole essay on shows its head. “So I believe in a universe that doesn’t care and people who do,” is the final quote summarizing Angus’s philosophy on meaning in the universe. And if that isn’t the clearest possible representation of optimistic nihilism in NITW then I don’t know what is. It’s a simple little quote, yet it manages to single handedly encapsulate what optimistic nihilism is. Of course, it’s framed as the view of one character in the game, and a character thinking something doesn’t immediately mean that the entire work subscribes to that philosophy, but as you think about NITW and its various elements more and more it becomes increasingly apparent that it is indeed representative of the philosophy of optimistic nihilism.

And with that vague statement I’ll be leaving off the first part of this little mini-project for the time being. I do intend to come back to it at some point in the (hopefully near) future, as I feel that there’s a lot more that could be said about the themes of finding meaning in Night in the Woods. Currently I’m planning on writing about why I enjoy Mae Borowski as a character so much and see her as one of my favorite video game protagonists, so that’ll probably be done before any other parts to this essay come out. Keep an eye out if you enjoy what I’m posting and want to see more, and don’t be afraid to offer any feedback you may have. There’s a contact section on my profile if you’d like the most effective ways to get in touch.

#night in the woods #nitw #analysis #optimistic nihilism #writing #fiction #nitw angus #night in the wood angus #angus delaney #video games #games #indie game #longest night #nitw spoilers

[taizi]

the ship sways but the heart is steady

chapter two: how the light gets in 

the untamed pairing: jiang cheng & wei ying, lan zhan/wei ying word count: 3713 summary: Wei Ying’s friends are at rock-bottom, and Wei Ying puts his life on hold to help them put theirs back together. To absolutely no one’s surprise except Wei Ying’s, his family goes with him. read on ao3

x

“We’re here,” Wen Qing says, bringing Jiang Cheng out of an involuntary doze. He realizes that the car has stopped.

He can’t see much of the estate through the glare on the windshield, so he glances into the backseat. Wei Ying is still very much dead to the world, and still sprawled against Lan Zhan, who is playing what sounds like Candy Crush on Wei Ying’s phone. Wen Ning is fast asleep on Lan Zhan’s opposite shoulder with the rabbit crate nestled safely in the loose loop of his arms.

It can’t possibly be comfortable for any of them, except maybe the rabbits.

“I’ll extract you in a sec,” Wen Qing says.

“Take your time,” Lan Zhan replies peacefully.

Rolling his eyes, Jiang Cheng drags himself out of the car. The dry heat smacks into him like a solid wall. Stretching stiff muscles, he gazes across the overgrown yard. It’s—alright, it’s a lot.

The whole property is clearly old farmland gone to seed. There’s some rusted equipment all choked through with weeds sitting off to one side of a dirt road, which wings around to a distant structure that must have once been a barn. Goldenrod is growing all over the place, and with the late afternoon sun baking overheard, it really adds to the illusion that everything has been bathed yellow.  

The villa itself is both better and worse than Jiang Cheng was expecting. It has exterior walls, at least. And most of a roof. Maybe once, it might have been someone’s pride and joy.

Wen Qing leaves the engine running, circling around the front of the car to stand next to Jiang Cheng. Her eyes look ancient with fear.

“I don’t know if we can do this,” she says. She’ll only say it now, where her brother and her best friend can’t hear. She’ll be strong all the rest of the time.

Jiang Cheng can’t begrudge her this important, much-needed moment of weakness. He bumps their shoulders together. He lets her lean on him for a bit. Jiang Cheng isn’t either of his siblings—he doesn’t know how to be a voice of comfort. The best he can do is just be here.

“What’s that stupid thing you and your siblings always say before you do something that almost gets you killed?” Wen Qing asks suddenly.

Immediately defensive, because he’s the one who started it back when he was like seven and Yanli and Wei Ying thought it was adorable and wouldn’t let it die, Jiang Cheng snaps, “It’s not stupid. It’s fucking—motivational.”

“It can be both. You’re living proof.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

She sighs, that familiar laughing sound that defangs Jiang Cheng in one fell swoop.

“‘Attempt the impossible,’” he recites grudgingly.

The sun is steadily sinking lower through the sky. All the daytime color is deep and rich now with the promise of evening, everything on the brink of shadow. A breeze rolls through the yard, catching Jiang Cheng’s hair and tossing it into his eyes. It carries smells he can’t recognize, smokey and woodsy, a little floral, clean.

There’s no smog, no oppressive diesel or baked garbage smell, no heavy industry works bleeding its fumes all over the place. It smells the way summer smelled in the books A-Li used to read to him.

He’ll get used to the heat, Jiang Cheng thinks. Summer has always been his favorite season. He doesn’t know if he’ll get used to the smell.

“Did you ever manage it?” Wen Qing asks quietly. “The impossible?”

Jiang Cheng can’t help but smile, half a dozen memories crowding forward in the space of a heartbeat. Him, and his brother, and his sister, always together. Never apart. Keeping each other safe, and even more importantly, keeping each other happy.

“All the time,” he says.

It must be the right thing to say. Wen Qing stands a little taller. Her expression goes so firm with resolve that Jiang Cheng would never have believed that she’d wavered if he hadn’t seen it for himself.

This was right, he realizes. It finally quiets the uncertain voice still loitering around in the back of his mind. Coming here for her was right.

#

Wei Ying is much more enthusiastic about the decrepit property than Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing combined, and for the life of him, Jiang Cheng can’t decide how much of it is an act to make the Wens feel better about their circumstances. It seems largely genuine.

“Can you believe how huge this house is?” Wei Ying says gleefully, somewhere in the middle of his third lap around the property. “Babe, the dining room is as big as our entire apartment!”

Lan Zhan smiles at him, likely just because he called him ‘babe’. Jiang Cheng is going to throw up on both of them at least once.

The inside is not actually quite as depressing as they feared. There’s old furniture stacked up in most of the rooms, each individual piece moldy and cobwebbed and not likely to support anyone’s weight without breaking in half, and collections of miscellaneous things, like ten-thousand stacks of newspapers in the study, and just as many empty wine bottles out on the back porch.

But there’s something to it, Jiang Cheng can’t deny that. Some sort of presence to it. A history, maybe, that haunts all these empty spaces that used to be full and busy and lived-in. It makes him linger over an old console table at the end of the second floor hallway, with a dusty jewelry box sitting on top. There are someone’s ruined treasures inside. This was someone’s home.

Maybe it could be that again.

“We’ll have to drive into town for dinner,” Wen Qing says, surveying their progress in the living room. They’ve set up camp there, since they’re losing too much light to do much else. “And flashlights. The electric company promised they’d have an inspector out here in the morning.”

Wei Ying collapses onto a dusty sofa, which is probably actively infested with something, or at the very least was at some point, and pats at the cushion next to him until Lan Zhan unfolds himself from his seat on a wine crate and joins him there.

“This place really isn’t that bad, A-Qing,” Wei Ying says. “You made it sound like they’d gutted it down to the studs.”

“That’s how it was described to me,” she says. She seems a lot firmer on her feet, now that she’s walked the length of the place and knows firsthand that it probably isn’t going to collapse on top of their heads at a moment’s notice. “What was it our cousin called it, A-Ning?”

“A rathole,” Wen Ning says helpfully, feeding the rabbits bits of dried rosemary out of his hands. “He said he was glad it was our problem and not his.”

“He’s probably just angry it wasn’t left to him in nainai’s will,” Wen Qing says.

“Is this your cousin who got kicked out of school for driving his professor’s car off a bridge or the one who was arrested for breaking and entering?” Wei Ying asks.

“Same cousin,” Wen Ning says. “He’s not very nice.”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to asshole relatives, so he stands up and says, “Let’s get a move on. We’re already gonna be coming back in the dark. A-Ning, put the rabbits away. Lan Zhan, stop mooning over my brother.”

“If it’s gonna be dark by the time we get back anyway, there’s time for mooning,” Wei Ying grumbles.

He squeaks and scrambles over the back of the sofa when Jiang Cheng advances on him, and Wen Qing berates them for trying to break what little furniture they have three minutes after they fucking got here, and for a few minutes the old house is packed to the rafters with shouting and laughter as they jostle each other out the door.

It already feels a little fuller than it did when they arrived, in a way that has nothing to do with the suitcases stacked in the hall.

#

Jiang Cheng gets up the morning feeling unfairly jet-lagged. Everyone else is awake already, sitting on the floor of the kitchen, eating dry cereal because the fridge isn’t running yet and things like milk are still only a distant dream. They greet him with a round of sleepy but sincere hellos and Wei Ying passes him a box of Lucky Charms. 

Lan Zhan, who bought a camping generator and a power strip when they went to town the night before, holds his hand out for Jiang Cheng’s phone. Jiang Cheng surrenders it so it can be charged and refuses to admit out loud that he’s glad that Lan Zhan is marrying into his family.

By the time the inspector arrives, they’re picking their way through the junk in the kitchen. “Start with one room,” Wei Ying says, likely repeating the helpful Youtuber whose DIY videos he paid an obscene amount of his fiance’s money on the in-flight WiFi to watch. “Make it ours.”

So they’re clearing out cabinets and removing ancient rodent carcasses and sorting dusty glassware into possibly-salvageable and definitely-garbage piles when a loud knock draws their attention down the hall to the foyer where a friendly-looking, if bemused, man in a hard hat is standing on the threshold of the open front door.

Wen Qing shoves a blender into Jiang Cheng’s hands that probably hasn’t blended a damn thing in thirty years and pats as much dust off of her person as she can.

“You’ve got this,” Wei Ying says with enough belief to power a small aircraft. “And if you need me to flirt with him for any reason, just say the word. Lan Zhan will understand.”

Lan Zhan won’t understand, if Jiang Cheng is as good at reading his mico-expressions as he thinks he is. The inspector, who could clearly hear Wei Ying’s voice from like ten feet away, is already grinning when Wen Qing introduces herself.

Ultimately, after a walk around the house, the inspector has good news and bad news. He starts with the bad news.

“It could be a lot worse,” he says frankly. “But this building is practically an antique, and it hasn’t been upgraded in two decades, at least. We might be able to get away with a partial wiring, but anything less than a full one would leave you at a real risk of an electrical fire.”

