Oh my god also I just opened my ask box lol. I didn’t realize it was closed. Feel free to send in asks.
I do DMC, Gachiakuta, and others down the line as I accumulate husbandos. I’m still learning how I write and my style WILL change. I tend towards realism.
Some rules and disclaimers:
All characters I write anything for must be canonically 18 or over - I just can’t imagine anyone younger “aged up” because it gives me the ick. Yes, even 17.
I tend to get to these monthly - there are times when a solid week will be dedicated to making stuff and responding to stuff. Please know that if you send something in I may answer it a month later because I want to give it some real thought
Please don’t spam
I do not mind darker topics, but no incest, underage, abuse, etc.
Non-con/dub-con is ok in certain circumstances as FANTASY only. For example, sex pollen and stuff is totally chill with me
I very much agreed with @lizardlicks that this post had Sokka vibes and then a fic somehow happened. Enjoy!
“—So when you lost consciousness and fell down like an overwhelmed Victorian woman—”
“I fell normal!” Sokka protests, trying to get off the ground and allowing the EMT to stop him. “I fainted in a normal way!”
“You put the back of your hand to your forehead and spun around,” the EMT says, dry, snapping a fresh pair of latex gloves onto his hands.
Yeah, because Katara’s cut suddenly started spurting when the other EMT pulled off the flannel she’d been using to apply pressure, like they’re in some kind of 70s samurai film and apologies if Sokka didn’t think it was cool and neat like everyone else— “That never happened,” Sokka protests, feeling his face coloring despite himself. “I fainted in a normal or maybe even masculine way.”
“A masculine faint,” the EMT repeats, raising his eyebrow—only one, with that scar, but Sokka is more trying to get another look at his eyes without being obvious about it because in the light of the streetlights above them they looked almost gold, and maybe Sokka did hit his head on the way down…
“Yes,” Sokka insists, refusing to cringe like part of him wants to because god, he can hear himself, alright? He knows. “A very masculine faint.”
“Masculine faints, Victorian woman faints, that from your fancy med school, Sozin?” the other EMT suddenly calls from where he’s finishing bandaging Katara’s arm, and Sokka feels himself flushing even darker at the words. “I must have missed that one with my plain ol’ technical year.”
“Yes, Jet, you must have, thank you for pointing that out yet again,” the EMT—Sozin?—says, giving his colleague a look just this side of a glare.
The other EMT just grins—smirks, really—the toothpick in his mouth somehow accenting the gesture.
“Sokka, just let the man look at you,” Katara huffs, rolling her eyes. Like Sokka is the one bleeding, like Sokka is the one who got bumped by a stumbling fair-goer and who even knows what she slashed her arm open on but it was probably rusty and full of tetanus and why is everyone else acting like it’s no big deal. “It’s not a big deal,” she says, giving him a knowing look. And then giving her EMT—Jet? Is that his real name?—a very different kind of look.
“Alright,” Sokka’s EMT says quickly, catching the look Sokka is giving Jet. “Let’s just focus over here for a moment, okay? Do you always faint at the sight blood?”
Sokka sighs, reluctantly setting aside Jet and his worry for Katara and the huffy feeling in his chest over Sozin’s choice of words to describe. Which regretfully only leaves the fact that his EMT is hot. High cheekbones and thick, shaggy hair and warm golden skin and a scar that only makes his face more interesting and that Sokka thinks bleeds into a tattoo around his collar and making that polyester uniform look better than it has any right to.
And he just saw Sokka fucking swoon like some Regency romance heroine.
“I didn’t faint,” Sokka insists, quickly closing his eyes so he isn’t staring at the guy from not even a foot away, which somehow makes the sensation of Sozin’s fingers testing for sore spots, gently and confidently running up the back of his neck and over the curve of his skull, that much sharper.
“Sure,” Sozin says, the raspiness of his voice even more apparent when Sokka doesn’t have anything else to focus on. And so clearly humoring him. Sokka feels something longing twist in his chest even as he tries not to visibly shiver. “Do you always decide to take a break at the sight of blood?”
