#fic ask thing

[sourbat]

Nategaar R or U (Sorry (I'm not sorry) I keep sending you Nategaar I really love how you write it)

R: Romance Under the Stars

Wow. I actually have something to say about this. 

Warning: Set during Galaktikon

The Falcon could not withstand the heat that ripped through earth’s atmosphere, and the sound of metal turning, massive plates groaning and giving under the increasing pressure, could be heard all throughout the ship. And yet it persisted, chasing after the increasing heatwave that only grew more tumultuous and unbearable, turning the band’s one way ride into a giant, flying oven; a coffin that would no doubt cook them alive if there weren’t other, greater issues at hand. A wave of demonic evil swept across the darkening skies, igniting the dwindling oxygen in an immense flurry of wild fire that struck the Falcon’s side. Emergency lights flashed, and amidst the chaos, the cracking glass panels and increasing light as the Falcon drew nearer its goal, all Nathan could think about was how nice the stars looked tonight.

Stars of prophecies aside, just about everything else in the sky appeared the same. Each bright dot flickered, shining a once insignificant beacon of hope, now so impactful as time began to drag. Nathan could feel it slipping before him, coming to a still as his eyes locked with what he hoped was part of the dipper. He didn’t care which one it was, so long as there was something recognizable within the black, empty sea of space.

Skwisgaar’s hand squeezed his. “What ams you lookinks at?”

“The stars,” Nathan answered without breaking contact.

A final decision had been made, though it’s unclear when each member gained their resolve. Nathan’s confident Toki and Pickles’ made theirs before setting foot on the Falcon, and Murderface, despite his lamenting, had become increasingly determined on the ride up. Nathan knew this was it, accepted it as such, but Skwisgaar by his side, wavered.

“Remember when we passed out drunk looking at stars?” He mentioned it absentmindedly, as a filler to help cover the dread he was sure Skwisgaar was feeling. Skwisgaar squeezing his hand? No, should be the other way around. Or maybe Skwisgaar was trying to reassure him… did any of it matter now? 

Skwisgaar uttered an airy chuckle. “We does that all the times, Nathans.”

True. Nathan cannot count the times he and Skwisgaar passed out drunk during “x” activity, and when Skwisgaar brought it up, was almost taken aback by the remark. Then Skwisgaar laughed–actually laughed–at Nathan, and also at his own comment. It was a hearty, boisterous laugh, one so powerful it clogged Nathan’s overwhelmed senses. A laugh that deafened the flaring alarm. A row of shiny, white teeth that blinded the red flashing lights.  

“Sorry,” Skwisgaar said, shaking his laughter away with a few sharp flicks of his head. Each one produces a serene, blond flash that Nathan greatly preferred over the impending lightning storm. “I was just thinkinks. All of them silly memories…” Skwisgaar’s eyed began to strain, and his bottom lip sank. Nathan gripped Skwisgaar’s hand, sending a silent, but firm order to finish the comment, no matter how painful. Skwisgaar’s head shakes a nod. “I thinks I will miss thems very much.”

“Yeah, well.” Nathan stopped. He stared at the vast, darkening sky, watching the blue begin to sink beneath them, replaced with the black void of space. A sharp pain shot through his heart at the sight of the millions of stars across the universe. Stars that he wished on, counted, and stars that lighted him the way home. Stars that shined when he and Skwisgaar kissed, glimmered when they fell in love, and stars that ignited in fury whenever they performed. The agony persisted, and Nathan relinquished his hand from Skwisgaar to pull him close. Their hips bumped, and Skwisgaar wrapped his arm round Nathan’s waist, and although the screen was almost completely warped from the mounting pressure and heat, the two remained together and stared at their battered version of the night sky. “They were all good,” Nathan stated, feeling Skwisgaar’s cheek brush against his. “Each one of them.”

 Skwisgaar rested his head on Nathan’s shoulder. “Mhmm.”

Time continues to slow, coming to a near standstill. Nathan’s sure he’ll need to call the band to order soon, though when is still up in the air. Air? Sky? They were in space now. They were all amongst the stars. He and Skwisgaar were surrounded by the stars. Nothing mattered now. Not even time.

Time… 

“Skwisgaar?” 

“Yeah, Nathans?”

“I…think.” Nathan’s throat tightened. Skwisgaar shifted, pressing his weight into Nathan. “I think I’m really going to miss that,” he confessed, and felt Skwisgaar’s hair drape and spill over his shoulder as he turned to stare up at him. “Us. Together. Doing shit like that.”

The moment’s ruined, Nathan thought. Soiled with too much emotion. Stupid feelings that raised up fear and doubt, longing and so many unspoken words Nathan failed to get across with his lyrics, messages that could only be relayed through private stares or hands reaching and sending notes of desire. Now as not the time for doubt, for second-guessing and silently pleading for time to just freeze so that he could properly formulate the words he needed to say.

But Nathan knew he could have a million years, and it would never be enough to fix the pain in his chest, and in a few seconds, he would have no choice but to let Skwisgaar go.

Skwisgaar pressed his chin into Nathan’s shoulder. “Nathans?”

“Yeah?”

His lips pursed into a thinning, pale crescent. “Them stars looks very beau-tificals.”

Nathan hissed, stopping an exhale from turning into a groan, then gave Skwisgaar a sharp nod. “Yeah,” he said, then turned, brushing his nose across Skwisgaar’s silken crown. Nathan pushed his lips into the center, producing an audible kiss that could be heard through the vibrating metal. “You’re not half-bad looking yourself.” 