Wen Qing’s whole body goes stiff. Wen Ning steps up beside her, taking her hand in one of his bandaged ones.

“A full rewiring then,” he says, firm in the way he only is when someone else needs him to be. “We’ll figure it out.”

Apparently sympathetic, the man nods. He imparts the good news. “We’ll get started on the repairs right away. I can probably get some guys out as early as this afternoon, and it shouldn’t take longer than a week.” After a beat, he adds, “We can arrange a payment plan when all’s said and done. I’m not going to hound you about a lump sum up front. We’re a pretty close-knit community out here, pretty neighborly. Don’t be surprised if you’ve got people poking their heads in at you soon.”

Wen Qing, who grew up in LA, seems to need a minute to digest that. Wen Ning seems automatically delighted.

“Hey, thanks for everything,” Wei Ying says when the inspector starts to head back to his truck.

The inspector grins and taps his hard hat in reply, looking amused. Jiang Cheng doesn’t have to search farther than two inches past Wei Ying’s shoulder to find out why.

“Jesus Christ, Lan Zhan, they’re not going to elope,” Jiang Cheng says, shoving him back towards the kitchen. “Wei Ying has literally never looked at another human being since the first time he looked at you.”

“Aww,” Wen Ning says.

“Shut up, that wasn’t—it’s annoying! Not cute!”

“It can be both things,” Wen Qing says dryly. She’s smiling.

#

Through some grace of god, the plumbing is sound. Unlike the wiring, the pipes were replaced recently enough that they’re not made of lead or polybutylene or anything else that will make them violently sick from bathing or drinking out of the tap.

This leads Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying on an expedition to the basement in search of the hot water heater. Jiang Cheng could fucking cry when they find out it’s one of those huge gas-powered tanks. Wei Ying looks up how to turn the gas on without exploding the place into tiny pieces, because of course he has data out here even though no one else does, and it’s as simple as turning a valve they find in the middle of some big fuck-off spiderwebs.

“Hot showers tonight!” Wei Ying sings when they make it back upstairs, significantly more dusty than they were when they descended. Wen Ning gazes at them with such open admiration that Jiang Cheng doesn’t want to admit there was literally no skill involved in the process at all.

The electricity inspector is proven right about curious visitors exactly four hours after he said it, as a warbling little voice calls, “Hello?” from the front porch.

The kitchen is in the middle of a thorough scrubbing, and Wen Ning isn’t allowed to put his hands anywhere near chemicals or heat or anything, really, aside from the lazy rabbits, so he pops up to his feet and scurries to the front of the house in a desperate bid to do something productive.

“A-jie,” he calls a moment later, in a tone that gets Wen Qing’s attention faster than a fucking lightning bolt from the sky probably would have. Her urgency is distracting. The rest of them don’t want to keep cleaning cabinets while Something Is Happening, so Jiang Cheng, Wei Ying and Lan Zhan get up and follow after a minute of pretending to work.

There’s a little old woman, probably well into her seventies, holding one of each of the Wen siblings’ hands and talking warmly. A little boy is clinging to her leg, peering up at them with wide eyes.

Granny, as she insists they call her, has lived in this town her whole life, and was a close friend of Wen Qing and Wen Ning’s grandparents.

“I heard about the fire,” she says, clutching their hands, “and I want you to know that I’ll help you however I can. There’s not much heavy lifting I can do, really, but—cooking and cleaning, I am more than capable of!”

Jiang Cheng, who had respect for his elders literally beaten into him growing up, would sooner walk into traffic than he would let this kind old woman clean for him. The sentiment is clearly echoed on all of his friends’ faces, and his brother steps forward to look at her with big, liquid eyes.

“Granny, you’ll stay and keep us company even if we don’t have any interesting stuff for you to do, won’t you? Even if all you do is sit here in the shade and chat with us for a bit? It’ll break my heart if you don’t, it really will.”

This earns Wei Ying a fond pat on the cheek, as he’s adopted by Granny on the spot. She does stay for a few hours, and they make a meal out of some day-old donuts and chips and sunflower seeds. Jiang Cheng watches Granny visibly come to the conclusion that they’re all incapable of feeding themselves, and something needs to be done about it, even if she politely declines to say it out loud.

Her grandson, A-Yuan, has picked his way cautiously to the little makeshift enclosure they’ve constructed for the rabbits, and crouches next to it to look in at them with wide, wanting eyes.

“Do you want to pet them?” Wei Ying says. The answer is obviously yes, no matter that A-Yuan shyly ducks his head and doesn’t answer, so Wei Ying lifts the white rabbit out and places it carefully in the child’s lap. “This is Bao. She’s my favorite. Don’t tell Pidan.”

A-Yuan giggles, carefully petting Bao’s velvety ears with the tips of his fingers. Bao is content to just sit there and soak up the affection until the end of days, the most laid-back creature on the planet.

“Pidan?” A-Yuan asks, glancing inquisitively at the black rabbit, who is chewing noisily on a piece of cardboard.

“Her sister,” Wei Ying says, lifting the black rabbit out and putting it next to Bao. A-Yuan is laughing fully, now, gifted with too much rabbit for his tiny arms to contain. “She’s silly and annoying and a trouble-maker. For some reason, she’s Lan Zhan’s favorite. Don’t tell Bao.”

“For some reason,” Lan Zhan intones solemnly. He’s looking at Wei Ying the way he’s always looking at him.

“I can’t stand this,” Jiang Cheng says to Wen Qing. “There has to be something else for me to clean, far away from them.”

“Have you seen where you are? There’s a million things for you to clean.”

But she gets up when he does, and they wander through the mostly-clean kitchen and into the pantry, where the shelves are nearly fully-stocked with foods at least ten years past their expiration. Sighing, Wen Qing ties back her hair. The curve of her neck is disarmingly delicate.

Jiang Cheng glances away quickly and refuses to think about why.

#

There’s a spigot in the conservatory that refuses to work. There’s a wall dividing the dining room and the living room that just doesn’t make sense. There’s broken windows and holes in the roof. Wen Ning walks across the second floor balcony to release an angry squirrel that they found in a wardrobe and nearly falls over the edge when the wrought iron railing bends beneath his weight. The yard and the grounds are an outright disaster.

The plot on the west side of the house was once home to a small vineyard, which explains some of the tubing and big gallon buckets they found in the conservatory. The original owners must have made their own fruit wine. The land by the barn is fenced off in a way that suggests a vegetable garden, and the rest of the considerable acreage is eaten up by the edge of a big lake, the remains of a dock leaning out over the water.

It’s all neglected, overgrown, untamed.

But, Jiang Cheng thinks, almost a month after they arrived, it’s getting there.

The last time it rained, he and Wei Ying and Wen Ning ran through the house looking for leaks, and couldn’t find a single one. For some reason it was so fucking exciting to have a roof without holes that they called people about it.

Yanli was ecstatic. Lan Huan, who, Jiang Cheng thinks, still doesn’t fully understand why his brother and future brother-in-law disappeared to California to begin with, was bemused but very happy for them. Granny brought over a strawberry sponge cake in celebration.

She’s been spending more time at the villa, anyway. One of the guest rooms has become hers, for those nights that dinner runs late and Wei Ying employs his wide gray eyes and convinces her not to drive home in the dark. All of them are more than okay with it, because otherwise she would go home to an empty house with no one for company but a four-year-old, and that makes Jiang Cheng’s stomach feel sour.

Granny says that A-Yuan has gotten attached, but she doesn’t specify what he’s attached to. It could be the bunnies, it could be all the wide open space to run around in, and it could just as well could be Jiang Cheng’s idiot brother, who carries A-Yuan around on his shoulders or under his arm tirelessly and threatens to plant him with the radishes every time he misbehaves.

They returned the rental car because someone in town had an old truck they didn’t mind parting with. There’s no A/C, but it’s not exactly a hardship to crank the windows down and drive really fast instead. Jiang Cheng usually volunteers Wei Ying for trips into town with him, because, even though he would die before he’d admit it out loud, it’s nice to have his brother to himself for a change.

If Yanli were here, he thinks, trudging through the little grocery store and deflecting most of Wei Ying’s attempts to sneak stupid shit into their shopping cart, it would actually be perfect.

#

They’re piled on the new second-hand sofa and a couple salvaged leather armchairs in the living room, watching a Dreamworks movie with A-Yuan on the satellite TV that Lan Zhan’s fuck-off bank account secured for them, when Wei Ying’s phone rings.

Wei Ying is sharing one of the recliners with Lan Zhan, tucked into his fiance’s lap with his legs draped over the arm of the chair and his head tucked into Lan Zhan’s shoulder, and it looks as though it would take an act of god to move him.

“Here,” Wen Qing says, amused, and leans over to pass the phone to Jiang Cheng.

“What are you good for if you won’t even answer your own phone?” Jiang Cheng grumbles without heat.

“Eye-candy,” Wei Ying says shamelessly.

“Hello?” he says loudly into the phone so he won’t have to spend a second thinking about what his own brother just fucking said to him.

“A-Cheng,” Yanli says.

“Oh, A-Li,” Jiang Cheng says, smiling automatically. “You didn’t call this morning. I meant to call you after dinner, but my phone died, because someone hogged the charger to play Candy Crush all day.”

Lan Zhan gazes at him serenely.

“A-Cheng,” Yanli says again, very gently. “Are you with A-Ying?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jiang Cheng says. His smile is fading. After a life spent reading verbal cues from his siblings, something about Yanli’s tone has his stomach doing somersaults. “He’s right here. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Wei Ying sitting up. A-Yuan’s bright little voice is asking what’s wrong, and Wen Ning is shushing him. Wen Qing’s hand covers Jiang Cheng’s free one, as light and insubstantial as a bird landing on a telephone wire, until the second he needs a firmer hold.

“Of course I am, I’m okay.”

“A-Li,” he says, feeling light-headed. “What’s wrong?”

With a deep, shuddering breath, she tells him.