“I didn’t,” Sokka repeats, unsure why he can’t let it go. It’s no like he would think poorly of someone who did faint over blood. It’s supposed to be inside, it’s suddenly on the outside. He hunted with his dad every winter he can remember up until they moved, but he gets it. It can be unsettling.
And normally Sokka wouldn’t care what some random person thought about him, not even a cute guy. But Sozin is hot, and he and the other EMT and future-neurosurgeon-pediatric orthopedist-gynecologist-she-has-to-decide-one-day Katara didn’t even bat an eyelash when she suddenly started gushing blood. And Sokka…did.
“No,” Sokka sighs. Though he’s sure he’ll be banging his head against his headrest once they finally get to the car enough to fix that.
“Hm. Open your eyes for me?”
Sokka does, caught somewhere between reluctance to admit this is all happening and wanting to stare as long as he’s going to get the chance to because god, those eyes are definitely gold. “Do you wear contacts?” he blurts before he can catch himself.
“No,” his EMT says after a pause, giving him an amused look. “Do you?”
“Uh, glasses, sometimes,” Sokka says. “Not all the time, but for like, reading and stuff. Not like, I don’t need them need them,” he adds quickly, thinking of Gran Gran’s reading glasses. “But like, sometimes when the print is small and the contrast isn’t great and your eyes just strain?”
“You wear glasses,” Sozin finishes for him. Definitely amused, but Sokka didn’t tell any jokes, and…shit. “So if I ask if your vision is blurry…?”
“It’s fine,” Sokka says quickly, straightening and glancing around for something to read. The side of the ambulance—no, that’s huge. The make and model off a car? But he could recognize that by sight. A license plate! He can read out a—
“Good,” Sozin says, apparently happy to take his word for it which…shouldn’t leave Sokka feeling quite so deflated. “And can you concentrate on the end of my flashlight here—” He carefully moves the little penlight left to right and up and down, Sokka diligently tracking its movements and blinking but holding still for the quick flash of the light into his eyes, trying to look into the middle distance and not just lose himself in his EMT’s impossibly gold eyes because he doesn’t need the man to think he’s any weirder than he probably already does.
“I really am fine,” Sokka says as the penlight disappears into Sozin’s pocket. “Not that I don’t appreciate the little head massage and checkup, but—"
“I’m glad to hear it,” his EMT says. Back to humoring him. “Any nausea?”
“Because vomiting on a cute guy is just how I need to cap off my night,” Sokka says before he can catch himself, freezing when he belatedly registers the words.
Sozin pauses, lips pursed, before continuing to rummage through his medical kit and Sokka just…dies a little bit inside.
“Can we just…forget I said that?” Sokka says, squeezing his eyes shut again as the hopeful flutter in chest wilts. Fuck he just…really is trying to face plant in every literal and metaphorical way he can right now, isn’t he.
“Generally I do need to keep track of signs of confusion or repetition, so sorry. Gotta remember that one.”
“Got it,” Sokka says, slumping and scrubbing his hands over his face. “Makes sense. Look, Sozin—”
“Zuko,” his EMT interrupts, Sokka dropping his hands to give him a blank, confused look. “It’s Zuko,” the man repeats, tapping the nametag on his chest that…does not say Sozin. “Sozin is my last name.”
…Right. Right. The nametag has great contrast and giant letters, too. Fuck.
“Look,” Sokka sighs, tugging on his wolf tail, “I didn’t faint, I just—Katara is my only sister and we basically raised each from when she was like, ten years old and I was twelve, okay? And she was hurt, and we handled it, and you guys got here, great, awesome, she’s in good hands. But then, you know, the whole spurting blood thing and it got worse and…”
Sokka trails off, trying to find the words, some part of him hoping his EMT—Zuko, his name is Zuko, and he isn’t Sokka’s anything—will be able to fill in the gap. But Zuko is just quiet, rummaging in his bag far more than he probably needs to considering he isn’t pulling anything out. Probably just looking for something to do with his hands so he doesn’t have to look at Sokka rambling and making an idiot of himself and humoring him, again, but fuck, Sokka is going to try to explain it anyway because he didn’t faint, okay, he didn’t.