Skwisgaar’s arms squeezed his waist. “I could say them same things abouts you.”

Time. Nathan remembered a time where a lightyear was unfathomable, when such distances could only be “explained” with fancy programs and numbers. Formulas had always been meaningless to him; it was only through experience that Nathan could truly understand the meaning behind such terms. As the Falcon continued forward, disregarding pieces of its tearing wing, or outer layer chipping away, Nathan finally got what it meant for something to stretch on and on, maybe even forever.   

Perhaps this will last forever, Nathan pondered as the weight of his body began to lift. How perfect would it be if he and Skwisgaar’s final seconds together could last a million lightyears, could spread across the cosmos and be seen and wished upon forever? Was that too gay, or just too much for ask for? 

The Falcon’s front peeled under the heat, and finally gave way, and the massive beast ahead unleashed a final blast of lightning towards them.

And then they ascended.

Just as planned, they united against the demon, and with their combined powers, pushed back the evil storm with one of their own. Dethlights flashed across space, swallowing up the lightning, thunder and flames. Their powers fighting, consuming and mixing with Salacia’s resulted in a massive reaction. Metal melted, evaporated under the unfathomable heat that coursed through Nathan’s entire being, that sweltered and scorched each band member. Just like the Falcon before them, they persisted, consuming all the evil in their path.

Such combined power proved to be too much, and as Nathan began to feel his every atom give under the intense, magical force, somehow found and pulled Skwisgaar into his chest, embracing him one final time before their physical forms ceased to exist. A massive pentagram filled the sky, burning through the booming thunderclouds. The pentagram remained for some time, fending off the residual magic that once threatened the planet, spreading across the damaged atmosphere and blanketing it with its force. It soon vanished, replaced with the promising formation of rain clouds that healed the planet with its soothing rain.

That, too, ended.

The clouds shifted, shrank and returned to the sea from which they came, unveiling the magnificent array of purple and white. Stars glowed, radiated across the clear night sky, shining their brilliant light over earth, and other, greater pieces shot across the cosmos, stretching long tails of burning light and vanishing once they breached the atmosphere.

Underneath an old, abandoned wooden set of high school bleachers, Nathan drunkenly peered outward, head lifted to the sky. His heavy jaw sank, and a harsh stare turned agape at the many shooting stars that birthed and died before him. He rested a hand against the ancient, rusted support beams. A single, massive light burst through the sky, soaring across Nathan’s line of view before disappearing into the darkness. Its sudden death sent a peculiar, if not melancholic, sensation up Nathan’s spine. 

“What ams you lookinks at?”

Somewhat startled, Nathan turned around, facing Skwisgaar. The man sat under one of the better covered portions, and was nursing the last of the cold cans they had taken with them on their objectiveless adventure. Despite sequestering under the more covered portion of the bleachers, the man’s long hair was drenched, sticking to parts of his face. Under the shadowed frame, Nathan likened Skwisgaar to a handsome phantom, an angelic, but haunting figure that could lure him into the dark recess of the bleacher if he so commanded.

“A star,” he answered without breaking contact.

Skwisgaar’ eyes reflected, glowed menacingly like a tomcats under the shadows. “Instead of lookinks at silly stars, we coulds be... admiring each others more, ja?” He slipped his arms over a leg, then rested his chin on top of his knee as Nathan drew closer. “After alls,” Skwisgaar continued, voice dropping into a sultry whisper as Nathan’s eyes set upon his glowing form, “one day we wills be real stars…” 

[lets-talk-appella]

S and T >:)

Hey again!

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?

OKAY so there are several. Definitely the idea that the Bellas, and especially CR, place bets on Bechloe, because I could see it happening and it is hilarious. Also Stacie being a genius, which is sorta canon with those deleted scenes of her at the campfire. I also like the trope (maybe this is a trope?) of Jesse becoming Beca’s “lesbro” in fics where they aren’t together.

T:Any fandom tropes you can’t stand?

Already answered here.

Thanks again, my dude!

[thetaoofbetty]

1 & 5 for "the history between us" and 7 & 11 for "there's hope in the warmth of your eyes" ?

What’s up, Buttercup?

Hmmm, okay, I can do this. 

the history between us

1: What inspired you to write the fic this way?

So. Okay. Hah. Oh my god, I can’t believe I need to admit this buuuuut, the whole concept started as a joke. I told Maria ( @indiebughead ) that the only way I could ever write a threesome with bughead was if it was basically a “Betty Buffet” where Jug and Veronica were there but literally never touched each other. At all. Then it morphed into a beronica turns into bughead but then that was a disaster because I’m super monogamous with bughead so it was just…terrible. Then! THEN, it evolved into a bughead where they had a history of being in love and not being able to stay away from each other but never quite making it work. 

I’m actually really, really glad it evolved into what it did. 

5: What part was hardest to write?

Honestly, the flashback Betty has in the hallway? I hurt my own emotions with that one, tbh. They both wanted to be together so badly but, ugh, Jughead’s an idiot (we love him so much anyway, right?)

there’s hope in the warmth of your eyes 

7: Where did the title come from?

This song! 

I mixed the lyric (I think it says, “I was warm in the hope of your eyes” or something close to that) around a little until I liked it better but the song put me in Jughead’s head space the first couple chapters. 

11: What do you like best about this fic?