#the untamed #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #yunmeng shuangjie #wangxian #jiang cheng #wei ying #lan zhan #wen qing #wen ning #wen yuan #jiang yanli #my writing #mdzs fic #the ship sways #surprise i have this weekend off so i wrote the next chapter just for the hell of it :^)

[rvmmm21]

[ V V S her diamonds ]

summary : seungwan is an idiot, joohyun is an idiot. cupid rips his hair out in frustration.

small note : please yell at galaxygerbil for me. for putting justin freaking bieber’s ‘anyone’ in my head on loop for centuries and for the hectic mess that i am when i read their fics. this is an attempt the only genre i have been skirting around because i just cannot read/write angst. if this ages decently, yay.

p.s. characters are from my first wenrene university au (you know who i am?) so it’s identical in regards to characters and the au itself, but a different plot. 

tw : slight angst (but it’s all cupid’s), perpetual urge to scream.

[senior!irene x junior!wendy]

. . .

[5:15p.m.] Seungwan rushes past the temptation of bookshops, restaurants and arcades. She silently curses when she very nearly falls flat on her face from an uneven bit of pavement.

. . .

“Seungwan-ah!” Yerim calls out, retracting her debit card from the exasperated cashier and waving Seungwan towards her. “Come, hurry up and order something.”

The blonde shyly weaves through the crowded little arcade cafe, eliciting pointed looks and grunts from hungry patrons. She leaves the ‘I-dare-you-to-challenge-my-best-friend-right-now’ stare to Yerim. 

Seungwan reaches the counter with a huff. “What are you guys getting?” 

“I got bibimmyeon.” The younger glances over her shoulder at Seulgi who’s scrolling through her phone at the table in the corner. “Uh, i think Seul got pork mandu.”

Seungwan holds up two fingers and a polite smile. “Two bibimmyeon, please.”

The cashier inputs their orders with a click of a button, swiping Yerim’s card through the reader.

The duo shuffle away with a number card on a metal stand, heading for the table under the stairs. A harassed Seulgi barely notices her friends sitting down.

“You’re here?” She clicks her phone off and begins rummaging through her Muji pencil case for a pencil. “What did you get? I think we’re pulling an all-nighter.”

“Bibimmyeon, same as Yerimie.” Seungwan grimaces, more at the possibility of another sleepless night. But such is university life. Plus, she’d much rather her friends keep her accountable than procrastinate alone. Especially on projects that weighed so heavily on her final grade.

Yerim elbows Seungwan, who suddenly notices she’s the last to get her materials out.

Like clockwork, the three get to work, the clicking of their keyboards overtaken by frantic plastic clicking of various 90’s arcade machines.

Thankfully, food is served right as they’re wrapping up chapter three, the worst one of them all. Seungwan, Seulgi and Yerim scarf down their food like girls ten years starved, focused on feeding the demands of their stomachs rather than their assignments.

. . .

The sun retires past the blue-purple horizon, leaving three burnt out students standing outside a closed cafe, clutching laptops and notebooks in the dark. They hastily make plans again for next week’s study date, sweeping the forgotten all-nighter under the rug, all too eager to head home and shut the door in the faces of their due dates and exams.

“Same time next week?” Seungwan asks after a yawn.

Seulgi shakes her head, squinting at her calendar app. “I have dance tryouts then. Can we do Thursday instead? We can meet at the same time then, or even earlier.”

Yerim agrees to everything, seconds away from falling asleep on her feet. 

“Alright,” the blonde sighs, plugging the aux cable into her phone and flipping through her Spotify. “See you guys then. Yerimie bring your own highlighter next time.”

Everyone mumbles, turning their own ways.

. . .

“YAH!”

The rude exclamation of a tall, red-faced boy while his smaller friend stands meekly behind him blares attention bells to the furthest corner of their university cafeteria.

Seungwan pauses mid-chew to shush a pouting Yerim, who’s upset that her funny dog story was interrupted right as it was getting good. They face the commotion and Seungwan beholds a pair of steely eyes gazing boredly from underneath the brim of a black Yankee baseball cap.

That signature glare belongs to none other than Bae Joohyun, someone the junior recognises instantly from (truthfully much more than) one of their shared literature electives. And of course, beside her stands her equally as intimidating friends, Park Sooyoung and Kim Jennie. 

And the hothead is the only person who’d be stupid enough to challenge a trio like that: fresh campus casanova, Wong Lucas. Seungwan’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, but she isn’t surprised.

Everyone’s attention has been commanded now, but if the boy cared, he didn’t show it.

“Yah, freshman.” Jennie snaps, gripping her mocha latte and stepping to the front while Sooyoung suspiciously eyes him and his friend. “Speak with some respect. What’s wrong with you! We’re your seniors.”

The meek girl behind him looks terrified, curly mousy-brown ponytails shadowing the cold sweat visibly beading on her forehead. She almost moves to say something but Lucas stops her with a firm hand, turning back to continue berating the girl in the cap.

“You couldn’t even let her talk?!” The irony is lost on him, as a frown settles on his arched eyebrows, frustration frosting over his features. “She told me you rejected her before she could finish. Did you have to speak so rudely? Do you know how hard it is to confess?”

A hint of apprehension creeps into Sooyoung’s expression and Jennie fights the urge to splash her drink right in his face. Followed by the cup.

Bae Joohyun simply resists a yawn.

“Can you move? We’re busy.” 

It’s the first time she’s spoken since the outburst, and Seungwan feels her palms sweat.

The girl behind Lucas finally speaks. Her eyes are glossy and wide, overflowing with hurt and betrayal. “It’s okay, s-sunbae. B-but I… I was hoping we could still–”

“I’m not interested,” comes the cut and dry reply.

A bystander innocently tries to diffuse the rising tension. He lightly places his hand on the boy’s shoulder, darting his gaze between the two teams. “Alright I think that’s enough.” He turns to Lucas. “No need to be so hostile, be a gentleman and apologise.”

“Whatever.” Lucas irritatedly shrugs him off, piercing stare fixed on the senior who couldn’t look more disinterested. “You deserve it. You think you can just talk however you want just because you’re pretty? Self-centred trash, fix your attitude first.”

Sooyoung’s jaw drops, Jennie goes wide-eyed, and Yerim is fumbling around with the record button as quietly as she can. 

Seungwan’s heart quickens in pace.

Joohyun doesn’t even realise she’s lunging forward.

. . .

The cafeteria disperses with hushed whispers and repeated glances over shoulders until it’s just Seungwan, Seulgi and Yerim left. They’re glued to their seats, astounded at the sight of Wong Lucas on the ground, clutching his nose in pain while Song Yuqi stands frozen to the spot, paled in horror at witnessing her crush just sock her older brother square in the face.

It’s so silent save for the moaning and groaning from the floor.

“Did you see that?” Seungwan murmurs back at her friends, unaware that her eyes glint with obvious admiration. “That was kinda cool.”

Seulgi’s lip quirks in disbelief. “It’s definitely broken. Look at her, she’s insane.”

“Right?” Yerim snickers, already posting the video clip to their group chat. “Insanely co-ordinated. Best thing that’s happened all day.” 

“I’m gonna offer her a Band-Aid,” Seungwan spontaneously decides, ignorant to the horror plastered on both her friends’ faces.

Yerim makes tiny, urgent neck slice motions while Seulgi quickly yanks an eager Seungwan down hard by the sleeve.

“Ow, Seul!” The blonde mouths, brows furrowing in annoyance. 

The dancer takes the opportunity to knock some sense into her. “Seriously, are you crazy?” she whispers harshly, her own nerves flaring at the thought of being overheard. “It’s an insult! She’s going to kill you.”

Both girls try to stop their friend from making the dumbest decision of her life, but Seungwan frees herself from their frantically grasping limbs, slinging her bag over her shoulder and heading to the crime scene.

She reaches just in time to feel Lucas brush angrily past them and out the doors. Yuqi slinks after him, casting Joohyun an apologetic look. 

Way to get rejected twice, Seungwan sympathises. Poor kid, with a sibling who’s an idiot Hercules. 

It takes all her willpower to wrestle her racing heartbeat and her self-preservation instinct into submission. The junior approaches with care, trying with everything she has to convey that she comes in peace.

Joohyun shifts her focus to her and Seungwan’s legs almost go jelly, but something about Joohyun draws her in like a spell. She hated playing good samaritan in situations like these, but it isn’t as though Seungwan hasn’t been dying to talk to her impossibly attractive senior since the first day of class.

You miss any chance you don’t take, right? Yes, obviously.

“H-hi sunbaes,” Seungwan greets with a cautious bow. This is the closest she’s been to the black velvet trio and it’s certainly leaving an impression. She doesn’t even have to look back to know that her block-head friends are gawping at the scene, wondering how their loser of a friend is so okay with dying at the age of twenty two.

Blinking, Seungwan washes her thoughts of how dazzling Joohyun looks, even when she looks like she’s out for blood. Especially when she looks like she’s out for blood.

Suddenly remembering the other reason she came over here, the small blonde holds out some alcohol wipes and Band-Aids like gifts. “Are you h– are you okay?”

“Of course I am,” Joohyun responds curtly. She surely knows her icy stare crumples Seungwan’s insides like butter paper. Perhaps that’s why she does it. “It’s over.”

“A-are you sure your fist knows?” The junior tries, all too aware the girl in front of her could have her wiped off the face of the earth with the snap of her fingers.

A scowl ghosts across Joohyun’s face before she drops her eyes to where her fist is still clenched and trembling slightly.

Seungwan fills the silence with an awkward chuckle. “Just thought you might want to clean up after the battle.”

Jennie and Sooyoung’s unimpressed looks are replaced with shock when Joohyun actually accepts a wet wipe from the younger’s shaking hands. Her eyes are pinned to the wipe as it glazes over bruised, rosy knuckles.

The shorter girl internally swoons. Her mere offering has been received! – and not just received regularly, but received with a frosty ‘thank you’, to top it all off. 

As the three seniors are leaving, Seungwan secretly prays that Yerim used her brains and recorded this moment too.

She flinches out of her thought bubble when Seulgi lands a palm clumsily on her shoulder.

“Wah, daebak,” the Cadbury-haired dancer congratulates her crazy, bodacious friend. “So what was that, like your first date or something?”

Yerim scoffs, hooking her arm around Seulgi’s bicep and dragging her out. “Come on Seul, we might as well start eating bugs and singing ‘Can You Feel The Love Tonight’. Wannie unnie can’t see us anymore.”

Seungwan rushes after her best friends, picking up her pace when they break into a power walk to the bus station.

“Yerm-ah! Did you get that? Please tell me you got that!”

