#I have to be concerned about how much pto I have before I can do anything fun | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whataperfectwasteoftime · 3 years

Text

Born to Run / Chapter 8

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Marathon Runner f!reader (no y/n)

Rating: E (SMUT, 18+ only) - This chapter is M at MOST.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: impulsive!Marcus. Brief mentions of BDSM, including past unsafe experiences and implied unsafe BDSM practices.

Summary: The week passes. You go out with a friend, and Marcus has some plans to discuss with you.

SERIES MASTERLIST

AO3

Chapter 7 | Chapter 9

Wednesday

The next morning, you left Marcus’s cabin early to do your training run, returning to your own place to shower and work. Unable to get back to sleep after you had gone, Marcus sighed and got up for the day just as the first rays of sunrise began to streak across the sky. He made himself a cup of coffee, grabbed his book, and sat on the porch to read and watch the sky change colors as the day broke.

He didn’t want this to end.

Marcus suddenly sat up straight in his chair, book forgotten. What if--?

He hurried back inside and pulled his laptop out of his messenger bag for the first time since arriving here, and switched it on. He had to check to see if--

Aha! Marcus couldn’t believe his luck as he looked at the listing page for his cabin online. Nothing was booked for the rest of the month. Holy shit. He let out a breath through his nose. There was one more thing to check before he could--. Marcus picked up his phone.

“Federal Bureau of Investigation, Art Crimes Department, this is Patricia,” said a bored female voice on the other end of the call.

“Patricia! I-it’s Marcus,” he began. “I wanted t-”

“Marcus!” He had to move the phone away from his ear momentarily. “Marcus! How are you feeling? How’s the cabin?”

“It’s…” fuck, it’s what? “It’s... amazing, actually, Patricia. I wanted to say thank you for setting it up, and apologize for being so shitty about it before I left. I didn’t know how much I needed it until I got here.” There’s an understatement, he said to himself.

“I’m so glad. You have no idea--I was worried about you, wondered how you were do-”

“Hey, listen, I have to ask you something, I need a favor,” he interrupted. “Can you look up how many weeks’ vacation I have left?”

“What??” came the voice on the other end. “Are you--you can’t be staying longer?”

“Yeah, I am, I, uh…” Marcus groped for some sort of explanation, “I just really like it here, it’s nice, peaceful, just wanted to extend the trip,” he finished lamely.

“Riiiiiiiight,” Patricia drawled. “Well, I show you’ve got, ahhh… two weeks’ PTO left. You sure you want to take all your PTO up front like this? You’ve only been here a-”

“Great! That’s amazing. Perfect. Would you be able to put in the form for me today?”

“I--sure, Marcus. Whatever you need,” she replied. Marcus could sense her suspicion, but he didn’t want to try to explain why he was requesting an additional two weeks. She would likely be concerned if she knew he was doing it for yet another woman so soon after Theresa. He understood, really. It would raise his eyebrows, too, if he was on the outside looking in. Which was why he was too scared to admit the real reason he was staying.

“You’re a lifesaver, Patricia. I really appreciate it--appreciate you. And I’m sorry again for being a dick, before,” Marcus said, hastily.

“You were under a lot of stress,” Patricia conceded. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, Marcus.”

“Me too,” he said with a little laugh. “Thanks again for the favor. I’ll, uh, see you in two weeks.”

Two weeks! It felt like such a gift. Two more weeks that he could stay here, with you. Without giving it a second thought, Marcus impulsively booked the cabin for the next fourteen days. He curled his fist and gave a little arm pump in victory. Then his face fell. I’m doing it again, he thought. I’m leaping before I know what’s beneath me. But he couldn’t face the alternative--getting on an airplane back home in just a few, short days. Shit! The airplane! He opened another tab and cancelled his flight, rescheduling it to Sunday in two weeks’ time.

Now that it was all taken care of, all that was left was to talk to you.

“BISH!!!! Where hav u been?? U havent texted for like 4 days and im going INSANE. Cam is driving me up the WALL and I need sum girls time.”

You finished reading the latest text from your best friend, Kris (short for Kristina, although she would likely punch anyone who attempted to call her that). She was loud, brash, and you loved that about her--her more outgoing personality caused you to follow her into social situations that you’d probably decline on your own. And, she had the uncanny ability to sense when something was up with you.

‘Sorry, K. Been busy with running and work, but I could go somewhere tonight, maybe.’

“MAYBE???? I think u mean YES!! I’ll get Charlie to watch Cam for the nite and we can get FUCKED UP”

You let out a little puff of air out of your nose in amusement. But she was right--you should probably meet Kris tonight instead of what you really wanted to do, which was see Marcus again. You were getting WAY too attached, WAY too fast. A little girls’ night might be good for you. You could get an outsider’s perspective on the situation with Marcus, and blow off some steam. The past few days had you feeling wound up, and not just sexually. You and Marcus were becoming very intimate, very quickly. You had talked for hours last night, learning about each other, trading childhood stories, sharing your dreams, your worries for the future… You felt vulnerable around Marcus in a way that scared you, a little. And that was when you two were just talking--you couldn’t even think about how vulnerable you felt underneath him, or on your knees with him behind you, methodically taking you apart, piece by piece. He brought out an incredibly submissive side to you; he made you want to be cared for, looked after--dominated, your brain unhelpfully supplied for you--and it made you feel unsettled. It wasn’t that you didn’t know you had that preference in bed; you were quite aware of it (hence the flogger in your drawer), but Marcus was bringing it out in a way you had never experienced before. Men before Marcus had heard the word ‘dominate’ and immediately jumped to hard, rough, impersonal sex that, even if part of you liked it, left you feeling unmoored and unsafe.

(You eventually switched to dating mostly women, after a particularly uncomfortable experience with a man who proudly called himself a “dom,” but you suspected he was using BDSM as an excuse to enact his darker fantasies. You immediately stopped seeing him after the first time, where he had promptly rolled over and gone to sleep without offering any sort of aftercare, leaving you wide awake, sore, and unnerved in an unfamiliar bed.)

With Marcus, giving up your control felt markedly different. It was hard to even apply the term ‘dom’ to Marcus’s personality in the bedroom. Every action he took seemed to come from a place of extreme care. He was soft-spoken when he directed you to do anything. His main goal appeared to be making you feel as good as possible. And then there was how he cared for you that first night, after he had managed to overwhelm your senses so much that you had cried in his arms afterwards. You could get addicted to this man far too quickly. You reminded yourself that this was not a long-term arrangement. He would be gone at the end of the week, and if you got too attached, it was going to fucking hurt.

You picked up your phone again.

‘Sounds good babe. Tonight at 8, usual spot?’

Kris’s reply came almost immediately. “YES BABE C U THERE <3 <3 <3”

You backed out of the conversation with Kris and pulled up Marcus’s thread.

‘Hey, I’m going out for drinks with my friend Kris tonight, but I’d love to see you tomorrow?’

Your message was marked as ‘read’ almost immediately, making you smirk, but you wondered at the long pause before he eventually responded, “No problem, gorgeous. Hope I see you then. xoxo”

‘Try and stop me ;)’, was your reply.

Thursday was cross-training day for you--no running. Thank God. You usually did some other light activity--yoga, biking, maybe heading to the gym for some weight training. Combined with Friday’s rest day, it gave you a well-needed reprieve before your long runs on Saturday.

As you drove to Marcus’s cabin in the evening after work, you thought about your conversation with Kris the night before. You told her everything, including (especially) the incredible sex--she shrieked when you brought up the flogger, causing nearly the entire bar to turn and stare at the two of you. You explained the circumstances behind your meeting--the attack, Marcus’s intervention, his intense gaze and the way he had insisted on helping you. You kept circling back to how incredibly gentle he was, how safe he made you feel. You told her his admission about Theresa and the reasons behind his short stay in Kentucky. You laid out all your concerns, all your feelings, and Kris listened intently, occasionally licking the salt off the rim of her margarita glass.

“So,” she said, “So. He’s like, perfect for you, but he has hella baggage and leaves on Sunday.”

“That’s the long and the short of it,” you shrugged, taking a long swig of your own margarita.

“I know this is not going to be news, but here’s what you gotta do,” Kris began. “You have some fucking fun with him for the rest of the week until he leaves, and whatever you feel for him at the end, well, you’re gonna have to just deal with it, and then bury it.” She paused to take another sip. “Go fuck a bunch of girls to get over him, do what you need to. You get your fun with him, and then it’s time to bury your feelings and move on.”

You raised your eyebrows. “That’s fucking depressing, thanks.”

Kris threw her hands up. “What’s the alternative?” she said, far too loudly. “What, you guys like, stay in touch and have a long distance relationship halfway across the country with a guy you’ve only seen for a week who has a history of being really impulsive?” She shook her head. “You don’t need that stress in your life.”

You raised your glass. “So, literally fuck Marcus and then figuratively fuck my feelings?”

Kris tapped her drink against yours. “You got it, bitch. Next round’s on me.”

You cut the engine when you arrived at his cabin and took a deep breath. You could do this. It’s just fucking, right? No need to make it more than it is.

Marcus’s smile when he opened the door to you was addictive. Your mood instantly lightened as he drew you inside and immediately set to teasing your lips with his own--nibbling, pecking, and tasting your skin as he deftly worked your mouth open with his own, eventually plundering your mouth in a searing kiss that had you nearly bent over backwards. God, this man loved to kiss. Guess it stands to reason that he’d be fucking amazing at it. Still smiling, he backed you up against the hallway wall and ground his knee between your thighs, his hands wandering up and down your body, not breaking the kiss.

“Beautiful girl,” he murmured between kisses. “Missed you yesterday.”

“Apparently,” you laughed, as he grabbed handfuls of your ass and squeezed, bringing you even closer to him.

“Shit. Shit. Before we-- before I completely lose my head, I have to, uh, tell you something. Ask you something,” Marcus was saying.

“Yeah?” You said, distractedly, as you rolled your hips against his knee and kissed him again, making you both moan.

“Yes. Fuck! Yes--hang on,” Marcus chuckled. “Let’s go sit down, I do really need to talk to you.”

Sobering, you released your hold on him. “Sure, okay, we can do that.” You followed him down the hallway into the living room and sat next to him on the couch. “What’s going on?”

Marcus took a deep breath, and then let it out. You started to feel apprehensive--what was this about? What was he so nervous to tell you?

“What if,” he began, then cleared his throat. “What if, I… didn’t, uh, leave for another two weeks?” Marcus asked. “Would that be-- would you want that? Would you… spend another two weeks with me?”

Your jaw dropped. “Marcus! You-- you want to stay here? For… for me?”

He took your hand, gently. “Here’s the thing. I--” he shook his head, almost in disbelief. “I like you, I want to… I want to stay a little longer, get to know you better. I’m--I’m not ready to leave, not yet. I hope I’m not totally off the mark here, but I feel like there’s… something… between us. Something I want to explore further.” Marcus looked down at your joined hands. “And who knows, maybe… maybe in two weeks’ time, we could--” he swallowed. “be together. If you want.”

You murmured his name again, barely audible. Your heart was in your throat. He wants to stay. He wants to see where this goes. All your concerns and hangups about pursuing a relationship with this man--a man you hadn’t known for even a week, a man who was only here because of a bad breakup--promptly flew out the window. Was that impulsive of you? Fuck, yes. Was there a big chance this was going to crash and burn? Fuck, yes. Were you going to do it anyway? Fuck. Yes. You opened your mouth. There was only one thing you could say.

“Fuck, yes.”

Taglist: @honestly-shite , @thirddeadlysin , @deepstarsco , @221bshrlocked , @mando-amando , @frenchyjuju , @farfromjustordinary , @chronic-nosebleed , @stilettoforbeginners ,@leslie-lyman , @gaiuswrites

#marcus pike x you #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike fanfic #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfic #pedro pascal

114 notes · View notes

ladyvader23 · 4 years

Text

Darth Vader, Master Hairstylist

This was inspired by @scuddington ‘s post HERE. I absolutely love Scud’s art, and this one just instantly inspired me!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first time Vader learned how important hair was to little children was the day Miss Laena took PTO in the morning for an important doctors appointment.

He figured he had this. It was just one morning. No big deal. The only difference was that this morning, he’d be the one getting the kids ready for school. That wasn’t hard. He was Darth Vader, Sith, destroyer of Jedi and Rebels alike, Commander of the Imperial Navy! He could handle school.

He scheduled his own meetings around the conflict, he’d warned the twins repeatedly that he needed them to cooperate, he’d made sure the night before that all was prepared. Bags, lunches, homework.

Too easy. Maybe he’d reconsider Miss Laena’s salary.

And the morning did begin smoothly. Until Leia came running to him with a brush in her hand.

“I gotta be pretty daddy!” She shoved the brush towards him. “Do my hair!”

Vader froze. He...knew nothing about hair. He knew his wife had been excellent at it. When had she begun to be interested in how she did her hair? He tried to think back, but he couldn’t remember a single time he’d seen her in public without perfectly styled tresses.

“You are a child. You do not need me to do your hair. Just brush it.”

That of course, offended Leia. She pouted and glared. “I’m a big girl daddy, and big girls have pretty hair!”

She literally forced the brush into his hand.

Well. He’d mastered the Force. How hard could hair be?

Famous last words.

First, he was apparently not gentle enough. He tried to comb the tangles that she’d acquired overnight, and each time he did she began screaming “OW!” and crying. Horrified, he decided to instead hide the tangles and figure them out later. He pulled her hair into what resembled a ponytail and stepped back. “There. Now you will be late for school. Let us leave.”