I have to be honest. I l o v e this fic. So much. Even if I did get side eye for Jason Blossom (he was gone by chapter 3, fight me), I just really loved the whole thing. I think that Jughead is definitely one of my favorites I’ve written and I just loved the whole vibe of it. It was originally supposed to be a lot longer but I had to shorten it otherwise it would have become a monster. But, even with that, I still really love it as a whole, tbh. 

Thanks for the ask, little dove! 

[sourbat]

“do you want me to give you advice or do you just want me to listen?” magtok or ship if your choice

This got a little self-indulgent. 

and yes, it’s magtok

After their shared meeting, the psychiatrist requested that Toki leave, and Magnus stay behind for a little while longer. Neither had any reason to believe the news was bad, but when Magnus does leave the small office some five minutes later, looking a little worse for wear, Toki assumes some misgiving had occurred. Bad news? Failure to meet certain goal posts?  An increase in dosage?

After a few handshakes, the required talks with the nurse scheduling the next appointment, it’s a quiet ride down the elevator, with Magnus reading the overview of his meeting in absolute silence. Toki clicks his tongue against his teeth, testing the tone and Magnus’ overall mood. The older man never voices a single complaint the ride down, and continues keeping to himself the walk to the car.

Toki refuses for the ride home to be silent, and immediately snuffs any chance of Magnus spending the next several minutes driving and moping in silence. The keys go into the ignition, and Toki stops him and asks if there is anything he can do to help Magnus. He makes sure not to guess the source of the problem, point a finger or ask any additional questions.

The question hangs above their heads. Toki waits for Magnus’ response, mentally preparing himself for the worse, only to have Magnus drop the keys he had readied for the ignition, and quietly announces that his psychiatrist wants him to consider dropping the mood suppressants.

“She wants you off the suppresscants?” Toki says aloud, taking in the news one word at a time. He falls into the passenger seat, eyes agape and staring out towards the parking lot.

“Yeah.” Magnus squeezes the keys in his hand. “Since my dosage is already so low, she wants me to–”    

“Oh, Magnus, this ams such great news!” Toki reaches over to Magnus’ side, pulling him into an awkward, but loving embrace. He rubs his face against a tuft of brown waves, smiling at the tickle.

Toki waited for this day. Magnus worked so hard trying to get better. They’d been to so many sessions. Even on the best of days, Toki knows Magnus didn’t look forward to the trips. He could be in a good mood going in, but the sessions always prove to be stressful, cathartic to the point of it being emotionally overwhelming at times. It isn’t easy.

Manus wriggles underneath him. “You’re really excited about this?”

“Yeps!” Toki happily announces. “You gets to get offs another medicines!”

Satisfied, Toki relinquishes his hold on Magnus and drops back to his seat, but not before picking up the stapled, folded sheets detailing the information of their recent visit. He flips through the pages, stopping at the second to the last where he reads the summary and doctor’s suggestion. There it is, clear as day. The good news. Drop the suppressants to see if Magnus can rely solely on learned techniques and his own hindsight to keep himself in check. It’s real. This is real. It has been such a long time coming, but it’s finally here.

And isn't this one of the pills Magnus couldn’t mix with alcohol? Toki’s eyes glisten with excitement and possibilities. He thinks of the new and old activities he can reintroduce to Magnus, once he is clear, cleansed of this old prescription and off the blasted pills. They can go out and drink more, and Magnus can get drunk again! Maybe Magnus can take other things, too, and Toki wouldn’t have to worry about it getting in the way of decision making, Magnus making rash decisions, or Magnus going from one extreme to the-

Toki notices how quiet it’s gotten, and when he turns and checks on Magnus, sees that he is still fiddling with the keys. His eyes shift between the collective sheets in Toki’s hands, and the many keys and chains he entangles with his busy hands.

“Ims there something wrongs?” Toki asks, not quite catching on to Magnus’ silence. 

A frown. “Nothing,” he answers, still eyeing the keys. “Just…didn’t think you’d get so excited.”

Toki folds the sheets messily on top one another. “You ams getting off the medicaskons. Beens a long times since that happens.”

It’s been over a year since dropping another medication. Toki remembers it clear as day. Like now, Toki had been just as excited, but so had Magnus. They’d both been so relieved to know there was one less thing holding Magnus together.

Why isn’t Magnus happy right now?

Toki’s hand crushes the sheets. “Magnus?”

Magnus grips the wheel. “Toki, I don’t think I–”

The leather groans under his hold. Toki grits his teeth against the sound. A nasty weight piles in his stomach the second Magnus tears away from the window to meet him.

His stare lets Toki know it’s dread.

“I don’t think I want to get off the suppressants,” Magnus announces, voice unwavering, but it’s clear he’s upset. Toki can hear the sharp cadence, the hidden snap that was already gathering on the defense.  “I… don’t want to stop taking them.”

Toki’s silent. He stares at Magnus, watches his expression turn from nervous to dejected at what Toki assumes is his own disappointed expression. Toki can feel it reach into every fiber of his being. The shock. The sudden turn of events. He must look so surprised, he thinks, but can’t bring himself to check in the mirror. He can’t even get himself to look away from Magnus who keeps eyeing him, waiting for a change, a smile, a supportive line. Anything.

Toki’s head fills with questions. He tries reaching for one, the most obvious “but why nots,” but as he parts his lips, Magnus jerks in seat.