#red velvet #wenrene #wendy #irene #seulgi #yerim #university au #light angst #slow burn #sorry lucas i love you #you are a true casanova #red velvet writing #yuqi you stay faithful to your soyeon okay #jennie has a latte always i swear

[shikantazaart]

Shikantaza Creativity Interview III - SPARTALIEN

At Shikantaza we are not content to just create art. We want to understand art. We want to understand the people who make art. Into the act of creation. Who are the people behind the art work? What motivates them? Where do they find their inspiration?

No two people think and act alike, so it is even less likely to find two artists who think and act alike. Yet, there will be crossovers, shared thoughts and shared experiences. Where do we adjoin and where do we diverge?

Our series of interviews with artists and creators aims to answer these questions.

In interview number three we speak to multimedia experimenter SPARTALIEN. You can find his creations here https://spartalien.com/visual as well as a collection of his work in the Shikantaza gallery.

1 - Starting with the most important question - Who is Memoria?

Memoria is Latin and means, when translated, memory / remembrance.

I named the merchandise for the album "2358" Memoria instead of Memory, because the main track titles are also translated into Latin.

I see my merchandise as small memories/artefacts. Not only because they are very rare, but because I can never go back to that time.

“Memory is the treasury and guardian of all things” - Cicero

2 - You work across different mediums. Do you have any preference for a specific form? When did you first find the format that was “you”?

I became really infected with the digital virus around in the late 90s when I built my first computer. A year or two later I started taking photos and manipulating them digitally. I also had a few printed, which allowed me to bring the digital into the real world. Then I discovered IRC and started learning a little bit of TCL. Since I had fun coding, I decided to learn the basics of web development because I needed a website to show my pictures to other people. In general, I was fascinated by the flow of information on the Internet. That distance is no longer a real hurdle when it comes to data transmission.

I've always loved music as a listener and small collector. I was then and still am one of those people who never go out of the house for long periods of time without a Walkman. Music production came into play when a couple of friends set up a small studio where they produced Techno/Psy. When I was there for the first time, I knew immediately that I wanted to try it too. A few old tracks from back then are still available on my website.

From then on, many of my projects have developed in the direction of music.  The input for a program was often music metadata or it was a website that was about music in some way or another. But since I was still at the very beginning of my learning process, I kept discarding practically everything in order to improve it or to learn new things. Around 2001, I started a web radio with friends, which was online for several years. The music was mainly Downtempo, Trip-Hop, IDM and Ambient. Promos from unknown artists from around the world were also broadcasted.

The atmosphere, the feeling I got from this time - how the music finds me and not the other way around, how it can change people's thoughts - has never left me since then.

3 - Do you feel that each medium allows you to express yourself differently from the others? How do you choose which medium you work in any given moment?

Yes. But I think you can convey the same feelings with any medium. The question is how direct it is. For example, pain can be expressed with fire but also with a chair in an empty room. At the end of the day, in my opinion, it's not about the artist's intention but about the perception of the viewer and his or her subsequent thoughts and actions. For example, imagine you make a dark ambient track that you experience as sad and heavy, but someone else tells you that it helped to relax and develop thoughts.

In addition to all of this, each medium also has advantages and disadvantages when it comes to technical implementation. So, sometimes the choice can also purely depend on skill or resources.

We all have ideas and often out ambitions outweigh our resources. Sometimes we need more resources, but more often than not we need to chip away at our ideas until our ambitions and resources align.

4 - Do you seek different sources of inspiration for your music than you would for your visual creations?

It's everything in the world around me that inspires me. Everything I perceive and feel, so to speak. Most of the time I don't have a melody or a picture in my head. It is more of a feeling and then I look for the right tone or shape for it, so to speak.

5 - How closely are your creations connected to each other?

Very close one could say - through my thoughts that I have wrapped in it. I always had a bit of a problem putting my thoughts into words. I tend to stray through various topics when I talk about something. With music and visuals, it feels lighter and more natural to get to the point. The "message" doesn't always get through, but being able to do so is liberating and invaluable to me.

6 - If you were to direct people to a specific piece of work that you feel really nails what you are aiming for with your creations, which would it be?

This is a hard question. Maybe I would ask you to sit down and listen to the album "FLOATING HIGH" in one sitting. Since it felt like coming home to me while making it. The music is less intrusive and not as precise in its message as the previous releases. Like its cover art, where the clouds could be seen as opening or closing. I wanted to create tracks that leave more room for thought while still telling a story.

7 - You have “X minutes of peace” on your site. Why is this needed? Was this made for you or for others?

For others but also for myself. For me it is self-reflection that allows me to understand myself better. But since I have problems with "just switching off my head", the moments in which I just sit quietly and let the recording device do its work are very valuable. In moments like these I can really switch off and think about something very carefully. Asking questions even though I feel like I don't have an answer. Or simply enjoying the precious fresh air and sounds of nature.

Unfortunately, too many people don't have time for that kind of peace. Too much pressure is on them. They either get this or that, or they can't survive. It's so sad how the system works. I simply think that if everyone would have more inner-peace, the world would be a better place. But then again, what do I know living under a rock between mountains?

The videos should allow us to find peace for a few minutes, no matter where we are. So that new and hopefully useful thoughts can develop.

The series  Let It All Go is actually the same thing, just with music.

For the really dark hours there is BRAIN I/O. From time to time I prefer to embrace the pressure. Difficult to describe. The concept is basically: don't think, just feel and record it. It's about things that I personally want to leave behind or at least want to learn to accept (not necessarily being okay with) them if I can't change them.

Peace is an issue for me. When I briefly find it only points the way to the next act. This is fantastic but self defeating. Why can’t we just stay in peace?

8 - When inspiration has left the building where do you look to find it?

I'm not really actively looking for inspiration. Somehow it doesn't work that way for me. So variety is important to me. That is why I usually have several side projects going on in the areas that I do not much publicize. Much of it never leaves my hard drive and is mainly intended to free my mind and get on to new ideas in the process. Coding, graphics, drawing, etc. But the music production is and remains the main focus.

9 - These are the questions I am asking all the interviewees. Why do you create? What is it that pushes you to keep creating?

The inner child is just too strong. I've been living for a while and I know exactly nothing. It kind of feels like that. So many things that you can create with the computer alone. I'm stuck in that loop where you just love to create things and learn - and use the new knowledge to create new things. Things!

10 - What would most assist you to create more works? Is there an ultimate goal for your creations?

More time and resources for sure. but most important to me is the feeling that my loved ones are safe. When I have to worry about their future because the system is going the way it is, it feels like a pile of stones in my head.

The creative / social goal of my art is relatively simple and based on my own experience. Art has helped me tremendously when I felt lost - or when I was just "bored". Taking time to really listen to or look at something can be very liberating.

My short-term financial goal is to generate a more or less regular income through art. But since I never released anything commercially before 2016, this world is still new to me.

My dream goal is to hear my music in film and games and to generate an income that supports my family.

Nonetheless, I think goals are here to create an initial path, not necessarily motivation.

I do not know of a single soul who has not been lost. Some never find their way back. Some don’t need to find their way back, they are happier in the place they found.

11 - If you were to offer a creator any advice what would it be?

Based on my own experience in no particular order:

Stay curious and open minded for different viewpoints.

Tutorials can limit your creativity. Sure, learn the basics, but explore as much as you can on your own and never be afraid to fail. It's a process, not a game.

On projects that take longer than a day to complete, set yourself a deadline when you want to have it completed. Not important if it takes longer, but in general that helps to stay more focused.

Very few things are easy when you start.

Limitations are not necessarily bad.

Don't wait for motivation to create. It will kick in usually a few minutes after you've started. Therefore keep your tools ready and organized so you can start creating at any time.

You can always turn off the internet.

Be open for constructive criticism.

Especially for the digital crowd, backup your stuff!

(All images and works by SPARTALIEN)

#shikantaza #art #music #video #visual #creation #peace

[ryttu3k]

Finishing up SoNY, ‘bad’ end and final thoughts!

But first, the early game over.

Wow, she just gets shot. Not even slurped? That’s rude as hell XD;;

And on to the ‘bad’ end!

Beginning is much the same, ofc.

“You’re too in love with weaving a good story and establishing a seductive narrative to let facts get in the way.” Foreshadowing for the ‘good’ end, maybe?

God that Embrace scene gives me literal goosebumps.

Alright! Last time I did Danse Macabre and Retributive Justice, let’s try The Risks of Swiping Right!

lmao god I’d eat this guy too. Back to the ghost club! That legitimately is a really neat scene. ...Ooh yes so that’s where the girl was from.

Panhard just lowkey dying at the mental image of Katherine Weise in a fast food restaurant is so good.

The sweet scene between Julia and Dakota hits a bit different after the ‘good’ end XD;;

Went to the park, reminisced, and helped out the guy. That was sweet ;_; High-humanity Julia, this time!

‘Fairy God Mother?’ is great but ‘Vin Diesel?’ is objectively the funnier response.

“Shining even more brightly than usual, Aisling.” Samira got a cru-ush~

Poor Julie. It’s probably been tough without Sophie around :(

Huh. Interestingly, refusing to lie to Mia results in Julia actually feeling genuine loyalty to the Cammies (for now, at least).

Believing Agathon is still alive = more optimistic = different dialogue! See, this is how you make choices have consequences, game!

Oooh boy time to meet Adelaide XD;;

“She uncrosses her legs in a strangely seductive motion. In her mind’s eye, it probably looked like Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct, but in reality, it had all the grace of a tracksuit Slav squatting.” *snickering*

Fight me, Adelaide >:(

‘sup Nastya. Went with the slightly less disruptive routine here XD Huh, she’s an aspiring DJ! Julia is deeply confused as to how being a DJ and being head of security works together.

lmao Julia referring to Hope as a girlboss. That phrase has lost all meaning to me...

The conversation between Julia and Father Leonard is still really interesting. Man, you know who I want Julia to talk to? Anatole. Interesting insights into balancing being queer Catholic vampires there for sure.

lmao oh my god I want to fight this street reporter.

‘I can almost feel my brain losing its wrinkles.’ *snort*

Yeaghhhh the Abyss bit is still so creepy...

Oops. Being honest regarding Tamika and Torque’s relationships gets a fail :(

Oh, or not XD That works! Also, uh, apparently the giant albino ghoul alligator is real, according to New York by Night. He’s Calebros’ pet.