The hair wasn’t...exactly like it should be. It was crooked, and he wasn’t sure it was tight enough to stay in, but he didn’t want to hurt her further. And he was pretty sure she didn’t want him to try again, because she didn’t argue.

He forgot about the incident shortly after the kids were dropped off. Miss Laena came back shortly before the end of school. He was in their home’s personal conference room, doing assignments from home, when he heard the front door open and the telltale sound of children running through the home.

Miss Laena will take care of it. He thought, focusing back on his work…

Until he realized Leia was crying.

He hated it when she cried. Luke, he could deal with. But Leia? Absolutely not.

Shoving the datapad aside, he went to investigate.

“I’m ugly!” She was wailing when he entered the kitchen. Mis Laena was trying to comb Leia’s hair and having a hard time with it. “I’m ugly!!!”

“Who told you a ridiculous lie like that?!” Vader thundered. Leia was the image of his beloved wife. Both of them were more beautiful than all the stars of the galaxy.

But to his surprise, Leia wailed harder. “Everyone! My hair was ugly!!!”

“Your hair does not reflect how beautiful you are. Hair changes daily.”

Miss Laena winced. “Lord Vader...many children want to feel pretty when they go see their friends at school.”

“Leia is beautiful already. I do not see what the problem is.”

“...She is beautiful, but she may not feel that way when she doesn’t like her hair...and other kids might say something if it looks...different.”

“She is five.”

“Even five year olds want to feel pretty.”

Vader thought it was silly. Leia could have no hair and he’d find her just as perfect as she was with it. But judging on Leia’s reaction, she very much cared about how her hair looked.

It was something her mother should have done. Had she lived, he had no doubt Leia would never have a bad day...or even Luke for that matter (sometimes that boy needed to run a comb through his hair, if Vader was being honest with himself).

But Padme...was not there. And it was his fault for that.

So it was up to him to fix it.

First, he ordered practice manikin heads, the kind hairdressers used to practice. Then, he found online tutorials on the holonet. He watched them carefully, paying close attention to the stylists finger and brush movements. It was not unlike studying lightsaber technique. Both had a certain art to it.

He just needed to master it.

The first many attempts didn’t work as planned. Part of it was due to his cybernetics. They were...not made for the delicacy it took to style hair. The first few manikin heads ended up either with hair ripped out, or he’d grow so frustrated when he couldn’t get a braid right, that he’d throw the manakin off the balcony, where it fell into the lower levels of Coruscant below.

But he was determined. He would not fail in this task. He would not be so reliant on Miss Laena that he would ruin his daughter's day again like that.

He would be the master hairstylist.

It took months (and countless manikin heads) to get things to where he felt he could confidently and safely try working on Leia’s hair.

One morning, before school, he interrupted Miss Laena as she was about to help Leia get ready for school. “I have no need of your services when it comes to Leia.” He informed her confidently. “I will handle it from here.”

He did not miss the concern that flashed through the other woman, but she wisely did not say anything. “As you wish, My Lord.”

He entered Leia’s room. She was already dressed, though her hair, thankfully, was still a mess. “Where’s Miss Laena?” She asked, frowning when he was the only one there.

“I am here to fix your hair problem.” He announced confidently, spotting the brush and summoning it to his hand.

Leia did not hide her nervousness. “No, that’s okay daddy, I...I can have ugly hair today.”

“No. You will sit down and allow me to help you.”

“No--”

“If you do not let me help you, I will ground you from your dolls.” It was an unfair threat and he knew it...but he was a Sith. He’d spent an unsithly amount of time mastering the ways of the hairdresser. He was not about to let Leia stop him now.

Leia pouted, but sat down. “Be nice to my hair, daddy.” She warned as he approached, and he felt her genuine fear.

Carefully, he placed a hand on top of her head and smoothed her hair down in what he hoped was a soothing gesture...and began.

He first worked out the tangles. Carefully, in a way he knew wouldn’t hurt her. Once all the tangles were gone, he began to braid.

The trick, he found, was not to completely rely on his metal fingers. Doing so would result in failure. The trick was to use the Force for anything that was too delicate and precarious for his clumsy hands. With a mixture of the Force and his own now well-practiced hands, he managed to braid her hair into a crown.

He stepped back, satisfied. “You look like a princess.” He told her, and he meant it. It was hair that would make any royal princess jealous. He was fairly certain that Padme would have been quite proud of him had she seen it.

Leia looked in the mirror...and smiled. “Wow, daddy! You got good!”

“For you, my princess...though don’t tell anyone I did it.”

Having redeemed himself, he could have stopped there. He’d mastered enough to impress any five year old.

But he didn’t stop there.

Leia soon decided that she’d rather have him do her hair than Miss Laena (something he was secretly pleased about, though he’d never admit it). As she grew, so too did her tastes in hair. Occasionally, she’d be interested in a style he didn’t know how to do. But if she showed him what she wanted, he’d spend what little off time he had trying to figure it out. Once he’d mastered it, he’d try it out on her. Usually he was successful.

Soon, he began to savor the moments when it was just him and her. She’d sit on the chair, swinging her legs happily while he worked on her hair. Sometimes it felt like they didn’t share as many interests, but when he did her hair, it seemed like it was their own “thing.” It was unsithly, and his Master would absolutely have a heart attack if he ever found out, but he didn’t care.

Soon though, as Leia grew into a teenager, she began to need him less and less. But instead, their time together was replaced by him teaching her how to do her own hair. He’d always dreamed of teaching his children the ways of the Force, but with Sidious suspicious of that ever happening, he knew this would probably be the closest thing he could get for Leia.

For now.

One day, as Leia finished braiding her hair so that it looked like a blooming flower for a Imperial youth party, she paused. “You know. I’ve never told anyone you learned how to do hair.” She said.

“That is wise.” He tried not to think of what the media would say if they ever found out Darth Vader knew almost as much about hair as any professional hairstylist.

“Why? I mean. You’re...you.”

He looked at her for a long moment. She’d grown to be so beautiful, exactly like her mother. And he decided to be honest.

“Because your mother was not here to do it for you.” He replied. “I did not want you to miss out on that experience.”

Leia turned, taking him in for a moment. Then, with a smile, she reached out and gave him a rare hug.

He...allowed it. This time.

“Thanks dad.” She said. “You’re the best. I don’t care what anyone else says.”

He didn’t understand how him being good at hair made him the best…

But he’d accept it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I accept PROMPTS for this or any SW AU!

#Darth Vader #dad vader series #Dad vader #leia organa #little leia #my writing #sometimes he makes a good dad decision #fanfic #star wars fanfic #star wars

203 notes · View notes

tmngoose · 3 years

Text

Cause for Concern: an OC one-shot

Alternate Title: Hurt/Comfort Characters: Rikki, Red Fox, Jupiter Jim, Clem, Rikki's mom (mentioned) Tags: ANGST, Anxiety, Distress, Poor familial relationships, Abuse, Minor Injuries/bruising/scabs, Hurt/Comfort, Blanket forts, Lots of comforting, Additional Tags to be added... Summary: Rikki gets a letter in the mail and Red has a right to worry. Word Count: ~1,799 -x- A/N: I know what you're thinking. "Goosey! This isn't any of the updates you promised us >:C what's up with this OC baloney?" -- Ok, yes, but listen; I wrote this mainly to practice writing Red Fox and Jupiter Jim since I'll be (ahem) writing them very soon for a certain somethin'-somethin' (Also? I need to update Let's Make a Deal and this was good practice to get back into writing for Rikki). I won't be uploading this to my Ao3. Read Cause for Concern under the read more:

It started with a letter—a small black envelope that came in with the rest of the mail: the bills, the take-out menus, and the weekly Stock and Shop circulars.

It was addressed to Rikki, which was odd to Red since Rikki never received mail; at least nothing intimate.

"Hey, Rikki! You got mail today!" Red said as soon as the mongoose returned from her shift at Clem's. She presented Rikki with the black envelope, her tail swishing excitedly.

"That's for me?" Rikki raised a brow.

They settled down at the kitchen table. Red sat across from Rikki, who examined the mysterious piece of mail. There was no return address, and the envelope was perfumed with something that made Rikki's nose wrinkle. She turned the envelope over, and that was when she saw it; the ivory wax seal depicting the image of fang—her family's crest.

Red's grin shrank as Rikki tensed, the color draining from her face, "Well? Who's it from, Rik?"

"It's… ah…," Rather than answering Red, Rikki reached for their salt shaker and unscrewed the metal cap. She poured a perfect circle onto the wooden surface, then dropped the envelope into its center.

Suddenly, it burst into a column of purple flames.

"Oh, my stars!" Red gasped. Her red banded-tail morphed into a giant hand and reached into the cabinet under the sink for the fire extinguisher.

"Don't worry, it'll put itself out," stated Rikki, unbothered by the phenomena. "It's a hex message."

"A 'hex message?'" Red furrowed her brow as the flames flickered before them, contained within the circle of salt. "I've heard of chain letters cursing folks, but this is just plain rude! Who would do such a thing?!"

"My mom."

"Oh," Red's tail twitched. It was a touchy subject they never discussed, mainly because Rikki avoided any conversation regarding family relations—especially if they were about her mother.

When the purple flames disappeared—embers and all—a scorch mark was left behind; Rikki buffed it out with the sleeve of her hoodie. Now that the letter was 'cleansed,' she sliced open the side of the envelope with her claw and emptied a folded piece of parchment into her hand.

The apartment fell silent as Rikki read the letter. Red knew better than to pry, even if the suspense kept her at the edge of her seat.

"Mom wants me to come home—for a visit, not to stay," Rikki grimaced, "She wants to 'talk.'"

"When?" Red asked while Rikki calmly tore the letter into tiny squares.

"A-sap," Rikki brushed the bits of paper into her palm and stuffed them inside the pouch on her hoodie. She went over to the tiny coat closet by the front door and retrieved an old backpack that would suffice as an overnight bag.

"W-wait, you're leaving now?" Red pushed back her chair. Her stomach twisted, and a feeling of dread penetrated her bones. She had no idea where the influx of anxiety came from, but it was enough to get her fur to stand on end.

Rikki shrugged, "I can't keep the lady waiting."

"What about work?"

"I'll tell Clem somethin' came up. Besides, that's what PTOs are for..."

"Is everything alright?" Red's ears flattened, perturbed. "You're not in trouble, are you?" Why would she think Rikki was in trouble? Maybe Rikki's mother always communicated via hex messages. Perhaps that was just how yūrei's spoke to one another; a cultural thing.

Rikki didn't answer. She quietly stuffed her toiletries into a plastic baggie, then went into her bedroom to gather a change of clothes. The silence between them only told Red that she was right to fret about her roomie's well-being.

"… It's nothing, Red," Rikki answered, slipping her headphones around the back of her neck. "Don't worry about it. I'll be fine."

Red's unconvinced by the string of reassurance; they sound a lot like empty promises, "Rikki…."

"Red, I'll be fine," Rikki crammed her chargers and electronics into the small pocket of her backpack. "I should be back sometime soon-ish. We'll order sushi and throw ourselves a little party, ok?"

"… okay," Red stepped out of Rikki's way, reluctantly letting the mongoose pass by. She escorted Rikki to the elevator down the hall and playfully elbowed her in the arm, "Call me if you need back-up, yeah?"

"Whatever floats your goat, space ace," Rikki snorted as she waited for the elevator's arrival. She slung her bulky backpack over her shoulder, "And speaking of goats, I better call Clem…."

Rikki forced a smile as the elevator doors slowly closed. Red saw past the mongoose's attempt at feigning confidence; the distant, fearful look in her eyes gave her away. Red suppressed the urge to summon the elevator and prevent Rikki from leaving.

Red told herself that it was all in her head, the idea that nothing good would come from Rikki's trip to her mother's. She knew Rikki could take care of herself.

Rikki will be back before you know it, Red thought to herself. It'll be alright. I'm sure her mother's a lovely person...

__________

Rikki didn't come home the next day. Or the following day. Or the day after that. When Red tried reaching Rikki on her cell phone, her attempts led her directly to the mongoose's inbox.

Not even Clem heard from Rikki, although he was instructed to 'use her sick days if she ran out of PTO.'

Red kept herself busy with menial chores to steel her nerves and stop her imagination from crafting worst-case scenarios. When she wasn't cleaning the apartment, the yōkai volunteered at the community theater, ran errands, and hunted for Scor-Pion with Jupiter Jim.

"Why so blue, Red?" Jupiter Jim asked during one of their stakeouts atop the eccentric actor's apartment building. "You mustn't let Scor-Pion get you down. The elusive fiend will show himself soon enough!"

"It's not that," Red sighed. "It's my roomie/friend! She's been gone for almost a week, and I've lost all forms of direct communication with her! And even if I wanted to go searching for her, I have no idea where she could be!"

"Hm, that is quite the predicament. I wouldn't be surprised if Scor-Pion is behind your friend's mysterious disappearance!"

"I doubt it…," Red peered through her binoculars and scanned the city's skyline, hoping to spy Rikki. She perked up when she felt Jupiter Jim's hand clasp onto her shoulder, "Sir?"

"Have faith in your friend," Jupiter Jim consoled. "The universe is a vast place, yet we all find our way home sooner or later. We must welcome the weary when they return, but to do so, it's crucial to keep our spirits high."

Red smiled weakly at the profound piece of wisdom, "Thank you, Sir."