“Look, people can take turns for the worse, okay?” Sokka says, hearing himself fast and clipped and aware that he’s being cryptic and hoping this doesn’t get him another check in the ‘confusion’ column like his fucking contacts question probably did. “It can all seem fine and like you don’t have to worry anymore, but then you do. It happens, okay? So it was just—it was a lot. Emotionally, I mean. But I didn’t faint, I’m not—I wouldn’t lie about something like that,” he says, the heart of his frustration finally spilling out of him. “It doesn’t—I wouldn’t care, I wouldn’t try to make your life harder like that, I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t lie,” he repeats, feeling himself running out of steam when his—the—EMT still doesn’t respond. “I wouldn’t,” he finishes softly, frowning down at his sneakers against the asphalt. “I’m not like that.”
A long beat of silence except for the faint murmur of Katara and the other EMT’s voices, the fair behind him, the distant sound of cars along road, until finally Zuko stirs, the rustle of his uniform overly loud between them. “What’s your name?” he asks, glancing up, and Sokka sucks in a quick breath.
“Sokka,” he says, something hopeful trying to root in his chest again. “It’s Sokka.”
“Sokka,” Zuko repeats, nodding a moment before suddenly rising smoothly to his feet. “Let’s do your balance check.”
Sokka closes his eyes a moment, letting the fluttering edges of a new crush truly wisp away before he rises to his feet, carefully following Zuko’s instructions. His eyes are more on the pavement still than anything else but he can say that’s just for balance, just for focus as he obediently stands on one foot and then the other, touches his nose, leans to the side, feeling like he could jump and spin just fine, throw in some fancy footwork no problem, but just…not wanting to.
“Everything looks good,” Zuko finally says, and Sokka lets his arms drop, nodding.
“Yeah,” he says, mustering up a smile and glancing over to see if Katara’s ready, too. “Thanks, man.”
“Hm.” A considering look as Zuko peels off his latex gloves, then, “Are you sticking around for the rest of the fair.”
“If Katara can,” Sokka shrugs. “But I know, none of the crazy rides, take it easy, don’t stare at screens, if I feel a headache coming on don’t push it. I have been concussed before, I do know what it feels like.”
Zuko purses his lips, carefully balling up his gloves. “From fainting?”
Sokka pinches the bridge of his nose. “Hockey.”
Zuko nods, carefully checking over his kit before zipping it shut, all studious, careful focus and Sokka is trying to decide if maybe he can just…melt back from the edge of the parking lot to exit this situation when Zuko suddenly says, “I was actually going to say that Jet and I are working for the fairground. Not like, as city paramedics.”
“Okay,” Sokka says after a beat. Is this—are they going to get billed, or…?
“Which means we’re on shift at this location.” Zuko’s eyes flick up, his voice almost diffident. “My shift ends in two hours. If you’ll still be around.”
“Oh, that—” Sokka blinks, making himself actually replay the words. “Oh.” Is that—is Zuko--?
“I could check on your symptoms,” Zuko adds, glancing up again and…definitely looking through his lashes. Oh. Oh. “Test your hand eye coordination, make sure it’s still good? I hear ring toss is good for that.”
“Yeah, that—yeah.” Part of Sokka is still a little bit disbelieving, but Zuko is still looking at him, holding eye contact, lips curling at the edges, small and shy and pleased and cute, cute, cute and yeah, Sokka is going to let himself belief it. “That would be nice. I’d like that.”
“Me, too,” Zuko says, hefting his bag as he stands again, all easy strength and grace and he’s a few inches taller than Sokka and Sokka has the feeling he’s going to like looking up into his eyes. “Meet by the Ferris wheel?”
“Absolutely.” Hopefully there aren’t two of them here. Sokka and Katara barely got to explore before she got hurt.
“You should practice your ring toss in the meantime,” Zuko says, serious and grave and teasing, definitely teasing, and Sokka can’t help but grin in answer.
