#action ic

Non-verbal meme: affection

[muse a] pulls [muse b] onto their lap 

“I can’t believe you’re not listening.” Avi complained, shoving his elbow into Rider’s side spitefully.

“Ow- fuck! I was listening, you dick.” Rider jumped, rubbing his side sorely. “So... What were you saying?”

“Oh my god.” Avi rolled his eyes. “Nevermind.”

“Noooooo come onnnnnnnn please?” The Russian pouted, leaning over to see what Avi was looking at on his phone.

Avi quickly yanked his phone away from view, a light dusting of pink across his cheekbones. “Nothing! Shit- I mean- Nothing on there. I wasn’t-” He slowed down, collecting himself. “-talking about anything on there.”

Rider raised his eyebrows, the only indication that this subject would not be dropped. Avi wanted to kick him right off the damn couch. He huffed once and moved to stand up, get some water and distract himself with hydration or something, but a grip on his wrist yanked him back into business.

“Aviiiii you don’t get to not show meee! That’s not fair. We’re bros.” The pouting was back, and a severe eyeroll was in order.

“It’s not even any of your business, ya idiot.” He moved to pull away but Rider kept his grip tight and with a devilish grin and a harsh tug, pulled Avi up against his chest and attempted to maneuver the phone out of his hands.

“Oh my god- you’re such an asswipe- I HATE YOU-” Avi squirmed and complained, but even with years of training Rider had almost a foot on him and a lot more leverage. He ended up back to chest, his head thrown back against Rider’s shoulders and his shades discarded, squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment.

“Oh my god.” Rider snickered, holding the phone in one hand while the other held Avi in place so he could process what was on the screen. “Personally, I like the black one, but it’s up to you, котенок.” He chuckled into Avi’s ear, pressing a smooch against the side of his head like a bastard and dropping the phone back into Avi’s lap.

Avi refused to pry even one eye open, his hands covering his face miserably. “I can never see the light of day again.” He groaned, muffled through his flesh phalanges. 

“Sure you can, look, it’s right there!” He laughed, shoving Avi off his lap and onto the floor, where a square of light from the window bathed him in shame.

“Fuck you.”

“You wish.”

“And I was talking about work today, you ass.”

“I know.”

And then. of course, a Mario Kart duel was required.

☕ - reassuring touch, such as holding their hand, gripping their shoulder, guiding them by the arm or by a hand on the small of their back, etc 

His eyes stayed eerily dry, every muscle tensed in anxiety. A steady tsunami of “He’s going to die. He’s going to die. He’s going to die.” At some point he must have started mumbling it to himself, and though he couldn’t hear sirens his mind told him there must be. There must be sirens. They have to come. He’s going to die.

He narrowly avoided speeding all the way home, though his instincts yelled that he should have floored it. After nearly giving himself whiplash slamming on the brakes in the parking lot, he scrambled to climb out of the car, almost forgetting his phone in the process. He could hear the sirens now, loud and deafening despite the distance. Maybe it was just him, but the siren was echoing off the inside of his skull like a damnation. 

Sprint, fuck, sprint to the door. Don’t fall, fuck, get up you don’t have time for this, get to the door, get to the door, GET TO THE DOOR! He pushed himself back up from the asphalt and fished out his keys like a man in a marathon, almost dropping them several times in the process. The sirens were closer now, and he saw the lights turn into the parking lot by the time he got the door open. 

A damnation, a damnation. A punishment. Turn your fool’s eyes away from the sky, boy, and look upon your sinful earth. Who will save you now? Not Rose, not Karkat, not Hex. Turn your back on that hopeful thing and see the blood on the floor and in his hair, like ichor for a mortal who had cheated his way out of heaven. A sweet soft thing so undeserving of wounds, so unworthy of this. Of sirens and yelling, of blood, of blood, of sirens. Of sirens and yelling and blood and who will save you now? Who will save you now? Of sirens, and yelling, and blood, and no, and I didn’t mean to leave, and why? Of oh god, why? 

Of not him, not him.

Gun, knife, wallet, mobile, leave.

You're tired. So tired. You haven't slept since the few hours that you blacked out on Thursday, with a week and a half before then. The caffeine shots keep your body reluctantly functioning, and your internal stabilisation system keeps you stable. You want nothing more than to collapse onto your bed at home, or really any bed, but instead you're crouched outside of a rotting building, waiting for it's occupants to exit.

You're still trembling from earlier, still in shock, but you can't think about that. Can't think about the five minutes of "Did he die? Did he die? Did my baby brother fucking die?"

Instead, you're thinking about exactly what you're going to do with that knife as soon as a leg appears, and exactly what you're going to do with that gun as soon as they're down. Leg, neck, temple. Get what you need and don't waste time.

You're gripping your phone in your hand like you could crush it, and you could. Your shoulders tremble, your hands tremble, but you're not crying. Your eyes are dry. You can't.

He's fine. They updated you, he's fine. But you still can't be there. You can't. Even now, you have to lie. Even with your baby brother crawling back from the brink of death you have to lie.

You called Roxy, you called Rose. You didn't call Bro, you didn't call Mom. Just your sisters. They can be there, there for him, but you can't. You've never been able to.

And you know he doesn't want you there. He'd wake up, and throw a fit, he'd throw things and scream and peel your eyes from their sockets and gut you and-