The mood was ruined when Jupiter Jim mistook an old lady with a green skin complexion as Scor-Pion. Fortunately, Red's prehensile tail was strong enough to hold the space adventure back from ambushing the strange senior citizen.

If only Red used her tail to keep Rikki from leaving...

_____________

It was Wednesday night. Red had finished washing the dishes and was now standing at the kitchen counter, prepping vegetables for dinner. She was so preoccupied with peeling potatoes that she failed to notice someone unlocking the front door.

And that someone was Rikki.

"Hey, I'm back," Rikki announced as she closed the door behind her.

"Rikki!" Red exclaimed, dropping the potato peeler and spud into the sink. She ran over to Rikki and hugged her tightly, "Leaping light-years, you have no idea how worried I was! You didn't call or text, and Clem said—"

Red froze. Her eyes darted from Rikki's black eye to the bruise on her cheek. Several small knicks speckled the side of her brow. They were scabs now, but the implication that Rikki had bled was still there.

So this was the kind of relationship Rikki had with her mother: a bad one.

Rikki isn't put off by the horrified look on Red's face, "Honestly? It's not as bad as it looks. In fact, I think things went better than I expected." She tried maintaining a modest tone, but it faltered.

I knew I shouldn't have let you go, Red frowned. Hesitantly, she tried reaching up to touch the bruise on Rikki's cheek.

"I'm gonna go take a shower," Rikki said as she casually ducked away from Red's hand. "I had to take the long way back, and I'm kinda gross. Do you need the bathroom?"

"N-No, you go ahead. I'm making stew for dinner. Would you like some?"

"Naaah. I'm not that hungry…."

Red nodded, "Copy that." She watched Rikki's bushy tail drag across the floorboards on her way towards the bathroom.

The universe is a vast place, yet we all find our way home sooner or later…

"Hey, Rikki?"

"Hmm?"

"Welcome home…"

It's such a warm, simple greeting, yet it meant so much to Rikki. She got as far as the hallway before she grabbed onto the wall for support. She sank to the floor and curled in on herself, trembling.

In a split-second, Red's beside her. She held Rikki close, protecting her by wrapping her striped tail around her body. She never heard Rikki cry before; the mongoose is quiet with the occasional whimper that breaks Red's heart.

Red held her tighter, "… We can still order sushi if you want…."

Rikki sniffled, "Yeah, I-I'd like that."

"Heh heh, good! Honestly, I was getting tired of peeling all those potatoes!"

_____________________

Stacks of aluminum take-out containers are left on the kitchen table with empty plastic cups of soy sauce. They make good on their promise to throw themselves a party. So Red and Rikki dragged their mattresses out from their bedrooms and constructed a blanket fort around them.

Once their nightly bathroom rituals are completed, they pile into their fort. Red noticed a few more bruises on Rikki's forearms that were previously hidden by the mongoose's hoodie.

"Clem said he'd give me the day off tomorrow," Rikki said as she slid her phone underneath her pillow. "I told him I had a rough trip. He understands."

"Aw, that's nice of him," Red yawned as she rolled onto her side, facing Rikki. Goodness gracious, who would've thought all this worrying could be so exhausting...

"Hey, Red?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you," apologized Rikki, her voice hoarse. She stared up at the canopy of mismatched blankets and bedsheets, "I'm sorry I didn't keep you in the loop..."

"Don't worry about it, Rik," Red scooched over towards Rikki, "I understand."

They nestled against each other, their tails entwined--another layer of comfort. Red felt obligated to ensure Rikki fell asleep and didn't stay awake to think about whatever cruelties she endured at her mother's. Only when Red was sure Rikki was fast asleep did she finally allow her eyelids to shutter.

#rottmnt oc #Rikki #rottmnt Red Fox #Jupiter Jim #rottmnt Clem #(not a shipping fic! they are just roomies who care about each other I swear to pizza supreme in the sky)#tmngoosepost #tmngoosefic

9 notes · View notes

oneofthemillionarmy · 4 years

Text

The Impossible Order | Ch. 7

Summary line: Mr. Min is a stoic boss who will never outwardly show appreciation for you. Not until you’re gone does he recognize how much you do. And what you do matters to him.

ceo!Yoongi | best.friend!Hoseok | romance, fluff, angst, and stuff

Loosely inspired by Secretary Kim and this third bullet point of the prompt list

Start from the beginning | Last chapter

Your routine is getting increasingly hazy. To be honest, the most interesting parts of your day are when you are tending to Jungkook’s inquiries. Now that you’re more active in replying to Jungkook, Seokjin and Mr. Min reach out to you less. Seokjin doesn’t have to be a peacemaker anymore, and Mr. Min has resolved with himself that he needs to give you the space that you require.

Of course, you don’t mind being around Hoseok’s bedside all day. Yes, hospitals are uncomfortable and Hoseok is still in a coma, but these things are outside of your control right now; you’re rather flexible with uncomfortable situations, all thanks to Mr. Min’s demands. Your patience, however, is tested; not with Hoseok, but just with the routine. You do give yourself a little more self-care routine lately though. Taking baths, cooking at home, cleaning yours and Hoseok’s home, taking care of Yeontan, going to a bookstore.

Yeontan isn’t allowed to roam around the hospital, but you have been able to sneak him in your bag a couple times. Whenever Yeontan sees Hoseok in the hospital bed, he leaps from your arms so quick to lick his hands. You’re always scrambling to pull him back just in case Yeontan tries to jump on him. It’s understandable, with all the time Hoseok takes care of Yeontan, Yeontan low-key likes him more than he likes you.

You just get home from walking Yeontan. Hoseok’s class has rehearsal at 6pm. You have time to take a shower before heading over. You’re about to head into the shower but your phone lights up with a call. It’s Jungkook.

You sigh and sit on the lid of your toilet seat in your towel. The rehearsal is at 6pm and generally lasts for an 3 hours. Right now, is 4:45pm. You still need to shower and head over there. Jungkook doesn’t usually call you for information unless it’s pretty urgent.

“Hello?” You lift your head and brush your hair back. You hear Jungkook take a slow breath before speaking.

“Um. Hey…Y/N…” Oh no.

“Jungkook…You sound terrible.” Your hair falls back into place as your hand leaves your hair.

“Yeah…um…I might be sick…” You bite your lip and touch the bridge of your nose.

“Are you okay?”

“It’s…um, food poisoning, I think.” Oh jeez.

“Mr. Min’s flight to Bhutan is tonight…” You get up and start pacing in your bathroom, however small. The fuzziness of your shower mat started to scratch as you graze the bottom of your foot back and forth on it.

“Yeah…” You cover the mic of your phone and sigh.

“Jungkook, get some rest. I’ll handle it.”

“I’m really sorry about this.”

“No, Jungkook, it’s okay. These things are out of our control. Just focus on getting better right now, okay? Do you need anything? I can drop by and bring you some medicine from the drugstore.” You put Jungkook on speaker as you quickly started ordering medicine from a drugstore for pickup.

“No, my roommates’ got me covered over here. But I do have stuff from your checklist that needs to be brought to Bhutan with Mr. Min.”

“Right. Okay. I’ll stop by for them in a bit.”

“Okay…I’m really sorry.”

You shake your head and held the phone near your mouth, “Jungkook, stop. Mr. Min will be fine. I’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. We’re all fine. Everything will be fine, okay?” It came out a little harsher than you intend. By no means are you mad at Jungkook for ruining your PTO like this; really, if anything, you’re concerned for the kid. You hope he lets this go and just focuses on getting better.

“…Okay…”

“Alright. I’ll see you in a bit. I’ll text you when I’m outside your place.”

“Thanks.” After you hang up, you step into the shower and think of a game plan. You will not break your one-sided promise to Hoseok to record his rehearsal and DJ. But Mr. Min has never been out of the country without an assistant. It’s too bad you don’t have a backup for Jungkook; and anyone you can come up with as a plan C for you and Jungkook is probably ill-prepared to go out of the country at such a late notice. Technically, you are too. But you have some emergency travel kits for times like these. It’s terrible that you don’t have emergency kits for actual emergency trauma.

The moment you step out of the shower, you call Jiwoo, an old friend who used to take classes with you in music production. She actually lives pretty close to Hoseok’s university.

While you confirm Jiwoo with the favor, you grab your emergency travel kits and your suitcase. Tomorrow is the Jubilee so you’ll have to pack some extra nice clothes to meet royalty. When you and Mr. Min arrive, you’ll be expected to find a Kira for you and a Kho for him and Seokjin to wear to the Jubilee ceremony.

Yeontan barks at your feet and you remember your dog will be without you or Hoseok for the weekend. You quickly check his automatic dog food and water dispenser; enough to last the weekend. Yeontan doesn’t have any more painkillers to take, so he’s all good on that end. For times like these, you wouldn’t be able to walk him, but you have some indoor dog potty trays you can set up in the bathroom for him. You also have security cameras at home to constantly check in on him. When Jiwoo stops by for your gear, you’ll drop an extra key for her in case anything happens.

Jungkook has already transferred the flight ticket to your name, so you’ll be leaving Seoul with Mr. Min at 9:05pm. With the quick layover in Bangkok, you be arriving in Bhutan a little after 6 in the morning.

After Jiwoo picks up your stuff, you’ll Uber to Jungkook’s to grab his checklist items. The checklist was one of the documents you’ve prepared for Jungkook for when Mr. Min travels anywhere. Not only do you prepare a checklist Jungkook needs to prepare for Mr. Min, but also what you, or Jungkook, would need to pack in order to assist Mr. Min while you guys travel with him.

And Jungkook already says he’s covered, but you remember to grab some extra medicine you have at home to give him since you cancelled your pickup order. It never hurts to have extra.

As you scramble to pack your suitcase as quick as you can, you catch yourself smiling. Now this, is productive.

~•~

The moment Mr. Min arrives to the airport, he scans the small crowd for Jungkook, but instead he sees you walking towards him with a suitcase.

“Y/N?”

“Hey. Jungkook’s sick so I’ll be assisting you for the trip.” Without another word, you stretch out your hand for his suitcase.

“Why didn’t Jungkook tell him you guys were switching? Why didn’t you tell me you guys were switching?”

“Give the kid a break. When I stopped by his place, he was already knocked out by his medicine. And I didn’t tell you because I stepped in last minute. I didn’t have much prep time either and you’re covered with an assistant either way,” you hand him a thermos, “my conciliatory gift.”

After he hands you his suitcase, he goes over to the sitting area. Across the lobby, he watches you check in your baggage as he sips his coffee. He swears under his breath, “What is this sorcery?”

A mother and child come over to the sitting area and the mother sits two seats away from Yoongi as she digs through her purse. The child rocks back and forth on her heels, watching her mom before glancing over at Yoongi. Yoongi smiles and winks at the kid. The kid grins and leans forward to drop the top half of her body in her mother’s lap and turns her head away from Yoongi. Her mother quietly scolds her blocking her view of her bag.

As the mother and child walk away, the child waves bye to the man in the well-tailored suit, which he waves back with a smile.

“You looked like a creep.” You said when you walk back to him.

“Weren’t you busy checking in our bags?” He uncrossed his legs and stood up.

“You choose, while you think no one is watching you, to be a creep? That’s extra creepy.” You mutter, turning around to lead him towards the terminal. He takes two quick steps to catch up to you.

“You’re the one checking me out while you’re supposed to be checking the bags. Who’s the creep now?”

"Please change your wording.”

“So, you don’t deny?”

“Oh my God.”

This doesn’t feel professional. Yoongi shakes his head mentally. That must be one of the cringiest things he’s ever said to you, or to anyone; this memory will be one of those that will keep him up at night for the next 50 years. He blames the coffee.

Wow, that was not professional. You felt a slight shiver in your spine. Luckily, no one can tell because you’re walking.

~•~

Once you two take your seats, you order a glass of wine so Yoongi can sleep through the flight and take out your laptop to review the logistics and schedule once you land. Your particular airline has those fancy first class seats where each person has a separate reclining seat, however yours are still connected to each other. He always gets the window seat so you take the aisle.

"So…” Yoongi peers out of the window so he doesn’t have to look at you, “your personal reasons for taking leave can put on pause for the weekend?” You opened your mouth to reply, but the flight attendant just passed the glass of wine to you. You place his wine glass on his table and lean back in your chair.

“Technically, it can’t.” You type your password to access your computer.

“Thank you for taking your time for this, then.” You simply nod, although you know he’s not looking.

“Drink your wine. We have a long flight.” Yoongi glances back at you before taking down his entire glass of wine and reclining. He opens one eye when he hears shifting in your seat as you slide a small privacy screen closed between you two.

~•~

To Mr. Min, the worst part of travelling is the travelling itself. Getting woken up in the middle of the night for the layover, napping for 2 hours, and then getting back on a plane, travelling an extra 3 hours, waking up to get off the plane, and due to their destination’s rural area, the car ride to the hotel for early morning Bhutan in the Spring was bumpy, loud, and cold.

Of course, you prepared coffee for him at every part he was awake for, but it tasted different. You warned him, because you guys are out of the country, he won’t be getting his normal coffee; what you have is “the travel version”. This was...an adequate substitute. But when he gets back, the first thing he’s ordering is that coffee.

By the time you reach the hotel, it was about 7am. The Jubilee ceremony wasn’t until 5pm. Mr. Min dismisses you to your own room to rest.

You are eager to relax. You can’t conk out the same way he does on a flight. Flying was always painful, even if you stayed in leggings or lounge pants for the duration. You can’t drink wine like him because you need to wake up and be alert before him. You only got 3 and a half hours of sleep for the entire time; if you can even call it that.