“I don’t know, I gotta keep it a fair competition when you show up,” Sokka says, buffing his nails against his shirt and teasing back and his entire body feeling light when Zuko’s eyes crinkle in the corners in response.
“You better practice, then,” Zuko says, all confidence and challenge and Sokka thinks he if does end up feeling faint tonight, or dizzy, or weak in the knees—hopefully not nauseated—that it is very much going to be Zuko’s fault.
He can’t wait.
--
“…Did you just pick up your paramedic?”
Sokka gives her a sideways look. “Did you?”
“…Let’s go get funnel cakes and not talk about it.”
“Great idea,” he says quickly. He has a feeling they’ll both get their answer in one hour and fifty-eight minutes and counting, anyway.
Drunk Alastor anon here - just wanted to thank you so much for writing it! It was amazing and way better than i imagined ❤️ you're a wonderful writer with big talent 😍
I had such a down day, but it's things like these that pull me out of my hole! ❤️ You (and all my readers) are amazing, thank you for giving me some sunshine on a rainy day 🥺
Jason fought with the zipper of his bag. He willed himself not to tug too hard or else he’d have to find a keyring again when he inevitably ruined it. He’d stuffed too much into the bag in his haste to pack up. He felt eyes on him, staring down his back and refused to acknowledge it. If he let his mind wonder from the frustration of his current predicament, his heart might sink into his stomach again.
Roy leaned up against the door jam. “You sure you can’t stick around? I know we’re all big guys, but there’s room for you. We used to fit ourselves into tighter spots.”
Jason snorted, because it was an understatement Once, they’d piled side by side into a shitty little shack in a swamp; sweating and cursing and staking out the world’s worst drug deal. Not because of the dealers, but because days after they were still covered in mosquito bites in the worst places.
And through it all, Jason had enjoyed himself. Sweating himself silly held nothing to sitting and fishing with Roy. Rowing through the thick soup of the water, and getting spooked by the stray gator up in the trees. Roy had made the ugliest, stupidest sound and Jason had nearly fallen overboard.
They still joked about it from time to time and the bullseye the mosquitoes had whittled into Roy’s ass.
He’d still take the mosquitoes over being trapped anywhere with Dick and Roy. And he wasn’t even trapped. Roy had never kicked him out, and Jason had rarely had reason to leave. Dick was moving in now. That was one bat-guy too many. Jason didn’t think Star could handle two bat-adjacent guys, the same way they loved their quiver of Arrows.
Roy was over the moon. Jason wasn’t.
He’d pushed Roy to reconnect with his brother, and now Dick had decided to move West, apparently. Whatever was said in those text messages must have been enlightening.
But it had solidified what Jason had figured. He was no Dick Grayson. Never would be. Maybe it was familiarity that had made Roy gushing about what he had planned when Dick came. This and that, and where they could eat, and what game they’d catch, and when lasagna night was. And maybe it had stung when Roy had looked over and asked what Jason had thought before wincing. Because he’d forgotten Jason and Dick weren’t like that. That Dick probably should know sooner rather than later that Jason was bumming at Roy’s.
(Jason had wanted to keep it secret. Paranoia and flippancy. He didn’t need to be checked up on, and maybe he was technically on vacation. If his family wanted to find him, they easily could. Oliver Queen had popped over enough times to raise a brow when he saw him eating Roy’s wheaties.)
Roy eyed Jason’s stuff. The few affects that had made the second spare room homey had turned blank in a blink of an eye. It was like Jaso had never been there, if he hadn’t seen Jason packing himself. Everything was clean and meticulous. He’d even washed the sheets.
Roy twisted his mouth in a grimace, and crossed his arms. Jason still wouldn’t look at him.
“Lian’s coming to stay the whole weekend. We could have gotten her to teach you how to shoot.”
That made Jason pause. One thing he’d come to love living briefly with Roy was Lian. She was sharp-tongued and sweet, and gave no quarter. She was perspective in a way that was far older than her age, and downright diabolical with a joke. She was going to be a terror on the criminal world.