“Because I think I have a pretty good nose for people’s auras. And when I take a good look at you... ...somehow, I have a feeling you’re a surprisingly decent person. Whatever way of unlife you choose, I hope you don’t change it. And that you remember my advice.” :)

“I know.” Oof.

“Hi.” “WAAAH!” lmao sorry Princess XD;; Just trying to imagine Qadir’s face as he tells Julia to find a 1990 glass statue of Scrooge McDuck... dying...

Oh she’s so a Toreador XD Low art options are a fantasy book, an anime DVD, or a video game... those can all be arty, though! And went with the anime DVD called ‘Ririsu no Daibouken’... that translates to ‘Adventures of Lilith’. How on the nose XD “The cover says ‘Lilith’s Carnal Carnival’.” Oh. Yeah, that’d do it XD

“This 90s original video anime presents us with a tale of five big-bosomed samurai warriors travelling through America in search of General Hastavista, The Incubus King. Don’t let all the titillation misguide you: the main draws here are peerless direction, a nearly avant-garde editing rhythm and dialogue that coyly comments on traditional gender roles in anime. Once you see the animation in the final battle, you’ll understand why it never fails to set a sakuga fan’s heart ablaze!”

She’s my new favourite.

“So can I know your name now?”

“Hmmm... Let me think...

No. <3″

I need to stress that the heart appears in the dialogue box. Like. The actual less-than-three heart.

Didn’t investigate the rat this time, so Qadir did and I die. “Glad you’re alright, little guy.” Qadir...

Still not over the drunk blood doll rats.

Kaiser’s still a goddamn creep and this time Julia is not going too far. She still has her humanity, dammit. Final set of traits:

Loyal to the end

Glass half-full

Not into a bad cop schtick

Honesty is the best policy

No more human, still humane

Onwards to the ‘bad’ end! Oops, and Dakota still did the Single White Female thing XD;;

Man I’m still really curious who the ‘good friend’ is!!

Okay! Time for end game!!

So that’s the good friend, huh? “Let me phrase it differently, then. You’re not Ecaterina the Wise, the Agitator of Prague, a Brujah elder causing turbulences all over the world... are you?”

Mention of Christof! Mention of Christof doing shady shit :| Poor Hana.

“An immigrant from Eastern Europe comes to New York City, takes the position she always expected to find herself in, is molded into someone who is no longer herself.”

Julia and Dakota representing Carthage is kind of neat.

I want to say the mention of St Jude is a reference, but I’m not sure what to XD;; Is that from Redemption? Christof could have been the one to tell Hana that.

“Like a two-person human centipede loop or something. An Ouroburos? Or an, uhh, Mobius strip?” No, that’s the other traditionally Sabbat clan XD

That‘s. That’s a hell of a reconciliation XD “Yeah, let’s give it a try. By the way I’m on the run for my unlife, want to go to California and try to find utopia?”

Julia, wear a fucking mask XD

“Hey.”

“Yeah?“

“Do you love me?”

“... Of course I do. For now, at least.”

I still don’t know if I love her. Or even if I can love anyone, for that matter. I’m a fucking monster, after all. I don’t even know if we’ll exist next month. The prospects are not looking good. But although I can’t see myself in the rearview mirror right now...

...I will remember this image of us leaving the city, somewhat melancholic, and somewhat hopeful, forever. And maybe the meaning of this image will be clarified with time. Or maybe I will just force a more positive description on it, and that is what I’ll believe.

No matter what happens... even if oceans of blood lie before us, I will make this a cherished memory.

Whatever possible salvation still remains for me... ...it probably lies in the eyes of another.

Oh dang I have chills.

So the ‘bad’ ending is about the subverted compromise. Julia resigns herself to letting the compromise about the truth of Callihan’s death go ahead. ‘Catherine’ is a walking compromise to hide the Ecaterina’s real deeds. But while Hana is still stuck in her role for now, Julia refuses to accept the compromise she’s made, both the one relating to the investigation and the compromise she made of her own views and morals. It might blow up in her face, yeah. But damn, she’s going to try.

So, final thoughts! For the sake of completion, this is what I said about Coteries:

And of course this is the part where the game all falls apart :-\

Just… god. This is probably the biggest problem with CoNY, and the reason I didn’t bother getting it until it was like… 60% off. The bulk of the game is great - the writing is intriguing, the design is stunning. But the choices themselves are so limited it’s barely worth even getting it at 60% off!

You have three choices of characters, with their own opening chapters and own individual scenes with their touchstones. You have four choices of coterie members, and three sidequests. You can probably get in at least three full story arcs and a sidequest or two, but you’re only ever limited to two of your coterie members showing up at the not-yet-endgame.

So let’s say you decide to play all three protags, which, indeed, is encouraged (there’s an achievement for it). You are going to repeat coterie arcs and side quests, because there simply aren’t enough for three unique playthroughs.

And then you get to the end and literally everything is scripted. You get attacked by the SI. You get rescued by your two coterie members (and then never see them again, despite the game being called Coteries of New York). You meet Torque, you escape the SI, Sophie reveals her plan to Torque, you go to Ellis Island, Adelaide kills Sophie (and despite the fact that you’re given multiple options there, none of them work), Arturo does his spiel, end of game. You don’t even get to choose between ending up blood bound or going “no fuck you” and at least dying with a bit of dignity!

I just. I really want to like it, and there genuinely is a lot there to like! But uuuugh the ending. Like damn at least give the poor protag the option to choose what happens to them!

Anyway. Not sure what’s next. To get all the achievements, you have to finish with all three protags, so that’s three full runs and a lot of repetitiveness (compare to, say, Bloodlines or Night Road. I have eighty-five hours on Night Road and there’s still stuff I haven’t seen!), so I can’t even just… rush it through up to the meeting with the touchstones on the third play. Nope. Gotta finish it :-\

Final rating: 6/10

8/10 characters, 9/10 atmosphere, 8/10 story aside from ending, 3/10 story ending, 2/10 replayability. Final consensus: get it on major sale if you can, otherwise, you might as well just watch an LP. I might do that instead of doing a third run, although I at least want to do a second.

I ended up revising that 6/10 to 5.5/10 after finishing all runs and getting the achievements just out of how goddamn repetitive it was. So, how does Shadows measure up?

Absolutely continued with all the things I enjoyed about CoNY (characters, atmosphere, and writing), and of the bits I hated (cookie cutter protagonists, lack of real choice, repetitiveness, the godawful ending), every single part has been completely improved.

Instead of three fledglings so similar they even have the same internal thoughts, we have Julia, who’s got such a distinct voice that she becomes the most memorable game protag I’ve seen in years, and I’m including non-VtM games in this. This is absolutely her game, and it’s just... absolutely fascinating to read and watch.

Related - actual real choices. There are five key choices that determine the ending, and every single one has actual consequence in-game. You get different dialogue. Different introspection. Different philosophies. And this carries across - if Julia believes Agathon is alive, she’s more optimistic about her relationship with Dakota, too. And of course, both endings are completely distinct and incredibly written - the ‘good’ ending where Julia gives in to her most Lasombra instincts, plays the game, wins it, gets power and respect at the expense of her humanity and avoiding all those wraiths... or the ‘bad’ ending when she listens to her morals, reconciles with Dakota, and leaves for California, uncertain, but hopeful.

Not a lot of repetitiveness. Yes, by design, you’ll probably do two playthroughs. The main plot is much the same, but there are enough options there to get multiple dialogue options and stuff. And for the little sidequests, you can actually get all in with just the two playthroughs, only repeating like... two, I think. Still, I wasn’t feeling actively bored like I was midway through my second run of CoNY!

Loved seeing more in-depth backstory and development for the coterie members. Agathon’s section was particularly fascinating, literally getting into his head.

And just. Atmosphere and music is so, so good.

Final rating: 9/10. Thank you, Draw Distance, you hit it out of the park.

#vampire the masquerade #vtm shadows of new york #ry plays sony

[tirednotflirting]

does it ever drive you crazy, just how fast the night changes?

baby’s first au whaaaaaat? 

special thank you to @clumsyclifford​ for linking the prompt list i got this idea from! this was the prompt (it was a whole slew of celebrity AUs: “wait, you’re supposed to be DEAD and i just recognized you at the grocery store, turns out you just didn’t want to be a celebrity anymore” au. bella is also writing one from this list and it’s one of my most favorite lashton things i have ever read, highly recommend, 10/10, i could yell about hello, hello for ages omg

also here is the ao3 link if that’s your preferred way to read :)  

There are few things that bring Luke as much joy as his Friday night (well, Saturday morning, really) grocery trips.

He had started working the night shift at the nurses’ desk at the children’s hospital about a year prior after graduating. He had found the job through the friend of a friend of a friend who was a nurse herself and mentioned the job needed filling fast. Luke had never really considered the idea of a night job but ultimately the work wasn’t all too bad. He made coffee every couple of hours (he made an effort to never let the pot empty which got him lots of smiles from the nurses) and every once in awhile Lina, the 6 year old cancer patient whose room was just around the corner from the brightly colored desk, would wander out to ask him to check for monsters under her bed and to be tucked back in. It was pretty simple (and heartwarming) work.

However, staying up through the night for 5 nights a week made it damn near impossible to be awake during the day on his weekends off. Luckily enough for Luke, he had friends like Michael who tended to play video games all night despite working through the day (he stopped questioning how he managed it a long time ago) and his favorite grocery store was a 24 hour location.

The first time Luke had come to do his shop at around 2am, he had felt a little spooked by the parking lot and eerie silence in between Top 40 songs that played over the intercom in the store. But he soon grew to find the general atmosphere pretty calming and he made friends with the nighttime stocker (a guy named Calum who also never saw himself doing nighttime work but here they were) and it became something he really looked forward to on his Saturday (very early) mornings.

He arrives at the store just a bit after 1am. He just finished ‘a late breakfast’ (he still always finds himself giggling at the concept of eating meals at opposite points in the day as everyone else despite the obvious logic to the schedule) and has a list tucked into the pocket of his sweats. It’s a little chilly out so he grabs the first sweater he sees on the backseat - a blue cardigan - since he knows they also keep the store pretty cool in the night to make sure everybody stays awake through their shift.