The hotel you selected was the grandest one you could find within the city; for Mr. Min’s best, of course. He definitely prefers to travel in luxury, not that you’re complaining. Everything you see was wood, glass, and natural light. Your bathroom is huge; the ones with the soaking tub inside the shower. The view overlooks the edge of the mountain.

You immediately plop on the bed and moan at the cold, soft cotton luring you in as one of their own. Despite the sheets luring you into their promise of comfort, you negotiate your return to them after you force yourself to turn to the side to grab your phone from your bag next to your bed. The alarm is set to 8:30am. If it were any other Saturday, you and Mr. Min would be sleeping in until you had to go back to South Korea. But this is a business trip; knowing Mr. Min, he will want a debrief at 9.

~•~

After you woke up, you shower and get dressed. At 8:50, on the dot, Mr. Min calls you to his room for a debrief in 10 minutes.

When you enter his room, he’s already sitting at his table with breakfast, but without hotel-served coffee because there you go, placing his custom coffee by his food.

“Good morning Mr. Min. I’ve already contacted Seokjin, he’s on his way to your room.” Mr. Min simply grunts as he takes his breakfast coffee. Definitely can’t call his first coffee of the day, because since midnight till now, he’s had 4.

Seokjin knocks on the door and after he settles down, you order breakfast for him and coffee for yourself through room service.

“The Jubilee ceremony is at 5pm. Prior, the Princess requests us to have lunch with her with the Prince at 12pm so we’ll leave here at 11:30am. At 2pm, I will pick up our traditional outfits for formal occasions for the three of us. You two will go directly to the Denchencholing Palace with the Princess while I pick them up because both Prince and Princess want to secure and check the jewels. There, the Prince and Princess will also help us coordinate a meet with the priest who presents the jewels to the Queen. Ye Rin and Soon Young are already aware of the logistics and I’ve previously already sent them their access badge. Here are ours.” You pass both Seokjin and Mr. Min their access badge when accompanying the royalty.

“The Princess and Prince will debrief us during lunch about how the ceremony will go.”

“When’s the end of the ceremony?” Mr. Min asks.

“The festivities is expected to officially end at midnight, but we don’t need to be there any later than 10. Our flight will leave tomorrow at 9am.” You answer.

“Wow, Yoongi, you’re so eager to leave. I know someone here who’s dying to have you stay.” Seokjin teases.

“Don’t.” Mr. Min warns Seokjin as he places his badge in his inside pocket.

Double the gif! Second gif derived from here

Next Chapter

47 notes · View notes

notsowrites · 4 years

Text

the heart i know

Alex misses Michael terribly while he's off on an roadtrip with his siblings.

This idea has been knocking around in my head for a while, and somehow ballooned into 6500 words.

(AO3 Link)

----------

Despite living in a house with three brothers growing up, Alex had always felt alone. His time in the Air Force had never dissuaded him of that feeling, even as he was constantly surrounded by others. Part of him knew it was the secrets he'd kept, the parts he'd been unable to speak freely about, show the world his whole truth. Buying the house in Roswell after his accident, he'd dedicated time to trying to make it into a home.

But even as he filled it with music and books, and decorated the rooms exactly how he wanted for the first time in his life, he couldn't deny that it felt as though something was missing. An emptiness still lingered through the walls, and though Alex loved this place that was all his own, it wasn't quite home yet.

It wasn't until after - after he'd dated Forrest, after he and Michael had spent months carefully navigating a tentative friendship, after they'd slowly and carefully fallen back together, after Michael had begun to spend more nights sleeping next to Alex than not - that Alex started to truly enjoy the space he'd once carved out for himself.

In his study, against the wall opposite his own desk set up for days when he works from home, is a drafting table covered in sketch paper and notebooks filled with calculations. The sight never fails to make Alex smile, to fill him with a sense of pride for the way Michael's mind works, how he is able to conceptualize and design things, and turn them into a reality. The bookshelves in the room now hold more than just Alex's coding textbooks, and the random literary novels he's acquired when he's had free moments to read, but mathematics and physics, books on environmental science and agriculture that Alex would never have dreamed of owning or reading.

There's a black Stetson that regularly hangs from the hook in the hallway near the front door, a pair of well worn cowboy boots are usually nestled on the floor next to his own work boots. And though he'll never admit it out loud, opening the door to the hallway closet basks him in the familiar and comforting smell of rain that accompanies everything Michael owns.

Before, the most he'd ever left sitting out on the kitchen table had been his laptop, now there are notebooks full of Michael's handwriting that regularly disappear and reappear usually occupying the space at the far end.

In the living room, the blanket he'd kept meticulously folded on the back of the couch rarely ends up that way these days, instead thrown haphazardly after an impromptu nap. Though it's usually Michael who dozes on the couch because he'd been watching and listening to Alex play on the keyboard or trying to work out a new chord progression for a song. He wonders if it should bother him, the way Michael drifts off during those times, but it never does.

The kitchen remains immaculate, save for one new notebook shoved in between the cutting boards that sit neatly against the back splash - Michael's recipe book. Each time he finds some new dish to try, he scribbles the ingredients and the instructions down for reference, though Alex has never seen the notebook open while Michael is cooking. As if he's already committed the entire thing to memory.

But one of the best reminders in the entire house that shows Alex how much this isn't just where he lives and rested his head at night, but is a home he shares with the person he loves, is the modifications to the bathroom. When he'd bought the house, Alex had immediately installed a grab bar and purchased a cheap little bench he could sit on - enough to make do in the shower, but never anything more than functional of their intended purpose. It had been the renovations that Michael had undertaken, designing a more comfortable bench, and a much more accessible grab bar system, that allowed Alex to truly begin to enjoy taking showers, no longer feeling like they were just a necessary, but also something to relax him after a long tiring day on base.

He sits at the dining room table now, setting up the new computer he's purchased for Michael. Of course he'd been unable to stick to a budget, too concerned with making sure Michael had the best for the work he was going to be doing on it. Alex had asked, of course, after realizing that Michael was often just using the browser on his cell phone to search for things, and sticking to pen and paper for everything else. Michael had hemmed and hawed, claimed he didn't need one, and Alex had gotten him one morning, after they'd woken each other up with lazy blow jobs, to admit how much easier his own computer could make things.

Alex misses him terribly.

"I feel pathetic," he'd admitted to Maria three days into Michael's trip with Max, Isobel, and Liz.

"You wanna come over?" She'd asked, taking pity on him. "We can just cozy on the sofa and watch cheesy romcoms and gorge on junk food."

He appreciated the offer, and almost took her up on it. The problem was, the trip Michael had taken didn't have a defined timeline. It all hinged on what they found up in following some clues that led North regarding the UFO crash and it's survivors. Alex had tried to go with him, hadn't wanted to be so far away in case something went wrong, but when his PTO request was denied due to insufficient notice, he'd relented after Michael had convinced him he'd check in every day.

But now it’s been three days since the time they’d spoken, and Alex is starting to worry. He’d resisted during the first twelve hours, convincing himself Michael just hadn’t found a moment alone. The remaining twenty four had been agony, especially when there’s been no answer on anyone’s cell phone - Michael, Isobel, Liz, and Max’s all had gone to voicemail in the end.

"He'll call," Maria had said when he'd told her. "Perhaps there's no signal where they are."

He'd been surprised, given her own ancestral ties to the crash, that she'd elected to stay in Roswell. But Maria had gently reminded him that she was more concerned about Mimi than road trips with no definitive answers, and she had a business to run - sometimes personal trips just had to be sacrificed.

So he occupies himself with setting up the new programs on Michael's computer, making sure it all runs smoothly for when he returns, and buries himself in work projects to pass the time, and tries to not think something went wrong and that's why Michael hasn't gotten in touch.

"We're on our way back," Michael greets him in the first conversation they've had in thirty six hours. "We ran into some problems, so I can't talk long, but we're maybe four-"

"Six!" Alex hears Liz shout in the background.

"-hours away, and there's nothing stopping me from coming right to you."

Alex looks at the clock, and how it's after midnight now, which means it'll be well into the morning hours before Michael is walking through the front door.

"I know you'll probably be tired-"

Michael scoffs, laughing and it's the most wonderful sound Alex has heard in days.

"Tell those bastards you're going to be late."

Alex smiles. "I might not leave at all then."

It's tempting to think about, calling out to spend the entire day with Michael instead. But he has three meetings scheduled, none of which he can get out of short of being on a ventilator. But it will mean that when he gets home in the afternoon, Michael will be there.

He reluctantly falls asleep after that, curled up on Michael's side of the bed, face buried in the pillow that no matter how many times it gets washed, always smells exactly like Michael. It doesn't make Alex miss him any less, but it's been his only comfort these last couple days.

When his alarm goes off several hours later, Alex stubbornly doesn't think about how he woke up alone again. He takes his morning shower on autopilot, wanting to go through the motions enough so that he can just come home to Michael. Breakfast is coffee and cereal, same as it's been every day Michael has been gone, because while Alex is able to cook for himself when he has to - recipes are not that hard to follow - he prefers Michael's cooking. A voice in his head tells him it's just because it means he doesn't have to, but that's not it. He loves watching Michael experiment with things, adding spices or flavors that he never would have dreamed of, and everything still tasting delicious. He'd tried not to be too surprised the first time he’d watched Michael cook for him, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Did you learn from one of the people you lived with?*

Michael had shaken his head, concentrating on the vegetables he'd been chopping up.

"Sanders was the first one who took an interest. After I started working for him, sometimes I'd crash on his couch, and he'd cook me breakfast in the morning. First time someone didn't make me feel like I was an imposition."

Alex's heart always broke hearing about what it had been like for Michael growing up. To not have any memories of happier times, but believing they existed and surviving on that hope. He's often wondered since if there was a way to retrieve the memories that Max, Isobel, and Michael couldn't remember. Particularly after learning about Nora and Louise, and how hard they'd tried to protect their children. His own childhood hadn't always been bad, there had been some good moments, memories from before his mom left when it had felt like they had been something akin to a happy family. It was only after she left when things had changed.

It’s that fear now, of possibly turning into a monster like his father, that keeps Alex from entertaining the possibility of a family. Neither he or Michael have brought it up, and Alex wonders if it’s because they’re both too scared of repeating the unpleasantness of their childhoods. Part of him knows, believes, that he would never turn into the monster that his father was, but fear isn’t always rational, and it doesn’t always make sense, Alex knows that. Maybe one day he’ll believe it too.

Because deep down, he wants it. He wants to marry Michael some day. He's had part of a proposal written since he was seventeen, when he was younger and more naive. There's never been anyone else who made him fell so fast and hard, but Alex doesn't care.

He continues on autopilot as he goes about his day, making the commute to the base, attending his meetings, going over a project that's currently in development for the land the Air Force had purchased from the Foster's several years prior - delayed because of funding and approval issues. He skips lunch, trying to make it through the day faster, and spends most of his last meeting staring at the clock in the corner of his laptop screen.

The drive home is excruciating - it feels longer than it ever has before. There's no new text messages, no missed calls, no voicemails, and Alex tries not to think about how it's probably only because Michael was exhausted. Hopefully he fell asleep the moment he hit the bed, and that's where he's going to find Michael when he gets home.

It's just been two extremely long weeks.

He toes his boots off inside the front door, and drapes his jacket on the hook. There's a black duffel laying near one of the chairs at the dining table, and Alex lets out a sigh of relief. He wastes no time pushing open the bedroom door, greeted by darkness because Michael has all the curtains pulled tight to keep out the sun. He closes the door behind him and pulls his shirt over his head, dropping it in the middle of the floor as he makes his way to the bathroom, flipping on a light. Inside, he partially closes the door and removes his pants, sitting down on the window seat to remove his prosthetic. There's a crutch leaning against the wall, one of the places Michael is always diligent in making sure to place one of his spares. The stress of the past several days has traveled all through his body, and Alex feels it acutely in his hip, and around his stump, which feels extra sensitive to pressure as he removes the liner. He debates the merits of drawing a bath, letting himself relax and let the tension melt away - but it would mean delaying being near, and getting to touch, Michael again for the first time in two weeks, and he decides against it.

Crutch nestled under his elbow, Alex makes his way back into the bedroom, naked except for his boxers, and crawls into bed, letting his crutch fall to the floor. He lets his hands sweep up Michael's legs, past his hips and stomach - a thrill traveling through his body that Michael had fallen asleep naked and ready for him - body following as Alex leans down to place feather light kisses to Michael's skin. He continues upward, pressing his face into Michael's neck, breathing in that familiar and comforting rain smell, his whole body relaxing in response. Alex presses a kiss to somewhere along Michael's jawline, before feeling Michael's arms move, wrapping around him, and pulling their bodies tightly together, indicating he’s awake too.

Without a word, just Michael pushing up to try and find his lips, kisses landing on his cheek, and neck, before finding his lips, Alex feels as he lets go of his hold, and Michael's hand brushes against him. He shifts a bit, so Michael doesn't have to try and squeeze his hand between their bodies, and reaches down, taking Michael in his hand. It's rough, just skin on skin, and Alex knows that friction can't feel good. He pauses, leaning back, and retrieving the bottle of lube from the nightstand where he'd left it during Michael's absence. Carefully he coats his hand, recapping the lid, and reaching back down, fingers wrapped around Michael again as he runs his thumb over the head, which makes Michael moan so so beautifully, and Alex wonders if he'd even touched himself at all during the trip, if he'd been alone long enough to. He jerks Michael off, keeping his face pressed against the side of Michael's neck until Michael is shifting, turning his head and pressing his open mouth against Alex's. He quickens the pace, sensing Michael is close, and pushes his other hand into Michael's curls, pulling at them slightly, but causing the desired effect as Michael thrusts up to meet his hand, and Alex slows his pace, letting him ride it out, pressing kisses to Michael's cheek as he settles back against the pillows.