They spent time watching old tv shows together. He’d been calling her Pussycat as a joke after they’d sat through a Golden Girls rerun. She still rolled her eyes when he asked her what was new any time he saw her, and vehemently denied how much of an Uncle Dick joke it was.
Lian had her first bow already. She was quickly destroying all of Oliver Queen’s obstacle courses in her learning. Jason hadn’t expected any less. Not seeing her would hurt, but he didn’t think telling a 13-year-old you were running away to fix your broken heart over their father would go down well. And Lian was pretty chill about most things.
He smiled despite himself, thinking on the would-be of that situation. Lian would be kind but merciless. His chest ached just thinking of her.
Jason didn’t look up from where he was zipping his luggage. “Thanks, but no thanks. You don’t want me killing your mood, man.”
Roy snorted. “There’s no guarantee it’ll even work out.”
Jason looked at him, brow raised. Roy held up his hands, “Okay, okay. I got it, say less.”
“Me and Dick can barely be in the same room for five minutes. Lian’s going to notice. Why ruin her time with you with our shit?”
Roy let out an exasperated noise.“If you guys would just talk -”
Jason snorted, because if there was one thing vigilantes were good at it, it was not talking things through. Roy had been front row plenty of times.
“We do. Then we fight, then we decide it’s better that we stay parallel.”
“So what was all this, then?” The last team-up, the weird overly antagonist needling that had just settled into something frosty and resigned on Jason’s end, and begrudging cooperation on Dick’s. They’d been professional all through it, despite the way they’d drift off to argue and roll around like school boys in a fight. They tried to never fight where Roy was concerned, though the urge was obvious. It was one of the few things they could agree on.
Roy had watched Dick the whole time. Jason had noticed, of course, because he’d been watching Roy just the same.
He hadn’t even realized how quickly his feelings had crept up on him. He’d been wearing gloves all the time he’d been whacking bad guys that he never noticed how much Roy made his palms sweaty. That the one time he lost one, he’d nearly slipped out of Roy’s grip because he’d turned nuclear when Roy had set that gorgeous smile at him.
It was why Jason focused his gaze just above Roy’s eyes now. Coward that he was.
“Was doing it for you.” Jason admitted, hefting one of his bags up his shoulder. He still had 2 more on the bed. “Dick’s a dick, but you needed me to have your back.”
Roy picked at his shirt, preening a little at the words. Jason was the loyal sort, if you got him to trust you. Which was why Jason being so tight-lipped about this supposedly solo mission taking him away was so weird. If not a little hurtful.
“How long’s this mission going to take? Are you sure you don’t need backup?”
Jason shook his head. “Not for this one. I’m better off on my own. Not sure how long I’ll be away, but it’ll be a while.”
“But you’ll check-in? You can’t break Lian’s heart by just dropping off the map like that.”
“I’ll check-in.”
“And call. Let me know you’re not bleeding out somewhere.”
“And call. And not bleed out somewhere.”
“And a birthday card. Her birthday is next month.”
“Yes, Harper. I got it.”
Roy frowned. “You know if you need me, I’ll come, right? Outlaws for life. You’re like my brother, Jay. I have your back.”
Something in Jason’s eyes flashed. “Yeah, yeah, you Arthur Morgan wannabe. I got it.”
They’d gone through a period of time when they’d been put out of commission to heal. Between it they’d holed up together for better or worse, and had spent the whole time playing through Red Dead Redemption because Roy had never played, and maybe crying at the end of both games.
And maybe, Jason had admitted it was entirely for ridiculously nerdy reasons Jason had become attached to “The Outlaws”. The jokes had been merciless, and Jason had felt emboldened enough to admit his crush…on Arthur.
(And Harper had laughed. Not about Jason liking men like he liked his women, but because Jason had spent 30 minutes before they’d passed the menu screen on the TV to gush about the characters, that Roy should have just figured.)
(But somehow he couldn’t figure that Jason had really meant Roy, because his eyes always had a way of never leaving the Archer.)