As he grabs one of the smaller carts as he heads into the store, he feels his phone buzzing in his pocket. He pulls out his list first and drops it into the baby seat of the cart and then grabs his phone. Luke’s faced with the wild selfie Michael set for his profile picture and he rolls his eyes as clicks the icon to answer the call.

“What’s up, Mikey?” he answers as he starts pushing the cart in the direction of the produce section. 

“You at the store yet?” Luke can hear the clicking of the buttons on the controller in Michael’s hands.

“Yeah, just got in. You need anything?”

Michael then rambles off a short list that Luke jots down into his notes app since he doesn’t have a pen or anything with him. He assures his friend he’ll come drop off the odd collection of snacks and things (“They have to be the dinosaur shaped ones. I swear Luke they do taste better.”) once he finished up his shop of real groceries.

Luke wanders around the produce, picking out what fruits and veggies he wants to have around for the week. He takes his time finding the apples without the bruises, bananas that will be the perfect amount of ripe by midweek, some leafy bunches for the salad he’s been assigned to bring for the breakroom potluck on Tuesday. He’s checking out some strawberries that he thinks might be nice to toss into the mix too when a human sized figure appears in the corner of his vision.

It’s a man around his size (in similar cozy clothes) facing away from him. He’s got hair the opposite color to Luke’s bleached blonde. His messy black curls are pulled back into a tiny bun that mirrors Luke’s own. The other man is broad and has a tattoo of a bird across the back of his neck, just barely visible above the collar of a faded blue sweatshirt. The tattoo is one that seems oddly familiar to Luke, as though it belongs to someone he knows. The man begins to wander off toward the bakery section of the store though and Luke shrugs off the recognition, figuring it might be someone he’s seen around a waiting room in the hospital at some point. He settles on some strawberries and starts pushing his cart in the direction of the deli and meats.

As he stares at the different packages of chicken and breakfast sausages, he can’t help but think back on the man he saw though. There was something achingly familiar about him, and more than just the tattoo. He can’t shake the thought for some reason and finds himself jumping in surprise when he feels his phone buzz once again in his pocket. 

He doesn’t even have to look to the screen to know that it’s Michael calling again to add something to his list. In fact, he happens to even know the items that his friend failed to mention the first time he called. Luke presses the accept button and lifts the phone to his ear.

“Froot Loops and the character shaped fruit snacks?”

“The superhero ones, if they have them please!”

*

Luke continues around the store, grabbing all the bits from his list (and Michael’s 12 year old boy list) and eventually lands in the dairy section. He grabs the yogurt he’s been mixing granola into for breakfast lately and some butter for the cookies his mom sent him a recipe for. Only thing left in terms of food is cereal milk and coffee milk (2% and oat, respectively, of course). When he looks up from the list to make his way over to the fridges containing the plethora of milks, he is faced once again with the familiar stranger. 

Except this time, as he catches just the briefest glimpse of the man’s face, of his hazel eyes and strong jawline, he realizes this isn’t a stranger. Very much not a stranger. It’s Ashton Irwin, the host of at least three of those reality dating shows he forces Michael to watch with him on the weekends since he can’t watch them when they air live on Monday and Tuesdays. 

Or, well, he was the host of all of those shows until about two months ago.

Because Ashton Irwin has been dead for two months due to a freak heart attack while on vacation on some remote island.

Luke glances away from him for a moment in a panic. Has he completely lost it? Have the late nights finally gotten to him and he’s starting to actually see things that don’t exist? Was Calum right all along and the store really is haunted? (Though it's a little lost on him why a star TV host would want to haunt a grocery store. And not even a good one like that Whole Foods in Downtown.)

Then he realizes that perhaps he was just wrong. (Though now that he thinks about it, he very much remembers liking an Instagram picture of that tattoo on Ashton Irwin’s account a couple years back.) He’s far enough down the aisle from him that he can chance a look at the man without being caught. So, slowly, Luke turns again just slightly to look toward him.

It’s the hair that left him not immediately making the recognition. His hair has been dyed black, a stark contrast to his signature dark red but definitely a change that likely doesn’t draw as much attention. The sweatshirt he’s paired with black skinny jeans is pretty baggy and it’s a damn shame because Luke knows he has the arms of a god.

(Something Luke knows from the tabloid covers he glances at from time to time at the pharmacy and the summer version of the show that Ashton hosted, of course. He most definitely has never searched up his name + ‘biceps’ before. Never.)

But despite the obvious attempt to match the look and aesthetic of ‘2am grocery shopper’ he's still very unmistakably Ashton Irwin.

As Luke grapples with this new knowledge that apparently this person he thought was dead is not dead and also apparently goes to the same grocery as him, he fails to notice that Ashton has turned to face him and that he is still staring at him in shock. 

Very quickly, Ashton’s face comes to mirror Luke’s expression and he’s rushing toward the blonde in a state of terror. 

“Please don’t say anything,” he gasped in a hushed voice. The accent similar to his own that Luke has grown used to hearing on his TV sticks out some in his panicked words.

“How? I - uh? Are you,” Luke trips over every syllable that comes out of his mouth as he attempts to let his brain wrap around the situation. “Are you a ghost?”

The feared look of the black haired man actually fades some as he lets a quiet giggle escape (a very cute giggle, if Luke is being honest). “I’m, uh, not a ghost. No. Though I guess that does kind of accurately explain what I’m trying to be.”

Now Luke is even more confused. Based on the statement, he obviously wasn’t making up all of the tabloid stories he had seen about Ashton dying but something isn’t adding up to the present moment. “I don't-”

“Listen, if you’re going to go tell the press, can you at least give me like,” he glances down at his phone screen displaying the time. “2 hours to get back out to my friend’s place where I’ve been hiding?”

It’s now Luke’s turn to laugh. “You do realize if I go to some paparazzi or something and tell them I saw deceased Ashton Irwin wandering around my grocery store trying to decide between hazelnut and cashew milk they would just laugh in my face, right?”

The statement causes Ashton to look down at his hands to the milks in his hands. He sighs down at the cartons before tossing both of them in the cart. “Guess you’re not really wrong.”

“Is someone pulling some kind of long-winded, over the top prank on me right now? Am I being punk’d?” Luke asks, his head tilting some in a way that would normally have Michael making fun of him for the child-like behavior. “Because I know for a fact that I am not worth that much effort.”

The questions have Ashton smiling a bit again and Luke suddenly finds himself wanting to say increasingly dumb things so long as it’ll keep the hazel-eyed man smiling. “No, no. Not at all. I just,” his smile falters some, leaving his lips still turned up but his eyes drop some. “I started to get a little sick of the world and the world started getting a bit sick of me, I think.” Luke wonders if Ashton knew just how heavy his words feel.

He scoffs then, as if hearing Luke’s silent question. “Wow, sorry that was really dramatic,” Ashton shakes his head a bit before continuing. “Hi, I’m Ashton.”

Luke looks down to the tanned arm being stretched out toward him. He lifts a hand from his shopping cart and wraps it around Ashton’s. “I’m Luke.”

Ashton brightens again as he shakes his hand. “Well, Luke, you’re the first person other than my current landlord of sorts that I’ve come across since literally dying in the eyes of the media. So I guess I owe you an explanation? Since it seems like you’re familiar with that media viewpoint?”

Ashton moves to start pushing his cart in the direction of another area of the store but peers over his shoulder and gestures with his head to follow him. Luke quickly reaches into the fridge on his left to grab the rest of his dairy before catching up to him. “Well, you really don’t owe me anything. I don’t know you beyond what I see of you on my TV screen,” Luke wonders then if maybe he should have played it a bit cooler and not told the cute, presumed dead TV star that he watches his shows. “But I am a bit confused by whatever is going on and would like to hear anything you’re willing to share.”

“Cute and polite,” Ashton muses, avoiding Luke’s eye as he continues forward toward the packaged food aisles. “You’re already checking boxes, Luke.”

Some kind of intelligible noise falls from Luke’s lips as he feels a blush rush up to his cheeks because he’s flirting with him. Ashton only laughs and starts his story.

“Well Luke, you seem to be aware of what I did for a living up until about 2 months ago. I’ve been doing this job for like, about 5 years and before every new season of anything, there’s all these big network and programming meetings about production and filming and such. And every single time, I get hounded by our ratings people because I apparently don’t do enough to instigate and promote drama. Like my contract was getting threatened like three times a year because rather than trying to make peoples’ lives miserable, I just want to help them fall in love.

“And so at this particular meeting, about two and half months ago, just before the ‘accident’,” he punctuates the word with air quotations. “I got the boot. Ratings from the previous season were down by 3% and all of the uppers decided it was because of my congeniality and not the fact that the guy they chose for the season was a complete dick.

“So that night I have to host the red carpet stuff for an awards show. And I’m talking with all these glittery people who also do TV work and it suddenly hits me, harder than it ever has before, that every single person I’m speaking to would never even bother to smile in my direction if they didn’t know who I was. If I was just a plain old guy, the kind of guy I was back in school before I signed on to the shows, they probably wouldn’t pay me a single bit of kindness. So I decided, right then, as I was talking to some Grey’s Anatomy actor, that I wanted to get out.”

He turns into the chip aisle then, and Luke follows close behind. “You decided you wanted to step away from television and your first idea was to fake your own death?”

Ashton laughs as he reaches for a couple tubes of Pringles. “It was more than that,” he starts as he tosses the tubes into the cart. “I wanted to escape celebrity all together, not just the world of television. A friend from back home that I would trust with my life had this cabin kinda out in the middle of nowhere in this forest and he only ever uses it for like, two weeks in the summer and said I could camp out there until I find a way to get back to Australia undetected to live at the house I bought over there a few years ago. My manager helped with all the media stories and such. And two months later, here we are.”

“That’s insane,” Luke shakes his head as he speaks, reaching for his own tube of Pringles as he realizes it's been quite awhile since he got his hand stuck in a Pringle tube so why not?

“The journey is a bit wild, I will agree, Luke, but the life I’m living right now is much more enjoyable than faking it every damn day.”

Luke shakes his head (and ignores the fluttery feeling he keeps getting when Ashton says his name). “No, I mean it’s insane that I am somehow the first person that’s caught you.”

Ashton’s brows perk up at the statement. “Oh yeah no, I’m also pretty surprised by that. Figured I would have had to pay off a lot of people by now to keep them quiet.”