"Welcome home," Alex whispers, nuzzling against Michael’s cheek, reveling in the contact.

“I told you I’d make it back.”

Alex lets Michael press their lips together, before watching as he slides out from underneath him, pushing up off the bed and heading into the bathroom. Alex only moves as far enough to sit up, his eyes never leaving Michael, watching as he moves around, grabbing a washcloth from the closet, and running it under the hot water.

Finally, thanks to the light of the bathroom, Alex gets a good look at Michael, and immediately sits up in bed, blinking hard at the sight. Michael’s body is covered in bruises -most of them are on his abdomen and back, and Alex is pretty sure there’s a cut on his cheek below his left eye.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Alex yells out, suddenly pissed off that Michael hadn’t said anything, Alex had put his hands on those bruises, they had to have hurt.

Michael pauses, looking down at himself like just realizing the bruises are there, before glancing back at Alex, shrugging his shoulders, and Alex tries to maintain his composure. It’s not going to do him any good to get angry at Michael.

“Turns out the people we were looking for were actually looking for Jones. They saw Max, and wouldn’t believe that he was someone else.”

“And Liz and Isobel-”

“They’re fine - it’s only me and Max who get to look like this. The girls had stayed at the hotel the night this happened - or well, the two days we were missing afterward.”

“Missing?” Alex is seething now, understanding the reasoning behind the fact that he hadn’t been able to get in touch with Michael or anyone else for several days. “Did you forget you have telekinetic powers?”

Michael smiles at him, making his way back into the bedroom, and leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead. It doesn’t do anything to calm Alex down, but he appreciates that Michael knows he needs the physical contact of some kind in this moment.

“They had some sort of serum, something similar I’m guessing to what Helena Ortecho dosed me with when she wanted me to build the atomizer. Rendered me powerless for almost two days. Max too.” Michael slides back onto the bed, and Alex immediately leans forward, hands carefully running across the skin, careful to avoid all the places where Michael has bruises and cuts.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Michael doesn’t reply, and turns away from him, running a hand through his curls, and Alex watches as they slowly fall back into place.

“I don’t want to hurt you-”

“You didn’t-”

Alex glares at him, and thankfully Michael doesn’t finish his sentence.

“Because you would have stopped touching me, and I didn’t-” Michael sighs, reaching out and taking Alex’s hand. He lets him, adjusting so their fingers are intertwined, and watches as Michael presses a kiss to the back of his hand. “Because it’s been two weeks, and nothing these past two weeks has felt as good as your hands on me.”

“Michael.”

Alex takes a deep breath, and barely lets the idea form in his mind, knowing that he’ll overthink it and talk himself out of it if he does. He pushes himself up, maneuvering on the bed, until he’s straddling Michael’s lap, legs wrapped around his hips. Alex digs his hands into Michael’s hair, and pulls their lips together, foreheads gently knocking against one another. The feeling of them pressing together, only the thin layer of his own boxers in the way makes Alex grind down harder, needing the touch.

Michael flips them, so Alex is underneath him, but his legs still wrapped around Michael’s hips, pulling them close together, and Alex laughs into Michael’s chest as he leans over him and retrieves the bottle of lube from earlier. Alex watches, as patiently as he can, as Michael stands up, pulling his boxers down and squirting some onto his hand, coating his fingers, before reaching down and with one finger pressing into Alex.

It has been too long as he pushes down into the contact, hands gripping into the sheets of the bed as Michael adds another finger, using just the tiniest bit of force to open him up. And Alex can’t look away, can’t stare at anything except Michael’s face, and the focus in his eyes in how he’s touching Alex. He feels Michael press in one more finger, and while he appreciates the care Michael is putting into making sure he’s ready, Alex finds that he doesn’t care, he just needs, needs-

Michael’s fingers slide out, and Alex groans at the loss, before Michael is lining himself up and pushing forward, and Alex wraps his legs around Michael’s hips again, urging him forward, filling him up. For a moment, they stay like that, Michael buried inside him, and Alex reaches up, grabbing hold of Michael’s shoulders, his neck, and finally his face, and pulling him down into a desperate crush of their lips before he feels Michael pull out, almost all the way but still inside him and holding him open, before thrusting back in. When Michael hits that spot inside him that sends him wild, Alex can’t do anything except bury his teeth into the junction where Michael’s neck meets his shoulder, the rain smell that is so very Michael all he can focus on, before he reaches down and takes himself in hand, leaning into the tightness he can feel forming, his orgasm inching closer now.

Michael’s orgasm hits first as he continues to thrust forward, dropping his head to Alex’s chest with a muffled groan, as Alex continues to jerk himself off, feeling his own orgasm grow, but the friction is too much, and it’s wrong, and as he slows down his movements, he feels Michael’s hand cover his own, and Alex pulls back, watching as Michael takes over. It doesn’t take long, Alex has spent too many nights dreaming about Michael’s hands on him, and it’s as Michael thumb brushes across the tip that Alex lets go, moaning out his own climax into the curls on top of Michael’s head, fingertips pressed into the skin of Michael’s back.

He pulls Michael down into him, their bodies pressed tight, and Alex keeps his legs wrapped tight around him, one hand digging into his curls as they both breath deep and heavy, coming down from their highs.

It takes another couple minutes before Michael is pushing himself up, and pulling Alex with him, and Alex realizes too late, Michael is carrying him into the bathroom. He doesn’t protest as Michael carefully sets him down next to the shower, and Alex gracefully falls onto the bench, leaning forward and turning the water on, watching as Michael disappears back into the bedroom, returning moments later with his crutch. Alex uses this opportunity to clean himself up, removing the remaining evidence from his skin, letting his fingers dance across Michael’s skin as he watches him do the same.

They dry off, Michael double checking his crutch is within reach, before pressing their lips together one more time, and disappearing back out into the bedroom. He returns a moment later with boxers, and a t-shirt, leaving them on the sink for Alex to get to, and disappears again back into the bedroom again.

By the time Alex has put on the boxers, and pulled the t-shirt over his head, Michael is standing in the doorway, wearing a pair of black boxers, and his hair is towel dried enough that it’s wet, but not dripping onto the floor.

“Dinner?” Michael asks, and all Alex can focus on is the cut next to Michael’s left eye. It’s already in the healing stages, clearly having been received several days earlier, but it’s entire presence makes Alex angry. “I wasn’t thinking anything too complicated, maybe fajitas? If we have the ingredients, since I’m sure you haven’t cooked anything while I’ve been gone.”

Alex scoffs at him. “I went shopping yesterday.”

He takes his time getting dressed, and fishing out one of Michael’s clean work shirts from the dresser, pushing him arms into the sleeves, pressing his nose into the fabric. He’s always amazed at how well the rain smell persists, but it’s comforting, and it makes him feel like he’s surrounded by Michael even in those moments he’s not. He stands in the middle of the bedroom, debating whether or not to put his prosthetic back on, eventually deciding against it - they’re not going anywhere else tonight, and the idea of wrangling with it when they’re just going to end up going back to bed in a few hours isn’t appealing to him at all.

By the time he makes it out into the main room, standing at the foot of the dining room table, Michael, who has slipped into Alex’s Air Force hoodie so he’s not walking around shirtless, has already spread out the necessary ingredients on the counter in the kitchen. There’s a pan on the stove, and Michael is concentrating on slicing the steak into strips, the vegetables from the crisper waiting to be cut up next. Alex doesn’t pay too much attention to the specifics of the cooking, and glances down at the table, only to notice Michael’s regular notebooks are missing, though the laptop that is his gift is exactly where he left it.

Alex watches, transfixed, as Michael scribbles something into one of those notebooks, and then retrieves his cooking notebook from it’s spot against the wall, writing something down in that as well. The way Michael moves, Alex can’t even begin to imagine what his thought process is like to be able to shift around constantly like he does, one idea after another flowing through his mind, needing to be captured and saved.

As far as he can tell, Michael hasn’t seen him yet. Which is fine, because Alex is more than happy in this moment to enjoy watching him, reveling in how comfortable Michael looks. He thinks of the drafting table in the study, and two vehicles parked in the garage, and Michael’s clothes with their own space in the dressers, and in the closet, and can’t look away from Michael in the kitchen, cooking and looking very much like this is his home. And Alex thinks of every time Michael has told him about not belonging, about not feeling wanted, and about how often he’d been shuffled around the system, and something tightens in Alex’s chest.

Years ago, he’d seen this beautiful, handsome boy who made his heart beat just a little bit faster, and offered him a warm place to sleep at night. A boy who had stood up for him when no one else would, who had without hesitation put himself between Alex and danger time and time again. Who looked at Alex like he was the only person in the world that mattered, and Alex has always wondered if he’s worthy of that love, of that devotion. But Michael has never looked at him any other way, even in their worst moments, during the arguments and the fighting - Alex has never doubted that Michael loved him. Because while Alex knows he’s always had trouble verbalizing his feelings, Michael has always been one to stand tall and declare them in the most beautiful ways.

And Alex knows that, without a doubt, there is nowhere else he would rather be in this moment.

“Michael,” he chokes out, because the words are clawing up his throat, and usually Alex is careful about what he says, and how he says it, and he’s never - at least he doesn’t think he has - truly told Michael how he feels. And standing here now, after being apart for two weeks, and the issues with keeping in touch during that time, and the fucking bruises, and it’s all too much for him to keep in now.

“I was thinking about my workshop, and how we can modify some space in the basement here if that’s-”

Alex doesn’t let him finish, can’t even process what Michael is talking about past agreeing with it because he's talking like he knows this is his space, and Alex can't help but feel happy and so fucking proud to see that Michael knows this is his home too.

“Michael,” he starts again, waiting until Michael is looking back at him. “I am so fucking in love with you.”

He was expecting a reaction of some kind, probably something akin to Michael just crossing the room and kissing him. What he certainly doesn’t expect is to hear the knife clatter to the floor, and Michael swear under his breath, and for him to turn the water in the sink on, shoving his hand underneath it.

It takes Alex’s brain a moment to come back online, wondering what just happened, before he realizes that Michael has sliced his hand open. But before he can move, Michael has grabbed a dishtowel, and wrapped it around his hand, as he rushes toward Alex, good hand reaching out and pulling their bodies together, kissing Alex. And Alex is helpless, he melts into Michael’s touch, his arms wrapping around Michael’s waist and pulling himself closer, and Alex faintly realizes his crutch has fallen to the floor.

“You’re such an idiot,” Alex says against Michael’s lips, but Michael just shakes his head, diving back in and kissing him again.

“I don’t care,” Michael replies against his lips, and Alex feels helpless to stop him. "I'm happy to be your idiot."

“We’re going to have to call Kyle now, and have him look at your hand-”

“It’s really not that bad-”

Alex grabs Michael’s wrist, pulling back far enough to get a better look at it, the towel wrapped tightly enough for now, and Alex knows the only reason he hasn’t immediately settled into worrying about an infection is because of Michael’s alien DNA and it’s resistance to human diseases and ailments.

“What if you need stitches?”

Michael smiles, leaning in again, and Alex doesn’t stop him.

"I'm gonna go put my prosthetic on, and then call Kyle, so please, no more accidents." Alex tugs at the dish towel, and Michael yanks his hand back.

In the bathroom, Alex collapses back on the window seat, and takes a deep breath, cursing the events of tonight. Well, not all of them because he'd never regret Michael - even through the good and bad between them, Alex has learned to take it all in stride. He just can't believe Michael's reaction to what he'd said had been to slice his hand open.

He calls Kyle first, leaning against the wall, and wondering if he should never had said anything at all. They're lucky - Kyle isn't working, and agrees to come over, but Alex can hear the apprehension in his voice and knows he's going to have to figure out a way to repay the favor.

By the time Alex has put his prosthetic back on, Kyle is letting himself in through the front door, backpack slung over his shoulder, looking as though he'd rather be anywhere but here - and Alex can't blame him for that. His status as Alien Doctor means he's the only one who can treat the aliens without fear of discovery.

“Do I even want to know?” Kyle asks, carefully pulling back the dishtowel, and inspecting the wound. Alex watches as Michael ignores the question, his good hand reaching toward the new laptop that's still sitting on the table.

“Guerin’s an idiot,” Alex supplies from where he’s standing in the kitchen heating up leftover pizza, since dinner was ruined, and Alex was done letting Michael near sharp objects for the evening. As Kyle sets about cleaning and bandaging Michael’s cut, including dropping a full bottle of nail polish remover on the table for Michael to drink, Alex moves around the kitchen, cleaning up the ruined dinner that Michael had planned for them, shaking his head at the half cut up meat and vegetables, and putting anything that can be saved back in the fridge.

“Yeah,” Michael adds, not paying attention to Kyle, his gaze firmly settled on watching Alex in between sips of acetone. “But you love me.”

Alex watches Kyle stop what he’s doing, eyes moving up first to Michael’s, and then over to his own, as if asking if he needs to tell Michael to shut up before he starts telling Kyle things he definitely doesn’t need to, or want to, know.

“Did you just figure that out, Guerin?” Kyle replies instead, and Alex wonders if he thought that the safest option. “Cuz the rest of us had bets on how long it would take you two to figure your shit out.”