Roy made no move to allow Jason to get past him at the doorway. He stayed planted at the jam, arms crossed and tilting his chin up as Jason was forced to squeeze past with a scowl. Only when he heard the front door open did Roy grab the other two bags to join him at the driveway. He loaded them up in the back seat of Jason’s rented pickup.
Jason hesitated just one moment at the driver’s door before Roy was dragging him into a hug. He squeezed Jason until he grunted, but the younger man didn’t push him away. A little while later, Roy pulled back.
“Don’t die out there, dumbass. I didn’t sew you up that one time and run around with you to just hear you croaked it without me there. You know how to break into the house if you need me.”
“And miss adding a new blood stain to the couch? God forbid.”
“Lian wants to do drama club when she starts high school. You’re an old theater nerd right? She’ll need you.”
“Yeah, I got it.”
“And fishing. And kicking your ass at ice skating. And out-shooting you.”
“I got it.” Jason squeezed Roy’s shoulder. “Later, Red.”
Roy tapped his knuckle under Jason’s chin. “Later, Red.”
Jason didn’t look back in his rearview mirror until he’d made it all the way to the cabin he’d bought in the mountains. He’d kept his mind single-focused and buzzing until he’d collapsed into the downy cot in the backroom.
(and if months later, a wedding invitation was shoved under his door back in Gotham, no one had to know the way Jason had looked at it).
Same anon as with the sickfic prompt - i think that once benrey grasps that humans are fragile enough that a little bacteria can kill them, they're gonna be reeeeaaaal guilty bout the arm thing.... smiles
Gordon leaned back on the couch and sighed, then had to sit up again when he felt snot starting to run down his throat. He hated being sick, because it was unusual for him - he'd generally only get sick once or twice a year, and he'd managed to skip the last two years, so he'd been feeling pretty good about himself.
Apparently going through the absolute worst week of his life took a toll on his immune system, though.
"So what's this, uh...about?" Benrey asked from his seat at the other end of the couch, gesturing vaguely at Gordon's whole body.
Gordon glared at him and sniffled, reaching for the box of tissues on the coffee table. "S'just a cold, man, I'll get over it."
Benrey's eyes narrowed. "You're just cold? Why not - why not get more blankets, or, uh, turn the heat up?"
"No, that's -" Gordon blew his nose. "That's not what I said. It's a cold. It's a...a type of virus that makes people sick."
"Oh. That's pretty sucks." Benrey glanced away. "Hey, if you die, can I have your Xbox?"
Gordon sighed again and tugged the blanket up around his legs on the couch cushions. "I'm not gonna die, Benrey, it's just a cold. Most people don't die from those unless it turns into fucking' - pneumonia or something."
"Okay. If you die of fuckin' new-nomia can I have your Xbox?"
Gordon wheezed a little, and then doubled over coughing. Then he had to blow his nose again. When he looked up, Benrey looked a bit alarmed.
"Do you - is it like a computer virus? Do you need, uh, debugging? My buddy Josh can -"
"No, man," Gordon said. "This kind of virus is alive, not - it's not made - not manmade, like a computer virus. A cold virus is like a, a little bug or some shit. There's lots of viruses and bacteria and shit that can make people sick."
"Mold," Benrey said.
"Yeah, exactly."
"But moldy bread tastes better," Benrey said.
"You do you, man," Gordon said, closing his eyes. That helped with the headache, at least.
For a moment there was blessed silence, only broken by the ticking of the kitchen clock and the raspy sound of Gordon's mouth-breathing. But of course, it couldn't last.
"So you got, uh, got bugs in your house?"
Gordon squinted one eye open to see Benrey glancing surreptitiously around. "Not that kind of bug, man," he groaned. "They're invisible - or, microscopic. They're too small to see."
Benrey turned back and stared at him. "Yo, you got bugs in your house you can't even see? Why - and they make you sick? That's pretty weak, bro, that's not - not good life choices for...humans."
Gordon waved a hand. "Choice has got nothing to do with it, man. Lots of things we can't see make people sick. Didn't we talk about radiation before?"