“Like, I know you’re really excited” he says, voice picking up volume and a distinct uncontrolled shakiness. Magnus smiles when he says it, too, though Toki can detect its inauthenticity the second Magnus tries offering it to him. “I was, too. But then she kept talking about the cleansing period, and the initial swings, and I don’t know, man.”

Magnus hands leave the wheel and start swinging, moving with frantic words and expressions that carve deep into Toki. He sees Magnus shake, go pale as he fights to defend a decision Toki cannot comprehend. The fake smile leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

“I know it’s been a while, and I know I see it all through black and white, but I don’t want to say or do anything like I remember,” Magnus says through the silent strain. Toki blinks, witnessing past acts of blind or misdirected rage. He sees Magnus hiding under the covers for days, only leaving to use the restroom or rehydrate. He watches Magnus right now, shaking his head at himself, disbelieving his own strength. “I don’t want to snap at people. I don’t want to feel like I’m choking on my own thoughts.”

There’s anger sitting at the edge of every word. Toki hears it lingering, feels its weight settle around him, but never aimed directly at him.

Magnus coughs false laughter. “Am I overreacting? You think I’m overreacting, don’t you?” He points a finger at himself.  “I’m doing it again, aren’t I? I’m being stupid, making this more than what it has to be…”

He falls into his seat, hands dragging across his face. Fingers get caught in his hair, curl and writhe and purposely get tangled. Toki stops it with a hand resting on top of Magnus' leg. The simple gesture is enough for Magnus to fix himself up, though avoids looking in Toki’s direction until he’s able to tolerate his own reflection in the rearview. 

“I’m over-fucking-thinking it, again.” He sighs. Toki squeezes Magnus’ thigh, calling for his attention. It takes a few seconds for Magnus to relax, for shoulder ease into place and frown shift into a defeated grin, before he finally secedes. He stares solemnly at Toki. “I need to stop doing that. I really should’ve just asked you from the start, huh?”

The hand shifts from the thigh to Magnus’ hand. 

Toki peers close. “Do you wants me to gives you advice or does you just wants me to listen?” 

There’s a pin that burrows into his chest when he utters it, because he knows it’s far from what he wants to tell Magnus. But it’s what the man needs to hear, and once it's out there, Toki sees Magnus’ chest heave, and eyes go dark before being covered with his sleeve.

“…I don’t want to be angry all the time,” Magnus confesses. The answer doesn’t immediately surprise Toki, but the fear riddled in Magnus’ eyes, the dread in his voice keeps Toki alert and listening. “I don’t want to feel like I need to look over my shoulder. I don’t want to hurt you. I know you think I won’t, but I can’t shake this feeling I’ll do something awful if I don’t keep myself in check. I know you trust me, but I don’t know if I’m quite there yet, with you. You trust me, but… I’ve done it to you on meds, and now she wants me off of them? What if say something I can’t take back?” 

The pin pushes further inward. It hurts because all Toki can hear is how much Magnus thinks about him, how considerate he’s trying to be. It’s so sweet. How nice of him, but he was being so mean to himself in the process. That also hurt, because Toki knows Magnus is better than he thinks. He’s stronger than he gives himself credit for. And it hurts the most because it means the day hasn’t yet arrived, and Toki is going to have to wait a little longer for it to come.

“Okays.”

“What?” 

Toki pulls in his lips, fighting past a sigh as he fishes for the right words. They come sooner than predicted, and with them, a gentle warmth. Acceptance. “If you don’t think you ams ready, then you ams not ready. I trusts you. And when you ams, we can celebrates then, okays?”

There’s a smile near the end, and when it forms, the pain lessens. Toki feels it spread across his face, and with it the sense that he still needs to reel Magnus back to him. 

He goes for the shoulder. “You okays?”

A despondent frown. “You’re not upset?”

There’s no point in lying to Magnus, not after being so blatantly disappointed after hearing the news. He can handle the truth, Toki thinks, and the more he dwells on it, the more Toki realizes it’s better they both hear.

“I knows I was exciteds about you drinkins and havins fun with me, but we does that anyways,” Toki starts cautiously, and watches as Magnus gives a short, but confirming nod. He tucks his hands between his legs. “And you said you don’t trusts yourskelves, so…Toki will just have to works on that. Helps out my bestest friend believes in himself more.”

He looks up hopefully at Magnus. Toki unbuckles his seatbelt, leaves his seat and takes Magnus into an embrace.

“This ams your therapy,” he says, and feels Magnus’ arms fold around him. “You gets to decides when you ams ready, not me.”

Magnus shuts his eyes. A sharp intake of breath. “Thank you.”

The words hit just right, because once Toki hears it, the pain starts to vanish. They remain that way for some time, with Magnus selfishly pulling Toki as close as their limited space will allow, and Toki listening in on the occasional sniff, the skip of a rapid heartbeat desperately working to convince itself this wasn’t a failure, but something else.

Eventually, the discomfort of his potion forces Toki to part with Magnus sooner than preferred. He catches a relieved sigh once he does, but notices Magnus wiping his face once he does return to his seat. The man hasn’t quite recovered yet.

Toki spots the keys resting between Magnus’ legs. He swallows.

“Wants me to drive?”

Eyes still closed, Magnus stubbornly shakes his head. “You hate driving.”

Toki openly challenges the remark with a slight drop of his voice. “Do you wants me to drive us homes?” 

The steering wheel groans, and Magnus’s head sinks against the growing silence. 

Eyes open, and tears fall. “Yeah…”

Smiling, Toki reaches for the keys.