Alex glares at Kyle, remembering several conversations years ago, where Kyle had tried to nudge him into talking to Michael, insisting that it was the key to everything between them. It hadn’t been bad advice, it had been exactly what Alex had needed to hear. The problem was, like it had always been with them, timing.

Timing had always been their enemy, even from the very beginning. Alex had thought they’d beaten it, after everything they’d been through where they’d all but given up on ever being together. He doesn’t like to dwell on it too much, on their crashing back together in the weeks following the reunion, or how fast he’d pulled away due to the threat of his father still lingering over them, choosing to protect Michael over being with him.

“Who won?” Michael asks, and Alex glances over to see Kyle bent over Michael’s hand, gauze pressed against the wound. He doesn’t want to know how far off their friends were, if he and Michael had spent too much time letting everything else get in the way instead of trying to work things out between them. But he’s already cleaned up the kitchen, and after all of this, Alex really just wants to eat dinner and take Michael to bed, and not wake up until the morning.

“Max.” That’s a surprising answer, Alex thinks. He’d expected it to be Maria or Isobel. Or even Kyle himself, who seemed to have picked up on what Guerin meant to him long before Alex was even willing to admit to himself that it could be obvious to anyone. “And even he was off by about four months. You two really did take forever.”

“I’m surprised Maria didn’t win.”

“She took herself out of the running, said it’d be cheating.”

Alex is thankful when the oven beeps, indicating the pizza is ready, and ignores the remaining conversation between Kyle and Michael. He removes the tray from the oven, and plates two slices each on plates for him and Michael, before wondering if Kyle is hungry. But as he turns around with the intention of asking, Kyle is standing up, backpack in hand, looking ready to leave.

“I don’t want to know what caused that cut, but for my sanity, please don’t do it again.”

And with that, he’s gone, leaving the two of them alone again.

“Alex, what is this?” Michael asks, fingers running across the smooth top of the laptop.

“It’s yours,” he replies, matter of factly. He knows Michael is going to resist, going to insist he doesn’t need or want it.

“I didn’t ask-”

Alex takes a deep breath, because he knew the fight was coming. He knew that Michael would resist it, because that’s how Michael is. He gives and gives and gives, and Alex has watched him reject things people have done for him over and over again, thinking they were debts that needed to be repaid.

“I know you didn’t, but with all your research and your designs - I thought this would make it easier.”

Michael doesn’t say anything to that, and Alex wonders if he’s not going to actually argue against it.Maybe it’s just the events of tonight, maybe Michael is going to save the bickering for another day, another evening.

Instead, Michael shakes his head, eyeing the computer one more time, and pushing up off the chair, and walking into the kitchen. Alex tries to not focus on his injured hand, on the stark white bandage wrapped around reminding him of a different time in their lives, causing him to flinch away, picking up a plate and taking a bite of pizza.

He watches Michael lean against the counter across from him, picking up a slice of pizza and testing if it’s cool enough to eat. It’s shit timing, but Alex needs to know something, needs to ask Michael about tonight.

“Did you not know?”

Michael pauses, pizza poised in front of his mouth, and frowns at him, before dropping the slice back onto the plate, and sliding it back onto the counter.

“Of course I knew.”

“Because I know I’m not good with words, I know that I don’t make those big grand declarations like you do that take my breath away and render me speechless.”

“Alex-”

“I just,” he pauses, leveraging himself across the linoleum until he’s standing in Michael’s space, fingers itching to reach out and make contact. “It felt important to tell you.”

He lets Michael crowd him against the cabinetry, pizza temporarily forgotten. Wraps his arms around Michael's neck, as Michael pulls him on with his hands settled on his hips, and Alex just loves this man. He's infuriating and he's beautiful, and more than anything else, Alex wouldn't trade anything in their past if it meant changing getting here.

"I told you a long time ago, I don't look away from you. I never could." Alex lets Michael lean in, foreheads pressed together, noses bumping, lips pressed together in smiles. "You're my home, Alex. You made me believe, when no one else did, that I didn't have to build a ship and leave. That I could have a family here too."

Alex thinks about home and Michael's plans for moving his workshop into the basement and kisses him again and again and again, feeling like he's that seventeen year old boy again who got nervous around the boy he liked. Except now they're grown up, they're men who have seen more and done more, and changed them. But one thing through it all has remained the same.

"You really want to move your workshop here?" Alex asks, knowing the answer, but needing Michael to understand that he's asking to make sure. He needs to hear it from Michael.

"Do you not-"

"No!" Alex immediately replies, and then catches himself, knowing how this has to sound. "Fuck. No, I want you to. I'm just - I'm making sure it's what you want."

Michael reaches behind him, and Alex twists his head to see it's one of his notebooks, and they pull away from each other just enough so Michael can flip through the pages to find something specific. Be holds it up so Alex can see and-

It's a design for a prosthetic for him.

Alex takes the notebook, staring at the pages, not understanding half the calculations and formulas scribbled in the margins, but not caring because he understands the design schematic.

"I just thought I could try and make you something that was lighter and easier to get on and off-"

Alex lunges forward, cutting Michael off, and wrapping his arms back around him, using Michael and the countertop for balance and leverage to stay upright. He kisses Michael over and over again, and thinks about everything Michael does for him.

"Say it again," Michael says, pulling back so they can look each other in the eye.

Alex buries his face in Michael's shoulder, pressing his lips against the skin of his neck, but he's smiling. He hasn't felt this happy, this excited, this in love since he was seventeen. He knows Michael is waiting for him, the ever patient partner that as a teenager he never dreamed of deserving, much less finding.

"I love you."

#roswell new mexico #malex #alex manes #michael guerin #malex fic #notso writes fanfic #some references to off screen violence and past abuse #but mostly just what it says on the tin

46 notes · View notes

hale-13 · 3 years

Text

Ulcerated

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 8 - Force Feeding

It’s only been a week since Tony last saw the kid but the weight he’s lost is clear in the way his shirt is just a little baggier than normal, the paleness of his face, the gauntness of his cheeks and Tony has to hold in his sympathetic wince. May Parker was never one to exaggerate but Tony had kind of been hoping that she was this time.

Words: 2720, Chapters: 1/1 (Completed), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & May Parker

Characters: Peter Parker, May Parker, Tony Stark, Helen Cho

TW: Vomiting, Medical Procedures

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“Hey Pete,” he says, trying to keep his tone light and his voice gentle, Peter looks like he’s one stiff breeze from passing out or crying – it’s a toss up – and Tony doesn’t want to find out which is more likely. Peter raises one hand just above waist level in a half-assed wave and Tony bites the inside of his cheek sharply. “May said you’d been feeling pretty crummy kiddo.”

Peter shrugs and hums noncommittally, eyes a little unfocused from, what Tony guesses is, low blood sugar. He purses his lips and weighs his options before crossing the room to pull Peter into a careful hug. Peter goes nearly boneless in his arms but doesn’t raise his own to return the embrace which worries Tony even more; Peter is more tactile than just about anyone Tony’s ever met and is always eager for any physical affection. His stomach turns and he looks up to make eye contact with May where she’s wringing her hands in stress and looking guilty in her navy scrubs.

“Thanks for this Tony,” she says, approaching them and running her fingers through the rat’s nest of Peter’s curls. He’s still leaning up against Tony either for emotional or physical support, he’s not sure which. “I was worried about leaving him alone.”

“It’s no problem at all,” he assured and it wasn’t. When May had first called him about Peter’s supposed stomach flu earlier in the week he had sent all of the kid’s medical information to Cho who had told them, based on his symptoms and history, that they just needed to fill him up with as many fluids as possible and start a bland diet. They couldn’t afford not to with Peter’s wicked fast metabolism. May had taken most of the week off work to cram electrolytes and soup down Peter’s throat but her PTO had run out and she was on shift for the next three days. When she had called Tony for their daily update he had insisted that Peter come stay with him in the Tower – the penthouse a convenient few floors above the MedBay if they needed it.

“Okay Petey,” May said, pulling Peter into her own arms to fold him into a soft hug that Peter at least attempted to return. “You get some rest and try to eat something for Tony okay? I’ll call you in the morning when I get home but I’ll have my phone on if you need me and the hospital can always page me if I’m not able to answer okay?”

“Sure,” Peter rasped and Tony winced at how rough his voice sounded but, he supposed, non-stop vomiting for the majority of the week would do that to you.

“Alright,” May said, looking torn and a little devastated and Tony empathized. Peter was the closest thing he had to a son and he couldn’t imagine leaving him like this now that they were together. She made eye contact with him and Tony could read the clear ‘you’re going to have to take him from me or I won’t let go’ expression on her face and pulled Peter gently back to him.

“I’ve got him May,” Tony promised. “The chefs at the Tower have prepared a ton of bland foods for us to try and Cho’s on call if we need her. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“I know,” she said, eyes a little damp. She cleared her throat and pressed her lips to Peter’s forehead. “I love you Pete.”

“Love you too,” Peter mumbled back and Tony slipped his arm a little lower down the kid’s back to support him when he swayed a little unsteadily, dazed. He needed to get Peter off his feet fast before he passed out. They rode down the janky elevator together but went their separate ways at the curb – May toward the subway and Tony maneuvering Peter to lay half in his lap in the back seat of the town car Happy had been idling in the fire lane in front of the apartment.

“Step on it Hap,” Tony said once he had Peter settled, ignoring the concerned look his friend was giving them both in the rear view mirror. “Make it a smooth ride yeah?”

“No problem Boss,” Happy promised, pulling away from the curb with the utmost care and merging them into the Queens traffic.

——————————————

“I know you don’t want to,” Tony began, apologetic as he nearly shoved a bite of unsalted, unbuttered white rice into Peter’s unwilling mouth, trying not to feel overly guilty about the look of pure betrayal on Peter’s face. “But you’ve already lost over eight pounds and its hard enough to keep up with your metabolism as it is. I know you don’t want to end up in the MedBay.”

Peter sighed around the mouthful of rice but chewed it and swallowed it, begrudgingly accepting the next bite Tony forced into his mouth. They got through about half the bowl before Peter abruptly turned pale and then green, barely managing to grab the empty bucket Tony had placed next to him, vomiting up a mixture of bile and undigested rice. Tony squeezed his eyes shut a second in commiseration before rubbing the kid’s back to help him through it. “It was a good attempt buddy,” he said quietly as Peter retched painfully into the bucket until he was dry heaving only.

The episode only lasted for a couple minutes but Peter looked completely exhausted when he collapsed back to rest against the headboard of his bed, letting Tony pull the bucket from his limp grasp. “No thanks,” he said, voice sounding even worse now, throatier and deeper than normal with the wear and tear on his vocal cords, and pushing away the bottle of Pedialyte Tony had tried to force into his hand.

“Not optional kiddo,” Tony told him sympathetically, pressing the straw between Peter’s unwilling lips and staring until he finally gave in and took a few swallows, his Adam’s apple spasming.

“Can I just sleep?” He asked pathetically, eyes red rimmed and skin both pale and flushed, skin drooping with how tired he clearly was.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Tony offered. “You eat another five bites and drink a quarter of the Pedialyte and I’ll let you have a four hour nap before we repeat. Do we have an accord?”

Peter looked at him with sad eyes, the bags under them dark and deep. “I don’t really get a choice huh?”

“Not if you want to avoid the MedBay,” Tony agreed. “The only reason I haven’t taken you already is because you asked me not to but, if this gets any worse, you’ll have to go.”

“Give me the rice,” Peter said, defeated and Tony passed it to his shaking grip, steadying the bowl while Peter forced down five bites of the rice, washing it down with the drink before lying back and cuddling up to Tony’s side, eyes already half-lidded with sleep.

“Put on some Brooklyn 99 would you FRI? Volume at twenty percent.”

“On it Boss,” FRIDAY’s voice responded quietly, pulling the show up on the flat screen in Peter’s room as Tony started massaging Peter’s scalp.

At some point he must have fallen asleep as well because, the next thing he knew, he was waking up to Peter gagging out his name and lurching for the trash can next to the bed. Tony hastened to grab it and thrust it under Peter’s chin – just in time for the poor kid to retch weakly into it. “Let it all out Webs,” Tony said, rubbing Peter’s sweaty back and brushing his lank bangs out of his face. It wasn’t until Peter was done and panting against Tony’s chest that Tony noticed that the bucket contained a concerning amount of blood and material that looked like coffee grounds. “FRI tell Cho to meet me in the MedBay.”

“No,” Peter whined, curling closer to Tony and tucking his legs into his stomach – balling himself up tight.

“Sorry buddy,” Tony told him, crawling out of the bed as carefully as possible to not jostle Peter too much. “You’re vomiting blood so we have to.”

“What?” Peter asked, confused, craning his neck to look into the trash can and then paling further. “Oh.”

“Yep,” Tony agreed, dragging him up to stand before finally just scooping Peter up into a bridal carry when it became obvious that Peter’s knees weren’t going to support him the whole way downstairs. Tellingly, Peter didn’t protest; he just curled into Tony’s shoulder, one hand tangling into his sweatshirt.

Helen wasn’t present when Tony burst into the MedBay a few minutes later but her nursing staff were quick to get Peter settled into a bed and get his vitals and an updated history from Tony. By the time Helen had swept into the room, looking put together and not at all like Tony had woken her up in the middle on the night, the nurses had already drawn blood and placed an IV catheter to start fluids.

“I was hoping I wouldn’t be seeing you in here Peter,” she said, taking his chart and flicking through it.

“Same,” the kid agreed with a weak smile, not letting go of Tony’s hand or the basin he had been given shortly after they got him in a bed.