"Yeah, but -" Benrey made a face. "You got...weak eyes. I can see that."
Gordon sat up more. "Oh shit, for real?"
Benrey shrugged. "Some of it, yeah. Your, uh...your air...atmosphere's pretty fucked up. Lettin' all your sun through."
Gordon leaned back against the couch arm again. "Yeah," he sighed. "We know. It used to be worse, actually, if you can believe that. Big hole in the ozone layer. I think it got fixed, though, or shrank, or something. You never hear about it anymore, and it was - it was all over when I was a kid." He reached for another tissue and blew his nose again.
Benrey glared at the tissue when Gordon dropped it on the floor, adding to the small pile of crumpled white material. "S'no wonder there's bugs in your house," he said critically. "You're a - what's - a messy lil sewage boy."
Gordon snorted, then coughed again. "No sewage here," he said when he'd caught his breath. "Good thing, too - lots of bacteria in that. No idea how that shit didn't kill me with the whole - open wound thing."
"Huh?"
Gordon pointed to his arm. "This should have gotten infected like crazy," he explained. "I don't know how it didn't. I should have lost the whole arm, or, uh, what's the word - gone septic and died."
Benrey's eyes dropped to his arm. "A cold got in your arm?"
"No, that's not..."
"Fuckin' new-nona got in your arm?"
"No, dude." Gordon really wasn't up to a biology lecture right now, but at least talking to Benrey was keeping his mind off of how miserable he was feeling. "Bacteria and viruses are different. There's lots of bacteria that can get into an open wound and make people sick or kill them. Tetanus is a big one. And there's, like, flesh-eating bacterias - that would have sucked." He blinked pensively as he thought about that, then shook his head. "Maybe Darnold's potion had antibiotics, too," he mused. "I'll have to ask him."
Benrey was quiet for a long moment, one hand fiddling with the strings of his hoodie. Gordon decided not to tell him about "good" bacteria like gut flora quite yet.
"Still sounds pretty weak," he said eventually, but Gordon could tell his heart wasn't in it. He kept squinting at the floor and glancing under the coffee table, like he could take bacteria by surprise and see it if he just looked fast enough.
Gordon blew his nose again and reached for the TV remote. "Wanna watch something stupid? I don't think my brain can keep up with anything complicated right now."
Benrey looked over at him. "You got mew mania in your brain?"
"Mew - what?" Then Gordon realized what he meant and giggled weakly. "Oh, fuck, dude, no, it's pneumonia -" he paused to catch his breath before he started coughing again. "And no, that's - it's when your lungs fill up with fluid or something and you can't breathe. It's not a brain thing - at least, I don't think it is..." He was going to have to set Benrey up with some resources if he kept asking about this stuff - Gordon was realizing he only knew so much.
"Oh. Okay." Benrey watched as Gordon sat up to face the TV head-on, not wanting a crick in his neck. "Can we watch a cake show?"
"Sure, man," Gordon said indulgently, and found a playlist of Is It Cake? before rearranging his nest of pillows and settling back as much as he could.
He fell asleep before the second episode started, and he must have tipped over at some point, because when he woke up, his head was mashed against Benrey's leg. On the screen, someone was trying to slice into a real purse to background laughter, and Benrey's hand was feather-light on his chest, rising and falling with every breath.
Hey Lucy! Could you please write some goalie love? Maybe some hurt-comfort with Leo going to Kasey for advice or something like that? 💛
Edited: 20th Feb 23 - Nothing major, just rewriting some stuff with (what I hope) are much improved skills.
Hey, 💛 Here's some Kasey giving Leo advice after his first game loss.
Rating: G
CW: None that I can think of, but do drop me a message if I have missed anything.
Character credit belongs to @lumosinlove
Leo had lost games before. Of course he had. Nobody got through a high school hockey career without experiencing that low. Still, he hadn't been prepared for the guilt curling in his stomach, pulling at his insides until he felt bitter bile at his throat.