[sourbat]

Charles/Pickles, R or A?

A: Almost Kiss

Thank you! 

The premise would be Pickles having the hots for the new manager, but struggling to figure out where they are. Charles is kind to help, offers his assistance whenever Pickles needs it. The guy even laughs at his jokes. But when Pickles tries making a move, it is either met with confusion, or pure ignorance on the manager’s behalf. It seems no amount of flirting is good enough, and it’s starting to frustrate him!

Pickles decides enough is enough and he’s going to try broaching the subject with Charles. The next time Charles shows up to check on each member’s whereabouts, Pickles nervously asks if he wants to grab a bite with him? Charles takes up the offer, and the two dine on burgers, and Pickles tries talking about how nice Charles’ suit looks, and asks if Charles is wearing a new cologne. Charles politely responds to both, but there’s nothing that really screams “oh yes, keep going.” Pickles becomes downtrodden, and assumes the guy is all business. They leave, and Pickles is visibly upset, when Charles’ stops the car in front of a strip mall. Pickles asks what’s up, and Charles says he thought he’d return the favor and get ice cream. Pickles admittedly isn’t in the mood, but Charles insists upon it.  Places his hand firmly on Pickles’ leg, and Pickles is back to wondering what the heck is going on.

They get their ice cream. Pickles tries attempt number two and offers Charles a lick of his rocky road. Charles tries some, and Pickles presses his cone up into Charles’ nose, getting some ice cream on it. Pickles graciously apologizes and offers to clean it up (ala wipe with a finger before licking it up) when Charles immediately pulls out a handkerchief, telling Pickles not to worry. They walk for a bit, and Pickles contemplates taking the man’s hand into his own, but as he reaches, Charles points at a nearby music store hosting a sale on band posters. There’s an SnB poster, and Charles mentions how striking Pickles looks. Pickles jokingly asks “what about now?” and Charles is just like “were you not listening to my use of the present tense?” and tells Pickles he still looks great, perhaps even better now that he’s in better company. Charles smiles, and Pickles desperately wants to believe it’s more than just Charles being nice, but all Pickles sees is a smile. Just a smile and a really nice dude.

From here, I’d briefly summarize their walk, and how nice of a guy Charles is. Maybe he asks Pickles a lot of questions about himself, and while Pickles doesn’t see much point, still shares it, because even if Charles is straight, at least he’s still a cool dude. Hell, Pickles ends up getting tired of hearing himself go on, and starts asking Charles about where he went to school, how he ended up in the music business. Charles takes them back to the car, and Pickles puts on his seatbelt. He turns, and sees Charles closing in one him, and it freaks him out. He pulls back, and asks what the heck Charles is doing. Charles recoils, and after apologizing, tells Pickles that he was under the assumption that Pickles liked him, and that maybe he should try kissing him. Pickles jaw drops and asks if Charles is pulling his leg. Nervously, Charles confesses that he’s being honest, then apologizes again at Pickles for making him feel uncomfortable.

Pickles is just taken aback. He yells at Charles and tells him he’s a fucking tease and lets him know he’s been flirting with him for weeks now, but to no avail. Charles is like “really,” and Pickles thinks the guy is messing with him, but when Pickles brings up a few lines, sees how confused Charles is when he describes his POV. Here, Charles admits he’s never been good at reading people, at least not in the romantic sense. He’s terrible at reading that kind of body language, and although he can read through most poker faces, can’t seem to tell when someone is flirting with him. It ruined previous attempts at relationships before, because Charles “took too long” to respond to any advance, or just came off as cold and callous. 

Pickles is listening, and as Charles continues to explain his side, Pickles realizes he’s telling the truth. It’s a relief, but doesn’t shake off some concerns. Pickles asks if Charles likes him then, and Charles admits that he does. Pickles asks what he likes about him, and immediately Charles says he’s a blast to be around. Charles recounts every single crazy tale Pickles shared with him, every invitation to join him on some ludicrous adventure. He calls him unpredictable. Exciting. Refreshing. Cocky. Confident. Comfortable. Pickles asks Charles when he started to feel this way, and Charles mentioned Pickles stood out because he was the only member that ever greeted him, asked him how his day was, and offered him help when he requested it. Pickles listens to him and, in his unique way, respects him… enough to not get too upset at how bad of a flirt Charles is. 

Pickles apologizes for yelling at Charles, and the man takes it well, smiling and letting Pickles know he’s not offended. He’s just glad it’s out there, and that they can both hopefully move on with a better understanding of one another. He reaches for the ignition.

“Jus’ so ya know,” Pickles nervously spoke. “If yer still up for it, I’d be down for a kiss?”

Charles doesn’t turn on the car. “You are?” he asked, appearing as shocked as Pickles was anxious.

“Yeah.” Pickles’ apprehension faded as Charles’ glasses reflected a spark of excitement. It was so subtle, a “blink and you’ll miss it response” response, but Pickles knew if he was willing to learn, he’d get better at picking up on it. “C’mon and show me what you got, Charles.”

Charles makes his second attempt, and I’ll be real, it’s pretty damn chaste. It’s short, and something you’d expect from someone who’s not used to romantic gestures, but Pickles is more than willing to make up for it. He got his answer and when Charles tries pulling away, gets sucked right back in. pickles is more than ready to show Charles what a real kiss feels like, and when Pickles is done and returns to his seat, Charles is a red, steamy mess. Pickles laughs and tells him there’s more where that came from, all he needs to do is ask, and the two eventually drive back to the apartment.