“So you still have the nausea but it says here that you been having some issues with acid reflux and that you had a fair bit of blood mixed with the bile you just threw up?” She asked, using her stethoscope to listen to Peter’s heart and lungs before moving on to feeling his lymph nodes. “How much blood?” She directed to Tony.

“All of it was blood,” Tony answered, trying to stay calm. He needed to text May ASAP but he was hesitant to do so until he knew what was wrong. “Maybe half a cup? Some of it looked like coffee grounds.”

Helen hummed as she moved on to palpating Peter’s abdomen, apologizing when he flinched. “Have you been on any medications recently Peter? Aspirin, Advil, Aleve? Any stress?”

“Midterms were last week,” Peter answered slowly. “I had a pretty bad headache the whole week and I did take some Advil a few times a day.”

“How much and how often?”

“Uh…,” Peter said, face scrunching as he tried to think. “Maybe like eight to ten pills three or four times a day? I’ve done that before though, Dr. Banner told me I would need that many because of my metabolism.”

“Very true,” Helen agreed. “But not that often. Based on your symptoms and history I’m tentatively diagnosing you with a stomach ulcer that has likely perforated based on the blood in your vomit.”

“An ulcer?” Peter asked, looking like he was having a hard time tracking, Tony gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“So what do we do next?” He asked, running his hand through Peter’s hair quickly in solidarity. An ulcer. Of course his kid would end up with a bleeding ulcer.

“Well we’ve already drawn blood to check for infection or anemia,” Cho answered. “Depending on the results I’ll start him on fluids and maybe a blood transfusion. Since this has been affecting him for a while and because we need to get some calories in his as soon as we can, I’ll stop the bleed and remove the ulcer via an endoscopy. You won’t even have to be fully under for it, just sedated.”

“Okay,” Peter agreed blandly – a sure tell that the kid felt like shit. Cho made steady eye contact with Tony for just a second before reaching out to squeeze Peter’s bicep.

“Tony can I speak to you in the hall? I need to get you to sign some releases while the nurses get Peter prepped,” she asked.

“Sure,” Tony nodded, giving Peter a careful side hug before following the doctor out of the room, shutting the door behind him – all the rooms were soundproofed due to all the enhanced humans in the Tower and their sensitive hearing. “You were clearly holding something back,” he accused. “You’re lucky Pete’s so out of it or he would have picked up on it too.”

Helen sighed deeply, finally looking tired. “He’s lost too much weight.”

“I know,” Tony agreed sadly, reaching up to massage his temples with one hand. “What are we going to do about it?”

Helen clicked her tongue and tapped a finger against the tablet in her hands. “He’ll probably be able to eat once her wakes up but I really just want to place an NG tube while he’s under so he can have a continuous stream of nutrients going in. We could even continue feeding him while he’s sleeping, really get the weight back on. I wanted to talk to you first before I brought it up. He’s on the cusp right now so he could get away without having it but I don’t really want to give him the option to decline it. It would help him recover a lot faster.”

Tony hummed, torn. He didn’t really want to take away Peter’s agency here but he agreed with Helen that he doubted the kid would go for it. “Let me talk to him about it,” Tony finally conceded. “I might be able to get further with him.”

“Sure,” Helen said with a nod. “You should be good to go back in and sit with him, it’ll take another thirty minutes to an hour to get everything ready but we’ll let you know when it’s time.”

“Thanks,” Tony said sincerely, re-entering the room. Peter was still sitting propped up in bed in his comfortable sweatpants and hoodie, not having to change since the procedure was so simple, but with the addition of another IV catheter in his other arm connected to a bag of his own blood – donated earlier in the year for occasions such as this.

“So what did Dr. Cho want,” he asked, eyes still tired but shining with his usual intelligence and a bit of curiosity.

“Figured we wouldn’t be able to get that past you,” Tony said sardonically, taking a seat on the edge of Peter’s bed, facing him. “Helen wants to place an NG tube while you’re under. Wait,” he said, holding up a hand preemptively when Peter opened his mouth. “You’ve lost too much weight as it is and it’s going to be hard to put it back on with the bland diet she’s going to have you on while you heal. Doing this will make your recovery go so much faster.”

“I don’t want to be stuck in here,” Peter grumbled, gesturing the the room and Tony let one side of his mouth tick up in a smile.

“Hate to break it to you kiddo,” he said, “but that’s already a forgone conclusion.” The kid groaned and Tony let a full smile pull across his face, many of his previous worries eased with the diagnosis and treatment plan. “Let Cho do this and I’ll pull as many strings as I have to to spring you early. Deal?”

Peter made a face, his nose crinkled in disgust but he nodded in defeat anyway. “Two days. At most.”

“Three,” Tony haggled, holding out a hand which Peter eventually took with a sigh. “Great! FRI, relay that to Helen please.”

“Done Boss. She said she’ll be ready for Peter in about ten minutes.”

“Thanks honey,” he said, still smiling. “I’ll call May while you’re out and have Happy pick her up after her shift. She can stay here for the next few days.”

“Thanks Mr. Stark,” Peter said, his voice still sounding more destroyed than Tony had ever heard it but lighter somehow – probably because he could see the light at the end of the tunnel and knew he would be feeling much better soon.

“Anytime kiddo. Anytime.”

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump8 #Prompt: Force Feeding #irondad #spider man #Summer of Whump

11 notes · View notes

codex-archives-exe · 3 years

Text

⧉ The Reciprocity Between Hikigaya and Yukinon Over Time. ⧉

I never really truly paid a lot of attention to this - but Yukinon and Hikigaya actually showed so much affection to each over the time of both the anime and manga adaptations. Here is a bit of a fragmented timeline as to what was given, and what was kept, and how it was used later on (if they were physical gifts) or just key bonding moments. The following are paraphrased and in-depth analyses of key moments that happened throughout the anime and each season.

⧉ VOLUME 3/CHAPTER 4: After the falling out with Yui, Yukinon and Hikigaya go out on a 'mock date' and Hikigaya is able to get a stuffed Pan-san from the crane machine in an underhanded way. Yukinon keeps this in her room as confirmed by SEASON 3, EPISODE 2.

⧉ SEASON 2/EPISODE 9: During the DestinyLand school trip, Yukinon and Hikigaya unknowingly get separated from their usual cohort of friends and then find each other again. They end up going on this ride named similarly to Splash Mountain. Moments before even entering the ride, Hikigaya notices the hesitation and nervousness in Yukinon's eyes and insists they should just leave. Looking out for Yukinon in this instance, knowing how far they are into the line already, Yukinon responds that they should just do it. Hikigaya feels a bit uncomfortable for her sake, as the ride has barely started, and Yukinon grasps the ride bar so early. Hikigaya had noticed this and points it out, she gets embarrassed. Yukinon recalled to the Hikigaya, that her older sister would always do mean things like this to her - like bring her on rides she knew she could not handle. When the ride reaches the moment before the drop. Yukinon grabs part of Hikigaya's sleeve, asks if he could: "save her", one day. Which makes a deep implication about acting on their existing relationship and feelings towards one another as a whole. From this point, it felt like Yukinon really trusted and believed in Hikigaya with her whole heart - but only chose to act on this when no one else could acknowledge it. In SEASON 3, EPISODE 2, it is fully confirmed, hidden behind one of her Pan-san plushies placed in the middle of her bed, that she bought the very photo of this moment - showing that it was a truly special moment to her.

⧉ SEASON 2/EPISODE 10: Hikigaya willingly purchases special computer glasses (PC Glasses) for Yukinon, knowing that she uses her laptop so frequently. It has been implied that once these were given to her, and then Yukinon willingly wears them in front of Isshki, Yui, and Hikigaya - she was hesitant and waited for a compliment for a Hikigaya. Noticeable in many EPs, including moving forward in Season 2, and a lot in Season 3, Yukinon utilizes these whenever she can. Noted, especially in Hikigaya's presence.

⧉ SEASON 2/EPISODE 11: Following the proceedings of the triathlon event, Hikigaya injures himself from trying too hard and exerting too much pressure, resulting in him badly bruising his knee. Hikigaya finds Yukinon resting in the infirmary too because she was disqualified because she got too tired already. Hikigaya gets up and attempts to retrieve medical supplies himself to treat the wound, but Yukinon denies this and says she will do it for him. In the middle of treating his wound, they have a heartfelt conversation, asking about whether or not he was able to get more information on what classes Hayama was planning to attend. When Yukinon finishes, she barely realized how close their faces are to each other - and both of them blush very hard. Hikigaya thanks Yukinon, and then Yukinon graciously responds by saying that she will be able to see Yui and Hikigaya more by staying in similar classes.

⧉ SEASON 3/EPISODE 7: Hikigaya plans to take a break by walking to the plaza of the school and then notices Yukinon going by one of the vending machines and getting something. Hikigaya then acknowledges Yukinon sitting on one of the benches, and notices it is the exact same "Maxis Coffee" he buys. Hikigaya addresses this coincidence, then Yukinon becomes greatly flustered, and then lightly says that it has the 'perfect amount of sweetness'. Yukinon offers the Maxis Coffee to Hikigaya, and is surprised by such a gesture, especially from her. She says that she still has a bit of her break remaining and can just get herself something later. Feeling bad, Hikigaya goes to that same vending machine to get her something - Yukinon attempts to avoid this offer by comparing it to how people need to pay ambulances when they have health insurance. Hikigaya insists, you really do not have to pay for something you are technically guaranteed to be insured by. They sat down, both with the exact same "Maxis Coffee" drink, which is really adorable. After that somewhat embarrassing exchange, they both wonder and willingly check up on one another to each other's surprise. In spite of the bitter separation, they always cared about one another and wanted to know how each of them were. In hindsight, I feel like Yukinon purchased that because she missed being around Hikigaya. Like it was a symbol of him, knowing it was something he got.

⧉ SEASON 3/EPISODE 11:

⧉ Yukinoshita Family Negotiation:

The air seems dry, on one couch, Yukinon's mother and sister sit, as opposed to Yukinon, Hikigaya, and Shizuka on the other side. Yukinon's mother first brings up that there is no reason to hold this sort of negotiation because she sees no value in going through with something like this concerning how much risk there is. Hikigaya responds that the family's involvement is not concerning because he did not come to negotiate with the PTO directly to begin with, he only came to give a simple explanation. Yukinon attempts to question Hikigaya's intentions but then gets ignored, as he believes there is a valid reason to hold an actual joint prom during this time. He states that apparently people were pretty dissatisfied with the last one. In a monologue, Hikigaya expresses that he has been dancing to Haruna's intentions or 'tune' the entire time, and expects Haruna to at least keep pace with what he has to say by the end. Haruna (Yukinon's older sister) then additionally states that everyone, including Yukinon, who ran the last prom said they were happy with everything.

In an air of silence, then Hikigaya blankly states he was dissatisfied. Everyone looks at him, in shock, and then Yukinon's mother asks why. Hikigaya responds by saying that no matter how ridiculous or outlandish their plans may seem, he can come up with something to outclass them. He says that if he had the capability of doing such a plan, he deserves the resources to make such a thing happen. Everyone then sighs or gasps in response. Hikigaya says that he should at the very least see it through the end so then all the efforts and emotions he puts through will not smolder out for no reason.

Haruna then quickly laughs at this ideal, that putting up an entire prom just to potentially confess feelings to someone is something only an idiot would do. Sarcastically, Hikigaya says it is absolutely fine if he only does this for his personal reasons so he already does not expect anybody to support him in any way. Luckily, since no Student Council Body is involved, therefore rendering it a volunteer-event only. Haruna says that will not work out either because their mock prom (from EP8/EP9) that was shut down previously was by their family and the PTO. Which directly means they have some sort of weight in it even if something like that goes through no matter whose involved. Haruna then additionally says it was something Yukinon decided to do on her own and worked tirelessly for it. Yukinon begins to look ashamed after doing such a thing. Yukinon's mother had even acknowledged this.

Haruna then asks upfront about what it means for Hikigaya to be directly involved with Yukinon's family and the stakes attached to them. Hikigaya responds by saying, he completely understands this, and if he has to take responsibility for such actions with Yukinon's family, he intends to do so fully. This shocks Yukinon because she never knew that he would go this far for her. Haruna then straight up admits how much of an idiot Hikigaya truly is for stating something like that upfront. Yukinon's mother politely suggests that if he plans to do that he should have thought to make himself look better when being involved with their family. Then she asks if he could really possibly pull something off like that.

Yukinon quickly states that school's current budget is drained due to the last event, and as the Student Council has no direct stakes, he cannot be compensated in any way. Additionally, the window of time is too small and renders such an event completely impossible to pull off. Yukinon's mother then asks again, since Yukinon had already stated the status of the finances. Hikigaya answers back by saying, that, sure, it is impossible to do it alone but he confidently knows someone who could pull it off even in those circumstances - and it was Yukinon. Absolutely surprised to be called out - Yukinon stands up at Hikigaya for this. He then asks back, if they believe she would not be capable of pulling it off again; as there were technically no problems with the last prom, which they previously stated at the beginning of the debate.

Yukinon's mother replies saying that no matter what they come up with, Hikigaya will have the same conclusion. She appreciates his thorough explanation and then claims since it is fully volunteer-ran, the PTO will barely have any grasp on it. Haruna asks Yukinon's mother if she approves of it, just as a mother, and not as a PTO member. She says she definitely does not approve as a mother. It was conceived to fail from the start, especially from all the current conditions of the resources Yukinon had pointed out. Yukinon feels pressured, and then sits down again. Yukinon's mother then asks Yukinon directly that she should decide since she is in charge.