They’ve both pushed their carts up toward the self check out how and start scanning away at their items. Luke looks up halfway through his cart and catches Calum giving him a look from a little ways away. He’s got a suggestive look on his face. But thankfully it's one that reads much more as “ohhh Luke is talking to a boy” rather than “ohhh there’s a celebrity in my store”. Plus Luke knows Calum wouldn’t be the type to go rushing to media people to out the presence of dead celebrities in his grocery store at 2am so he chooses to subtly flip him off before reaching for the next item in his basket.

They’re both about done scanning and bagging up their groceries when Luke starts to realize he really...doesn’t want this little bit of time he’s spent with Ashton to end yet. And given his lack of normal human interaction during daylight hours as of recently, he’s a bit out of practice on the whole asking someone to extend a conversation beyond the grocery store aisles. He drops his bags back into his cart to roll back out to his car and as he watches Ashton perform the same action the words just sort of leap from his mouth. “Hey do you, uh, have anywhere to be right now?”

Ashton gently places a bag containing some produce into his cart before turning to Luke, a teasing smirk resting on his lips. “Luke, it’s 2am and I’m presumed dead to everyone but about 4 people,” he catches that Luke still looks somewhat nervous (something he would later reflect on to tell him just how damn cute it was) and continues. “So I’ve got just about all the time in the world.”

“Want to come to mine for lunch? We could make something and watch a show or keep chatting or something?” he asks, tentatively. 

He watches as Ashton’s face shifts a bit, obviously confused by some part of what Luke’s just said. “Why would you ask if I’m free now if you were wanting to make lunch plans?”

Luke realizes his request requires some explanation for people that live during normal human hours. “Oh, because I have lunch at about 3am. Because I work nights. So right now feels like,” he pauses a moment, trying to decide and calculate what time this would have been for him before taking his job. “It feels like about 11am-ish for me right now. So close to lunch time.”

They’re out in the parking lot now and Ashton just stops for a moment beside Luke in the middle of the lot and looks up at him for a moment, a smile spreading across his face, his dimples, ones that Luke had grown used to seeing on his TV screens over the last few years, increasingly deepen. “Lunch sounds nice.”

* 

Ashton follows Luke back to his apartment (and to the brief stop he makes at Michael’s where he ignores the comments about the man parked in the car behind his) and they park in the garage, carrying their groceries in their arms up to his unit. They each deposit their cold and frozen items into Luke’s fridge and he pours them each a glass of water as Ashton takes a seat at his kitchen counter. Luke sips from his glass as he watches Ashton glance around his kitchen and living room.

“I try to keep it cozy,” Luke explains as he reaches into a cabinet for a couple pots and pans. He migrates over to his sink to fill a pot with water to boil. “Needed it when I first started the working at night thing and I needed to find a way to force myself to sleep when the sun was up. Gonna make some pasta and chicken thing, that cool?”

Ashton smiles warmly from his place at the counter. “Sounds lovely. You mind if I use that?” he points to the opposite corner of the space where a black Keurig machine sits. “I don’t often do this whole living like normal in the night thing.”

Luke laughs at the comment on being nocturnal. “Go for it.” 

He turns back to the pan of chicken, chopping it up and moving it around some before turning to a different burner and tossing in a few things to make a garlic sauce. He can make maybe two things that qualify as meals rather than just large portioned snacks so he’s opted for one of those since he so rarely has company. 

“What do you do then that’s got you up all through the night?” Ashton asks as he opens the cabinet above the coffee machine pulling down a bright yellow mug. The color suits him, Luke thinks. “You work in tech support or something?”

“Thankfully very far off from that,” Luke starts with a giggle. “I’m absolute garbage with computers. I work the nurses’ desk for the recovery wing at one of the children’s hospitals. It’s a lot of checking and distributing charts, ordering things for the nurses, talking to parents when they want more logistical updates on their child’s care there. Sometimes I get to help entertain the kids who get to go out and about. Yesterday I let them request songs to play for awhile and then we had show and tell.”

“God, you’re like something out of some cheesy movie, huh?”

Luke turns to see Ashton smiling up at him, his arms crossed at his chest as he leans against the counter to face him, the coffee machine whirring to life behind him. Luke bites at his cheek to avoid an entirely too large smile to spread across his face though he knows he can’t help the blush painting it’s way across his nose and cheeks. “It’s a good job. Even worth the whole graveyard shift situation.”

Ashton grimaces at the end of Luke’s reply. “Night shoots used to kick my ass. There is nothing in the world more terrifying than slightly drunk women in hot pink crying over some complete asshole rejecting them after a cocktail party at 2am.”

“Was there anything about it that you liked, though?” Luke asks after he turns down the heat to let the sauce simmer for a bit. He watches Ashton stir some milk into his mug that he retrieved from the fridge.

“Of course,” Ashton answers quickly, in a tone that projects honesty rather than just being used to answering the question. “I got to travel to places I would have never made it to otherwise, meet people that I considered heroes growing up, provide for myself and my family. And for a while that’s why I just dealt with the bull shit. But I started to realize I was working my ass off for all of that good stuff I was getting. That I didn’t have to deal with things in exchange for those things that were mine because of my work.”

Luke isn’t quite sure what to respond to that. Because he’s right, the logic is obvious and sound on all of it. As he’s trying to formulate a response though, Ashton cuts in again. “Though I guess maybe that’s a pretty privileged logic I-”

“No, don’t,” Luke cuts him off. “You shouldn’t justify the unfair parts of your job like that. You shouldn’t have to sacrifice your own values about the way people should be interacting with one another for the sake of drama for good TV ratings. You don’t owe anything to anyone who doesn’t actually give a shit about you as a person. I’ve known you for like two hours and it already just baffles me why someone wouldn’t want to know who you are behind the stage makeup and scripted lines.”

He watches as Ashton lifts the mug to his lips, pink cheeks peeking out from each side (he wonders if the change in color comes from the heat of the mug or the words he’s just said). He lowers the mug and his lips lift into a lazy smile. “See now I’m starting to wonder if I’m actually dead. Your kindness is angelic.”

Luke hasn’t a single clue how to respond to that so he gives the hazel-eyed man a small smile before returning to his saucepan. Ashton shifts the conversation then, asking Luke more about his job before telling him about the gardening he’s taken up since being stuck out in the middle of nowhere on his own. He shows Luke pictures of his herb garden and points out each one as he names it. As he starts putting food into bowls, Luke offhandedly mentions how he’s always wanted to grow lavender but tending to plants when you sleep through the sunshine makes gardening difficult. He drops a fork into a bowl and when he turns to hand it to Ashton, Luke watches as he hits the “Add to Cart” option on an Amazon page for lavender seeds. His heart does some kind of funny rhythm as butterflies burst in his chest. Their eyes meet as Ashton locks his phone and looks up to him. 

“Pretend you didn’t see that, I want it to be a surprise,” Ashton whispers between the two of them, his right eye winking up at Luke as he accepts the bowl.

“So this is going to be happening again then?” Luke muses as he grabs his own bowl and walks toward the living room. Ashton follows behind him. “I should plan for future early morning lunches with a dead celebrity?”

“I know it comes with some amount of risk for both of us but,” Ashton looks down toward his feet, scratching at the back of his neck as he tries to come up with the right way to phrase things. Luke turns to face him as he hears the hesitation in his voice. “I really want to see you again. This has been nice. And not just because you’re the first person I’ve spoken to other than my mother in two months. I...want to know you, Luke.”

Luke smiles tiredly, feelings the earliness of the hour in a way that he hasn’t in quite some time. He watches as Ashton’s fingers fidget with a string hanging from the end of his sweatshirt, obviously nervous about what he’s just admitted to the man he’s only just really met, still. Luke reaches forward for his hand, tangling their fingers together as he squeezes his palm against Ashton’s. It feels nice to be close to someone like this. It’s something he didn’t realize he was missing out on while only really living in the night.

“I think you’re worth the risk, Ashton.”

He watches as Ashton looks down to their intertwined hands, Luke’s eyes following to the same place. His hands are pale from the lack of much sunlight other than what he gets at sunset when he goes out to take his walk after waking. Ashton’s is warm and tanned, likely from the sun he gets from days in his secret garden hideout. He barely knows this man, apart from the apparently highly curated version he’s seen on screen. He wants to know the Ashton that speaks like sunshine and loves love enough to lose his job over. He wants to know the steps he knows he’s skipping in his story right now that led to him faking his own death. So it’s no surprise that the next words have him smiling bright enough to light up the early morning they found each other in. 

“I think we’re worth the risk, too.”

*

#lashton #lashton fic #i honestly have been staring at this for so long i can't even tell if i like it anymore #i had to end it in domestic fluff i am SORRY #i have no idea how to end fics otherwise #this is Such a funny au though #like there were def better ways to do it but it was fun #esp for never having given AU a shot before #wow we're rambling in the tags anyone surprised? anyone? #also almost made the title a line from when the day met the night by patd but decided against it #i picked this title on the 1d anniversary and i feel the need to honor My Men

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.63

Lance nearly turned back to Platt twice, and he was pretty sure he would have had Allura not come with him for the day trip home. He was taking Blue home ahead of returning on the weekend. His precious princess curled up in Allura’s lap, after working her way out of her carrier. Filling up at Balmeria, he was relieved to see Rax working rather than Shay. He didn’t want to put Shay in any kind of awkward position with Hunk, nor did he know how to explain his absence to her. Allura was trying her best to keep his spirits up, pointing out various things as they drove, or singing the words wrong to the songs on the radio. Lance nearly felt as nervous as he did the first time he drove out to see the house he’d call home.

Parking in the drive, Matt and Rieva couldn’t help messing with him. He’d barely cut the ignition and climbed out the car before the pair of werewolves were bounding out the house, knocking him down and dragging” him by the hem of his jeans towards the front steps

“Really? Out of every single way you could have greeted me, this was your best idea? You two are lame”

There was more laughter in his tone than he’d intended. Matt and Rieva both letting go of his jeans in favour of body flopping on top of him. The offensive smell of wolf not nearly as offensive when he felt they’d actually missed him

“Oh, no. Lance, I’m afraid I’m going to have to tell Keith your cheating on him. Look at you”

Allura giggled, raising her hand to cover her mouth. Blue taking he opportunity to jump and run away towards the open door. His princess didn’t have time for such “goings on”

“I love how you rush to help”

“Who you end up under is completely up to you”

“You wouldn’t think so. Now, will you two get off? The gravel’s itchy”

Matt and Rieva turned back, Lance covering his eyes

“Guys! Clothes!”