[sourbat]

O, hammertooth? :O

O: Opposites Attract

This would likely be told through Magnus’ POV, starting immediately after Dethcamp, and likely would extend into a canon-divergence au...

Magnus always assumed that he would automatically dislike certain hobbies; particularly, activities that involved stupid, childish things like visiting zoos, theme parks or animal shelters. He couldn’t see how water colors, scrapbooking, or posing in front of various monuments or landmarks could possibly amount to anything. All such pleasantries were a waste of time, and the only reason Magnus bothered doing any of it was to get close to Toki.  

As it would turn out, there was something oddly therapeutic watching caged animals pace about, and listening to Toki describe a similar feeling whenever he tried practicing with the band (Magnus jokingly admits he feels the same in crowds). Magnus cannot stand the rides at parks, but the hour long wait to reach the front of the line is filled with Toki asking questions about his past, his favorite genre of music, his… hobbies? Magnus is in the middle of staring at a blank canvas when Toki asks what Magnus wants to do next time they hang out, and Magnus honestly doesn’t know what to say. It isn’t even that he needs Toki to trust and like him, but because he’s spent so long obsessing over revenge, having his way, that he’s nearly forgotten what it’s like to have fun. Well, not entirely… The trip to the shelter wasn’t so bad. Magnus could barely remember the last time he held a cat, much less half a dozen kittens crawling up his leg. And the silly comic book convention, despite being so loud and bad on his nerves, ended on a high note when he found an older edition of a graphic novel he read as a boy. But these were all of Toki’s hobbies. Magnus tells Toki they’ll do more of his stuff because, and Magnus can’t believe he’s saying this, he’s been having fun with their more recent trips. 

Toki is not having it, and demands Magnus think of a few fun things they do together as buddies because “ems not fair we only gets to do what Toki wants. We shoulds be doins some of your hobbies, too!”

So Magnus goes home, and he places the painting Toki helped him devise on the table, and he tries thinking of certain activities the two of them can enjoy. Toki’s gotta have fun, after all, Magnus thinks. Magnus thinks of some old clubs and bars he visited, thinking Toki would enjoy something along those line, but the more he dwells on it, sees the watercolor painting with his and Toki’s signatures on the corner, wonders if, maybe, he could try convincing Toki to try something different? Then, of course, are the feelings. As Magnus looks around his place and notices an increase in pamphlets for parks, pictures of him and Toki posed with Mickey, pictures of them on a ride, or them hanging out, begins to realize he wants Toki to try out his hobbies and have fun not because he has a job to do, but because he wants Toki to look him in the eye and tell him he had fun going to a museum, a garden, or antique stores filled with hidden treasures. He wants to take Toki out in the middle of a desert and get high, get lost on a highway and take a dirt path down to who knows where. He wants to fill Toki’s hands with paint balloons and chuck them at rallies, and he wants to see Toki hit a money-grubbing bourgeoisie and watch Toki’s eyes gush with excitement when the balloon explodes and spills red paint.

He needs to see Toki having fun doing the things he used to love, the same way Magnus is starting to open to Toki’s peculiarities. And it scares him. Magnus cannot believe he’s let this happen to himself, and he knows if he answers Toki’s call, he’s going to end up throwing away years of hard work, and Magnus can’t do that! He can’t…

Cue to a time skip, some weeks later, and Magnus’ is leaving his place. His phone rings and it’s the assassin demanding to know why he hasn’t been picking up his phone. Magnus explains he’s been rather busy. Assassin says he needs to have a word with him NOW, and Magnus says now isn’t a good time. The assassin demands to know why, and Magnus calmly explains he’s going on a date, and he doesn’t think he can continue this line of work. The assassin threatens him, tells Magnus he cannot simply drop out of their mission, but Magnus hangs up on him. Outside, Toki huddles near a limo, and he lights up when he sees Magnus and scampers over, excited for whatever surprises Magnus has in store for him. Nervously, Magnus mentions some of the stuff he used to do when he was younger was a “bit out there,” and Toki laughs it off, saying he’s willing to give something new a try if it’s with his cool buddy Magnus.

[sourbat]

i honestly can't remember if i sent you one of these already, but if not, hammertooth in G? :')

G: Growing Old Together

No matter what angle I approach, I find myself drawn to this being a story about denial and acceptance. 

It’d been some time since the events of Galaktikon. Toki’s older, far more adjusted and happily enjoying life. Magnus is still there, and they’re still together. Despite the odds, the two worked out their own set of routines and tricks to support one another. Toki’s still playful, but calmed down in recent years. Magnus is doing good, though he’s certainly slowed down. He’s also had a bit of a cough the past few weeks as well. Toki chalks it up to a cold and tells Magnus to go see a doctor for some medicine.

The doctor picks up something right away, and the world stops when Toki learns that years of drug abuse were finally catching up with Magnus. Doctors say it’s early stage, so it’s fixable and with some lifelong changes, Magnus can expect to still have a relatively good life. They just need to act right now. Magnus is scared, but relieved, but then that word pops up. Chemotherapy. 

So Magnus, despite being told relatively good news, is dealing with the fact that he has a bunch of his own cells slowly attacking and eating away at him. Even with professionals helping set up appointments, pamphlets and charts telling Magnus he’s likely going to beat this, he’s feeling like shit. He’s keeping a straight face because Toki is, but deep down he’s scared. He’s terrified. Early stage or not, no one likes hearing they have cancer. Speaking of which, Toki is doing great. He’s smiling, and is doing a great job not bringing up the fact that Magnus is going to start chemo soon. He feeds Magnus healthy foods, and hands him dozens of vitamins, but otherwise doesn’t express any outward concern.