Swallowing, Leo slumped back in his stall trying to silence the jeers of their opponent's fans ringing in his ears. A few feet away, James and Thomas cooed over photos of Thomas' new nephew, whilst Nado and Timmy made similar noises over potential tattoo designs. The rest of the team seemed to have put the defeat behind them already, but even the itch of sweat drying beneath his pads wasn't enough to get Leo moving.
"Hey," Kasey said, slapping his hand against Leo's shoulder before taking a seat in the next stall. "You okay?"
Leo pressed his tounge against the back of his teeth, thinking about shrugging off the question. Kasey watched him patiently; the only sign he was waiting for an answer was in the slight tilt of his head. It reminded him of something his Mama had told him once. People think more than they talk sometimes. You've gotta be comfortable with the silences. He hadn't really understood it back then.
"How'd you do it?" Leo asked eventually
Kasey cocked his head further. "I'm going to need a bit more than that."
Sometimes you have to push just a little.
"Knowing that the loss was your fault," Leo said.
Kasey blinked and cocked his head even further. Was he a fucking cat?
But for the most part, people will talk if you let them.
"Okay," Leo sighed, tangling his fingers together. "I get we're a team, but I should've saved that second goal and if I had we'd have won."
"And if Sirius hadn't lost the puck in the first place?"
"Sirius' job is to score goals meaning there's always a risk of him losing the puck. My entire job is to save goals. It's the only reason I'm here."
Kasey laughed, smoothing his hair out of his face, "Sorry, it's just funny. Rookies, I mean. They never change." He sat more upright, smile dropping into something softer, more reassuring. "Look, Leo. Sometimes you just make a mistake. You've just got to shrug it off, do better next time. Besides, for the pick to end up in front of you, then somebody else messed up too and if you don't blame them then you don't get to blame yourself either. Win together. Lose together."
Everything Kasey was saying made sense, yet Leo found himself trying to twist the words into something that would fit his own narrative. Tugging at a lose piece of skin at the corner of his nail, Leo opened his mouth and then closed it again.
"Stop being stupid," Kasey said as he stood. "Not an insult. Like I said, rookies are all the same. It's normal. You're going to have to get over that self-depriciating shit real quick though, if you want to keep any semblance of mental health in this game."
Leo huffed a breath feeling the air flare his nostrils. He wanted to stomp his feet and tell Kasey he was wrong. Instead, he leaned forwards and began to peel off his pads.
Kasey nodded knowingly. "I can't promise the losses hurt less with time, but you will get used to them. Grab a shower. We're getting burgers. Dinner's on Cap."
Sirius jerked his head up from the tablet he was engrossed with. "Excuse me?"
"The rookie needs cheering up. You're Captain."
"Burgers! Yes!" James whooped, "Thanks Pads. Can Lily come?"
Leo glanced between Kasey and Sirius. He didn't think he'd ever be confident enough to tell Sirius what to do. Despite clear attempts to to be as welcoming as possible he was still Sirius Black, captain of the Gryffindor Lions and impressive as fuck. That was just intimidating.
"OK, D'accord," Sirius threw his hands up in surrender, laughter bubbling on his lips. He shook his head muttering something in French that Leo couldn't quite catch. "For Leo. Just this once."
"Love you, Cap!" Finn called, starting a round of declarations that only got increasingly more ridiculous.
"Words can't express my gratitude."
"What did we do to deserve such a kind and generous leader?"
"I'm blowing you a kiss. Catch it."
"Thanks, Sirius," Leo said quietly, as the team quickly moved on to helping Evgeni choose the perfect shade of blue to repaint his bedroom. "Appreciate it."
Sirius just nodded at him, returning to his tablet briefly before looking back up at Leo. "You're doing great. Keep it up." His face twisted into something conflicted then settled on a smile.
"Everybody is doing great," Kasey agreed, only the slightest hint of sarcasm dripping into the comment. "What a fantastic team we are. Now hurry up, I'm starving."
With each item of clothing Leo removed and the warmth of the water on his skin, the familiar tightness across his chest began to disapate. It was going to be okay. Better than okay, maybe. The Lions were a pretty great bunch of people.