Matt didn’t care

“You know you love it. What’s not to love?”

“Your ugly arse junk forever imprinted in my head?”

“Here how he talks to us?! Blah. Keith can have you if you’re going to be like that”

“He did and he has and he will. Now go get dressed!”

Waiting until Matt and Rieva moved away, Lance uncovered his eyes to find Allura staring down at him

“Need a hand?”

“I wouldn’t say no. Remind me again why I decided coming back was a good idea?”

“I’m still not quite sure myself. They seemed to have missed you”

Allura helped him up, Lance then brushing the loose gravel off his body

“They’re a menace! Matt needs to be neutered! I hope you hear that!”

“Oh dear. I don’t think he’ll take that well”

From inside came a yelled “Fuck you!”

“He didn’t. He’s just lucky I haven’t taken his mangy arse to the vet yet. Then again, he’d probably like a thermometer stuck up his arse”

Looping her arm through his, Allura was still giggly

“I’ve never neutered a werewolf before. Coran may have. Perhaps we should enquire when we return?”

“Yep. And I want tracking collars for the pair of them. I’m surprised they didn’t graffiti the town sign and edit the population to say “plus one vampire”. He’s as bad as Pidge. No. He’s worse. He should know better by now”

“You know, I’m sure we could change that sign if you really wanted?”

“I think I’ve caused the town enough dramas. Let’s head in. I bet my poor house needs therapy. Is that a thing? A house needing therapy?”

“I don’t see why not? Though that would mean discussing what you and Keith have been up to here”

Lance pulled a face

“Why do you do this to me? You know I miss him as it is”

“I do. He really is very fond of you. I’m sure you moving back here will leave him missing you even more”

“You know we talked about it. I’m not hunter material”

“I don’t know. I think you’d make an excellent hunter. You’re very perceptive and very kind”

“If you ask Keith, I’m kind of an idiot”

“Yes, well... You do have your moments”

Lance gaped at Allura, Allura giggling again. Sighing dramatically, he started leading her towards the house. Why did everyone he knew have to be so weird? And why was if after all the years that he finally not keeping his walls so high was giving him everything he ever needed? Maybe because now he had a group of friends that were all weird like him, he was starting to see that maybe... just maybe... he liked himself more than he thought... and maybe he liked company more than he thought too.

*

Inside the house wasn’t the mess he’d expected. It smelt heavily of horny wolf, but everything seemed in order as he flopped down on his sofa. It smelt suspiciously clean... Like Rieva and Matt had cleaned it knowing he’d smell more than he was suppose to. Walking into the room, Matt ignored the perfectly open seats in favour of sitting right next to him. Normally he would have headed straight to the kitchen to make tea for Allura, but he had a finite amount of courage to work with. Shoving Matt away from him, Matt laughed

“I know you missed us. Curtis told me all about the talk you had with him”

“Curtis is cursed. It’s rude to use that against him”

Matt shrugged

“A man’s gotta do, what a man’s gotta do”

“And how’s that working out for you?”

“Pretty good”

“Oh, so you have a brilliant plan to make Pidge loves us again?”

Matt groaned, flopping sideways on the sofa

“No. She’s totally holed up. Hunk isn’t even talking to me. I think she’s making boards about us”

Lance flopped against Matt, sighing as he did

“That sounds like her. I miss our gremlin”

“I know. I have no one to play video games with anymore. What’s the point of having all these wolf powers if I can’t cheat in video games”

“What’s the point of being immortal if my second family hates me?”

“I don’t hate you, bro”

“I don’t hate you either”

Very awkwardly they fist bumped before both of them sighed.

Allura stood, hands on her hips, staring down the pair of them

“I’m ashamed of the pair of you right now. Have you tried talking to Pidge?”

“She’s ignoring us”

Matt replied, Lance nodded

“Then make it so she can’t”

Geez. Why hadn’t they thought of that?

“This isn’t a movie. We can’t just show up outside her house with a boom box and win her back”

Matt snorted

“Dude, you’re so fucking old”

“Shut up. You’re nearly as old”

“Oh, says Mister ‘70s over here”

He didn’t ask to be this old. He didn’t even know how he got to be this old. One moment he was 20, stumbling through life. Next moment he was 44, stumbling through life and now figuring out dating

“You got the reference! Dude, you’re her biological brother”

“She told mum to tell me we weren’t talking. Mum said she was worried about our influence on her”

Pidge was fierce . Colleen was ruthless

“Your mother scares me”

“Try being her son“

Allura clapped her hands, drawing attention back to her

“Will you two please get over yourselves. Pidge is a human in possession of information she is ill equipped to deal with. Now, Lance, if Keith were to stop talking to you, how would you reconnect?”

“He’s probably turn into a bat then go bury himself”

He didn’t know, but if Keith stopped talking to him, Matt was most likely right about what would come next

“Pretty much”

Allura sighed at the pair of them

“You’re not helping by joking”

“Matt’s right. I get emotional and then I’m a bat. Keith keeps me grounded. I’ve gotten better at not being a bat”

“Dude. You were so much cooler as a bat”

Lance huffed

“Says you. Keith says too, actually”

“Maybe you could turn into a bat and I could post you to Pidge?”

Now Matt was being ridiculous. They were being ridiculous. Keith suggested going to talk to her instead of relying on Matt, Lance was reaping what he sowed

“And have her experiment on me. No thanks. Allura, I know you want to help, buuuuut maybe we can talk about something else?”

“I’m trying to help”

“I know you are, but Pidge needs space. I’ve told her I’m coming back next week. Why don’t we just hang out today? We can practice hairstyles and do face masks?”

Matt made a a high “ooohing” noise, Lance sitting up, before shoving at him

“Shut up. It’s not like that”

“I didn’t say anything”

“You did. I’ll have you know, I’m going on a mission with Allura”

Matt sat up, expression skeptical

“And what mission is that? To find your balls. Wait, nope, Keith’s got you by them”

He’d rather Keith have them... and that didn’t quite make sense. Matt talking about his balls felt awkward. He wasn’t a smell mutt to be neutered

“I’ll chop yours off. I may or may not have been thinking about this, and having Allura here probably means she’s thinking the same thing and I’m only just putting this together, so thanks for that Allura. Rieva, we have a question for you. Have you ever heard of a vampire named Lotor? Or his family?”

*

Lance was barely home an hour before driving the four of them back to Platt. Rieva had indeed heard of Lotor, but she’d heard more about Zarkon and Honerva, telling them enough that Lance now knew coming home had been a bad idea, as wherever Lotor went, his mother was sure to have sent someone to watch his every move. Hastily they’d packed, Rieva insisting they weren’t safe in Garrison for the one being. Lance throwing together all his precious belongings, before rounding up Blue who wasn’t impressed at all. Rieva was shaken that Lotor was here, Lance certain there was a more personal reason that she wasn’t telling them. The only thing he could think of was that it somehow related to the death of her biological parents... And if Zarkon and Honerva were involved, he couldn’t fault her for being overly cautious. Matt had messaged Pidge to tell her to stay indoor and stay away from crowds, Lance’s undead heart frozen in fear for her and Hunk, and their families. He’d never wanted them roped into this, and now the whole issue was getting out of control.

Parking where Allura instructed. They entered the bookshop through a side entrance Lance has barely used. Practically sneaking their way through to the elevator to avoid drawing attention to themselves. Rieva didn’t know much about Lotor, not personally, she’d heard the rumours having grown up in Europe. Lotor was the son of a fae gone mad and a vampire who’d been twisted by his ego. Not a great combination for a child during the years of formations of self. Lotor had to know his mother sent someone. Maybe he’d thought he’d slipped them? Or maybe he’d paid them off? Or maybe Honerva wasn’t actually keeping tabs on him. From what Rieva said, she’d been a gifted and amazing scientist, using both magic and science to test human limits... and amazingly okay about sacrificing human pets for her research.

Reaching the reception area beneath ground, a strong weird scent of something unknown hung in the air. Familiar and not. And not completely unwelcoming. The scent making his teeth and nails ache, as suddenly he was falling onto his hands and knees, body screaming at him something he couldn’t decipher. Opening his mouth, nothing came out. Heat flushing through his body as his arms gave out and the world became so much bigger than it had been. Whatever the fuck was happening now, he didn’t like it...

Matt grabbed him by the collar, Lance finding himself pulled to his feet too fast. Covering his mouth to prevent himself from throwing up, he swallowed hard. That’d never happened. 44 years and he’d never felt like he had right then

“Fucking shitty vampire scents. What the hell, dude?”

That was vampire. Sniffing again, his stomach rolled. Submit. God. That’s what that feeling was. His body wanted to submit to something. Heat beginning to boil in his belly... no... not here... not here and not now...

“Matt, let him go. Lance... you’re okay. Allura, I’ll take him to his room. Lance, is there anything I can get you?”

“Curtis...”

Curtis’s name came out pained and strangled. Curtis could handle his bouts of heat... Rieva might have offered to take him to his room, but he wasn’t safe with her. He wasn’t safe because his body wasn’t listening. He didn’t... Grunting as a heat wave slammed into him with enough forced to make his knees buckle, tears came to his eyes. Keith was the one who made him feel like this. Not some random vampire... and Keith didn’t make him feel like he had to get on his hands knees and stick his fucking arse out to be bred like this... well... he did, but not so viciously like his head was behind held down and a heat shoved in every opening

“Okay. Allura call Curtis, then call Keith. We all need to talk, but right now Lance needs his boyfriend”

“Keith and Shiro are out...”

People really needed to stop saying Keith. Horny Lance had little control over all things Lance and what he wanted done to him

“I’m... okay... just... please get Curtis...”

This was mortifying. He was mortified. A single whiff and this happened. Maybe he was off guard? He had to be after what Rieva had and hadn’t said? Honerva was evil. The Blades knew about her and were yet to stop her. If she came here people would start dying at an alarming rate... Oh... god... shoot him now... he could smell horny Matt and dear god... he wanted something in him...