The band eventually approaches Toki, because at some point word got around, and everyone thinks it’s strange that Toki’s so blasé about it. I think it’s ultimately going to be Abigail who physically visits and pulls Toki aside to figure out what the hell is wrong with him. Because when she does arrive, it’s clear Magnus is stressed, is sick and struggling with all these upcoming dates, and Toki’s just smiling and pretending nothing is wrong. She does what every good friend must come to do, and tells Toki he needs to accept what’s going on right now. Magnus is sick and needs support from him. He needs someone to vent to. More importantly, he needs someone who’ll take care of him once he starts chemo. Toki says there’s nothing to worry about, because he can stop the chemo from spreading. Toki starts talking about prophecies and Abigail eventually pieces it together that Toki’s been doing some late-night studying on the side, trying to unearth his lost powers in a desperate attempt to have control over life and death again. Abigail tells him this is a waste of time, and that the chemo is just as good, but then Toki freaks out and says that it’ll make him sicker, and Magnus will lose his hair, energy and appetite. He starts to break down and talks about how hard he worked to get Magnus so healthy, and now he’s scared of losing that Magnus. He knows the numbers are good, but nothing is 100% percent, except for magic. The chemo might fail, but Toki halting Magnus in place won’t. Abigail consoles him, and tells him he needs to accept the reality of his situation, and speak with Magnus. 

And he does. They both do. Abigail holds Toki’s hand and takes him back to Magnus and Toki breaks down and tells Magnus he’s always dreamt about spending the rest of his life with someone, and for the last several years assumed that it would be Magnus. The past several years have been so much fun. He’s scared that Magnus is sick, and will get sicker if they get treatment or not, and he’s sorry that he was pretending everything was ok because he thought for sure he could recover his powers, but everyone says it’s impossible. He doesn’t want to give up on this dream, which was why he tried so hard to get his powers back, because as long as he has a hold on Magnus’ soul, the man can’t die. Toki breaks into a sob. Magnus is moved, and tries calming Toki down.

Once he’s stable enough Magnus admits he’s terrified. Of all the things that threatened his life, he never thought it would be this. Magnus admits that he’s spent most of his life living in the moment. Aside from delusions of grandeur, he’s never been one to dwell on the future. It was always easier to think of the now than dealing with the unknown. Only now, Magnus can’t live in the moment, because right now it’s killing him. Powers or not, nothing will change that. Toki sees how scared Magnus is, and embraces him. Magnus tells Toki he doesn’t want to die, and Toki continues holding him the same way Abigail did. There’s crying, and Abigail leaves the room to leave them alone.  Magnus starts asking Toki about his dreams, about the things he thinks of when he sees them together forever. Toki starts talking about them going back to Europe, visiting some of the more historical sights he never bothered taking Magnus to before because he didn’t think they were interesting enough. They’re also going to return all the skulls they took from various catacombs, and make a trip to Norway during the warmer months. Toki shifts the subject to Magnus, and asks what they’re going to be doing years from now. Magnus says he’s never thought about it, but Toki tells him to try. Magnus stares out, and around the corner, Abigail slips down the wall, barely keeping herself straight.

“Well,” Magnus struggles to say. His eyes wander the quiet room, staring at the collection of photos and postcards littering their messy walls. They had visited so many places, done so many things. What can he possibly say that wouldn’t be redundant, a repeat of a prior escapade? “Let me think…” he starts, head turning slightly as he tries to envision a future he’d worked so hard to avoid the past several weeks. “Well…you and I are going to visit your friends…”

There’s a knock on the door, and a much older Nathan opens it to reveal Toki and Magnus, the former of whom is carrying a large present. Nathan invites them in, but not before reminding Magnus the rules. Keep a distance from Abigail. Don’t talk about capitalism. Don’t let Toki drink more than three glasses of punch. Magnus says he has it under control. Nathan then tells Magnus “nice haircut”  and Toki responds happily that they just got it cut. He reaches for a set of thickening curls and twirls a few with his fingers, and goads over how fast Magnus’ hair started to grow, and how soft the gray curls were turning out. Nathan says the short hair looks better than the mop he dragged on his head for several years. Magnus lets Nathan know he’s lucky he’s in a good mood, and the two end it at that. Toki hands the gift over to Nathan before taking Magnus’s hand and yanking him inside. Everyone welcomes the two, and Toki lifts Magnus’ top to reveal they’re carrying matching fanny packs for their medicine.

[sourbat]

I’m apparently trapped in Magnus/Pickles hell, so them with M? :)

M: Marriage of Convenience

I…actually want to do this. A lot. In fact, here is a rough summary:

Pickles  discovers his insurance is no longer covering his testosterone. Thanks to a legal loophole, Pickles learns he can marry and get covered under better insurance, and his pal Magnus is willing to take one for the team. So, no problem, right?

“Pickles!” his mother’s voice screeched through the line. “When were you going to tell me you got married, hmm?”

Wrong.

Basically, Magnus tries to do a solid. Pickles learns his family is aware of the situation, is immediately suspicious and/or guilt trips Pickles into coming over, and offers a financial reward for the newlyweds. They need to make a good enough attempt at being a passable couple so that Pickles’ family gets off their back and doesn’t rat them out for fraud, and what better way to do that then spend the next few days learning about one another as they slowly make their way to the state? 

Potential Rating: T/M

And underneath is a rough draft for the first scene.  Let me know what you think?? 

Worst part about visiting the hospital was the location. The city he lived in had at least a dozen hospitals, but the only one that accepted his insurance was a thirty-minute drive one way, and off the corner of a busy street not nearly enough traffic signs. Nathan was always willing to make the hour-long drive just for the hell of it. Pickles figured it was mainly due in part to Nathan's abundant fascination with music, and the sheer joy he got just listening and talking about it, but the man was a saint nonetheless. Pickles had no problem taking in the demographic history of early Scandinavian death metal bands if it made the process of picking up his gel easier. Bad enough the insurers only handed him two pumps a pop. The crappy location and last year’s seven-dollar increase were just the whip cream and cherry to his otherwise bullshit sundae. Still, there were worse options. 

“Your total comes to $133,” the pharmacist announced.

Pickles’ attention swayed from the decadent row of cough drops, rising and sparkling into a flare of curiosity at the number.

“S’cuse me?” he asked, bearing a slightly disappointed smile that was directed more at himself for not paying attention, and less at the annoyed pharmacist just trying to do her job. “Can you, uhh, repeat that one more time?”

“Your prescription,” she repeated. “The amount due is $133 exactly. Will you be using cash, card or check?”

Oh? Pickles’ dropped his stare to the register. There it was: $133.00, clear as day. A vast difference from the thirty-seven Pickles was used to paying. The amount made his stomach turn and twist into an ugly, gut wrenching knot. He rolled two twenties held between his index and middle finger, feeling their inadequacy drag between the clammy appendages. 

Surely there must be a mistake.

“Can you check again?” Pickles rested his arms on top of the counter. It’s a mistake, but there’s a distinct contrast between the cool plastic countertop versus his hot reddening flesh. The sensation was an unsettling reminder of how quick he was to second-guess, but he persisted through that gathering storm of fear and figured it had to be a problem with his card. “My card,” he said, sensing some relief when he heard the words fly out his mouth. “Yeah, maybe the barcode is wrong?”

The pharmacist said nothing as she cancelled the order, then typed in the rows of numbers on his insurance card. Pickles pressed his tongue out just enough for the tip to poke through his lips, then licking the top nervously as he patiently waited for new results. He’d have to order a new card. His mind rolled around the idea, used it as a garnish to cover that steaming pile of “something’s wrong” that was building in his stomach, and when the order went through and Pickles saw the dreaded number return, his empty stomach began to fill with acid.

“Same amount,” she said, and this time turned her computer screen towards Pickles so that any chance of this being a mistake on her part was cast aside. A manicured finger jabbed the name on the screen. “This is your name, correct?”

Pickles frowned at the name. “Yeah,” he answered, then grimaced when his eyes reflexively settled on the “S” label lying just beneath the name, reflecting and taunting him with the horrid truth of the manner, and predicament he’d somehow placed upon himself. “Uhmm…”

“Do you need me to cancel your order?”

“What? No!” Pickles snapped at the question. Thankfully, the nurse barely reacted, and merely took a step to the side, creating a small bit of distance between herself and Pickles.

Eyes returning to the price, Pickles sweaty hands curled inward into vibrating fists. The weight of his legs doubled, and chest racked with panic as he anxiously performed mental somersaults trying to recall the exact amount of money he currently had in his account, and whether he’d be about to financially handle such a burden. It wasn’t like he had spent money on anything major, aside from food. Surely had enough for a… wait, didn’t he recently loan Murderface a twenty? And he spent another thirty a week ago with Magnus at that one bar. Shit. 

Pickles swallowed. His head filled with heat and cotton as he stared hopelessly at the amount, and knew he wouldn’t be able to afford the two pumps, much less a second dose midway through the month. 

“Well?” The nurse asked, growing impatient.

What to do? His nails dug into his palms as he tried to think of a solution. If it wasn’t the card, then it had to be the insurance. Something happened with his insurance… something very recent. He only paid thirty-seven two weeks ago. He needed to call his insurance and figure out what they messed up.

But first he needed his prescription.

“One sec,” Pickles said, then reached across the counter and picked up his card. It nearly slipped out from his shaking hands as he jammed it into his pocket, then hurried down the centermost hallway, head turning between each aisle until he reached the second to the last. At the far end, standing in front of the magazine selection, stood Nathan.

He was absentmindedly flipping through the pages of last week’s tabloids, when Pickles raced up to him, slapping both his hands across the man’s back. 

“Nate, dood!” Pickles said, voice giving way to panic. Heat burst out his lanky shoulders, covering the top half of his arm in a red blush.

Unaffected by the impact, Nathan slowly lifted his eyes from the article he’d been perusing. “Oh, hey Pickles,” he grumbled.

Pickles chewed his inner lip. “Nathan, I need yer help,” he said, wincing at the burn starting to build at the ends of his eyes. Shame riddled his face and darkened each freckle as Nathan picked up on Pickles’ panicked state, and started to lower the magazine.

“Uh… what’s up?” 

“I, uhh.” Pickles ran his hand through his thinning hair, feeling the drag left by his sweating hands. His gut folded again, sloshing the collected acid from before to rise and burn the bottom of his already dry throat. Pickles sighed miserably, releasing a gust of soured, heavy air. “Can you loan me some money, dood?”