In another monologue, Hikigaya believes Yukinon already had an answer from the start, and he was confident that no matter who asked or how it was phrased she would give her same answer. After contemplating for a moment, Yukinon states that the answer has been obvious from the start. Hikigaya continues by saying that there was only one strategy worth using as the only person he was debating was actually just Yukinon herself.

In actuality, Hikigaya makes a claim that it is impossible to pull off something like this considering the conditions and timing of everything. Then politely asks, that she should save him. He says that she should not force herself, it being pretty much obvious bait. Yukinon then remarks that he is clearly baiting her. He teases her by saying she should take this bait and save him in response. Yukinon gladly replies by saying she will take this bait as she always hates losing, no matter the situation.

Yukinon then fully states, that as the person in charge, she will get a handle on the situation on her own. Yukino's mother then accepts this, and gives her a cold stare, saying she should see everything through knowing how much their family is involved. Hikigaya gets scared by this look. Yukinon responds by saying she should not have to be told this. With the debate finally coming to a close, Hikigaya smiles at Yukinon following her confident response.

⧉ The Bridge

Following the events of the negotiation with Yukinon's parents for an 'actual' prom still under Yukinon's direction thanks to Hikigaya's convincing. Yukinon and Hikigaya go through a heartfelt, emotional conversation on the bridge. This begins with Yukinon in denial of Hikigaya's means of going through such a situation with her parents. Yukinon expresses that the cold stare she gave her, was the same she gave her sister - implying that she 'has given up on her', putting up a smile. Hikigaya said he never meant for it to seem like that.

Yukinon then proceeds to further question Hikigaya's true intentions behind this. Hikigaya then fully admits it was the only true way to remain in contact with her - as the Service Club was quickly dissipating. Shocked by this, as Hikigaya moves slightly away on the bridge, she can not believe this was the reason why - as she wanted Yui's promise/wish fulfilled. Hikigaya says this was part of it in order to still have their afternoons filled with nothing. Not comfortable by what was admitted, Yukinon begins to quickly walk away from Hikigaya as she says can still work on relationships by herself. Hikigaya says he has no ability to maintain relationships and neither can Yukinon. As she walks further and further away, Hikigaya says neither of them are good enough at communicating, regardless, this will only cause them to drift further and further apart. Not wanting to ever lose sight of her again, he begins to walk faster and eventually begins to run and then grabs her hand.

He remarks: "If I let go of you now, I can't grab hold of you again." then willingly admits he wants to give every single part of his life to her. Saying that he wants to remain fully involved with her, not because he has any obligation attached, because he has a desire to always be with her. Not being able to express the term "love" fully or in such a simple way to Yukinon, Hikigaya's phrasing goes by: "distorting" her life, wanting to remain in her life and helping her, even though he has no real influence or power to be extremely life-changing, more like, just be there for her. Hikigaya says that even though he can be no real impact to her, he confesses that 'distorting' her is the only way to compensate for any way he has been in her life. Yukinon smiles as to what he finally meant, but then becomes upset by the imbalance of only Hikigaya becoming an anchor to her.

Admittingly still flustered, she thinks Hikigaya should present himself a bit better because she knows full well that he is worth much more than what he says. Yukinon knows Hikigaya has been dancing around the word "love" as it should be "something else" he should be saying but cannot come up with correct or right words for it. Hikigaya then fully admits to this. Hikigaya replies, saying it will be okay because he will just become so useless, and then they will both be ultimately useless so it will not matter at all. Yukinon begins to admit a list of flaws - to which Hikigaya responds in kind, saying he is so used to all these things and remains unphased by them. Along the lines of "I think you're so flawed - but that's even a good thing." Overwhelmed by such heartwarming responses, Yukinon softly jabs at Hikigaya's response for him just taking so much responsibility for her and her still not feeling useful at all. Yukinon then drops her hand, then Hikigaya picks up her hand and puts it on his heart, Yukinon becomes completely flustered and surprised by this. Hikigaya says that regardless of what happens, he will be there for her. Yukinon with her eyes glistening begins to lean on Hikigaya and grabs part part of his blazer, saying that she graciously accepts his life. Funnily enough, Yukinon has no clear way of admitting these feelings either. Then they lovingly embrace fully on the bridge as the episode ends.

⧉ SEASON 3/EPISODE 12:

⧉ [Early Morning]:

Early, near the Service Club door, Hikigaya waits for Yukinon, and attempts to forcefully open the door without a key. Yukinon then eventually notices him there and asks him to open the door for both of them, and smiles warmly.

Hikigaya and Yukinon then begin to actually plan the prom together, first, they realize they required someone "nice" enough to gather more help. After that faint realization, Hikigaya admits that they should not be putting so much work on Yui even if they do need the help. Yukinon says she shall willingly take responsibility for this, and knows she would be upset if nobody ever reached out to her. Hikigaya says he will do all he can on his side to gather help.

Both of them begin to overlook the possibilities of prom locations. Hikigaya mentions a sort of "beach" location that he actually wrote that Yukinon points out. As they need information, Yukinon puts on those very PC glasses that Hachiman gave to her as they both start to look at the places online. Hikigaya points out that the layout of one of the parks sounds fun. Yukinon says that they could probably do a 'garden party' of sorts, making these observations they unknowingly turn to each other with their faces surprisingly close to one another and both get very red. Turning opposite directions of another, embarrassed, they admit they can not say much until they actually see the place with their own eyes. Hikigaya suggests the idea that both of them should go see the place tomorrow since it is relatively close by and they have tomorrow off. Both of them, somewhat embarrassed to hang out together, though with a purpose, agree to survey the area, not as a "date" the next day.

⧉ [The Next Day]:

Arriving relatively early in the morning, Yukinon and Hikigaya go to the park located at the coastline to scout the location for the prom. Hikigaya notices how nervous Yukinon is as her vocabulary plummets to being the same adjectives being repeated. Hikigaya then notices and makes a comment on Yukinon's cute hairdo which seems to parallel a similar hairdo she did when they when on their 'mock date' back all the way in Season 1 and 2. With the exception that they are pigtails rather than twintails. Hikigaya asks if she usually does something so nice like this on her days off. She then replies then she does not do this on her days off or for school - implying that she did this especially for Hikigaya on this day. When I saw this my heart was melting ;w; it was really adorable for her to admit she put in that much effort just for Hikigaya. Hikigaya then finds the best way to compliment her, by saying that her new look has some perks, even though he feels more secure by her usual look - she blushes bright red and covers herself with her hat.

The scene then transitions to Hikigaya and Yukinon sitting on a bench near the coastline enjoying boba. Yukinon is shown drinking and enjoying hers already. Hikigaya goes into a monologue and has a moment to take a picture of it, claiming it is 'insta-worthy'. Yukinon catches Hikigaya and then sighs as she already drank from hers. Hikigaya then kindly offers his drink as he has not drank from it yet. To Hikigaya's surprise she pulls out her phone camera and then grabs him by the shoulder as he holds the drink and absolutely catches him by surprise. In the picture, Yukinon is smiling brightly and Hikigaya's reactionary blushing is caught in the moment. Yukinon asks how the photo is and shows Hikigaya, embarrassed, like usual, Hikigaya puts his hand on his face, red, suggesting to take it again because he looks 'too dead in the eyes'. Instead Hikigaya takes the photo with his phone - which I think is really cute because they both take photos on their own phones to save the moment. During this time, as Hikigaya holds up the phone to capture the moment, Yukinon gets flushed and makes sure she looks as nice as possible by fixing her hair and then he snaps the picture. Hikigaya then shows the new photo to Yukinon and she smiles in glee and begins to laugh and says: "Your eyes look the same, they are perfectly rotten." Hikigaya responds saying they can just use touch-ups by the power of modern science.

With a wedding happening nearby at a banquet hall, Yukinon points out they should have their prom there. Unknowingly, Hikigaya thought she was pointing to the wedding area. Flushed out by this statement, Hikigaya says: "I think we're skipping too many steps." Yukinon then barely realizes what he was talking about, and then practically has the same embarrassed response. She resorts to insulting his lack of looks and personality as she has to directly point out all the ambience, like it being near the coastline, has torches, and all necessary facilities in the neighboring banquet hall. After Hikigaya looks at what she points out, he realizes that is what she meant and think it's perfection. They both at smile at one another, and Yukinon confidently says it should fulfill the requirements for the budget they have.

⧉ [The Next Day]:

Yukinon and Hikigaya are sitting next to one another like usual, at the Service Club room. Isshki notices their closeness, and only acknowledges it. Eventually everyone gathers - including Yui at the very end.

Undergoing so much stress, Hikigaya decides he wants to go shopping for supplies since some are needed. Yukinon asks Hikigaya if he can pick up something for her to eat as he goes out, but then responds by saying it's too much trouble, that he must completely distress himself using the sauna. Slightly annoyed, but also unconvinced by this, Yukinon eventually agrees by remarking: "Right..."

After exiting the sauna, Hikigaya receives a text from his younger sister saying she is excited about the prom and smiles. He eventually catches up to Yukinon, Isshki, and Yui who are all sitting on a bench. Hikigaya with his usual Maxis coffee, notices Isshki humming to herself, and then Yui and Yukinon leaning and resting on one another. He looks content and smiles as all his close friends are all together. One after the other, each get up, to return back to the school. First Isshki, then Yui. Yukinon sits there content and smiles. Hikigaya then walks up to her and offers his hand, in a heartwarming moment, Yukinon acknowledges she can do it by herself, and he says he knows. He knows that even though she is this way, he will always reach out his hand to help her hand no matter the situation. Genuinely, in many ways, a bit of subtle and quiet expression, this was really romantic of Hikigaya to do ~ this might have been one of his best lines besides the entire Confession At The Bridge in EP11.

⧉ [Late During The Night]:

While the torches are still burning brightly, and all the conclusion of the Prom is upon Hikigaya and the rest of them. The camera pans over to Yukinon sifting through a bunch of managerial papers, sighing as the real challenges begin to pile up as there are so many expenses, things to clean, etc. Hikigaya sees Yukinon in this moment, and congratulates and encourages her, saying: "Good job, you managed to get through all of these challenges." She hurriedly replies, "But the real challenges are starting now" as she shows off the daunting stack of stack of administrative papers to be signed off. Yukinon begins to ask Hikigaya a multitude of favors and he smiles and replies to all of these, by this point you could definitely tell, these two were always meant to be around and help one another out. No matter how much or how little. After asking for another favor, to Hikigaya's stress, she mentions that she has one more very important thing to say and interrupts Hikigaya. She valiantly takes a step forward, clears her throat, grips the stack of papers tightly looks at Hikigaya straight in the eyes and says: "I love you, Hikigaya." no sugarcoating, no calling him a 'friend', she said it and she meant it. I was so glad, it was so worth all of that waiting, its so cute to see Yukinon being the one to say it. As they both react to one another, Yukinon runs off gushing red in embarrassment. Hikigaya cannot believe the genuineness and weight of Yukinon's statement, but then says that 'annoyingness' of her is what always kills him with cuteness.

⧉ [The Next Day/At The Service Club; Following The Prom]:

Hikigaya and Yukinon were sitting together once again, going through more of the usual budget and administrative papers from the Prom that just happened. Yukinon mentions that she wants to invite Hikigaya over for dinner. Nervously, Hikigaya asks if it's possible to decline. Yukinon had mentioned her mother had taken a liking to him. "You think I would do that?" Yukinon had mentioned, she had a smirk on her face, knowing full well he was trying to find some clever way to avoid this get-together. With this in mind, Yukinon began listing a bunch of potential people that might cause Hikigaya to not want to go to this, from Komachi staying after school trying to choose her club, to the audacity of someone like Hayama. Hikigaya, in disgust, says that would 'never happen in a million years'. Yukinon was happy and said, "I'm glad" seeing she had gone through every single possible option he could use as an excuse to not go. I personally thought this was really cute for both of them, because they interact with each other so easily. According to sources, these events; the dinner with Hikigaya and Yukinon; will take place once Oregairu Shin gets animated.

19 notes · View notes

annakie · 3 years

Text

Patchy

A little under two years ago I made this post, a chronicle of Patchy, the outside feral, turned inside kitty who took ten years to learn to love being petted.

Today we got some bad news.

TW for pet illness under the cut.

Patchy’s always been a bit of a puker, usually oh, say, once a month or so she’d have a good puke for no reason. I’ve had other cats that are pukers so it’s not that surprising.

In the late winter/early spring I started to notice more frequent pukes.

I’d decided around that time that I needed to find healthier food for my cats, with Leela, the oldest turning 16, Fry turning 11, Pemily turning 7 and Patchy turning, I don’t know, 12 or 13. No way to really know. They already got decent food, but I did my research and had started looking at Blue Buffalo, American Journey and Dave’s canned food.

Patchy had been on a mostly canned food diet since she went to the vet back in early 2020 and had a bunch of teeth pulled. Also, as a note, Patchy’s brief flirtation with hanging out in the rest of the house ended after like a month. She and Fry fought too much, and eventually he claimed the rest of the house is his. He also still thinks the master bedroom should be his, but, Patchy defends that territory well if anyone else encroaches. (The door just stays closed most of the time.) I really wish they could have all gotten along, I loved having Patchy out, but both Fry and Patchy agreed it wasn’t going to work.

The food she’d been on was pretty junk-food-ish though, which she did love and eat. But I wanted everyone on more or less the same diet and the highest quality food I could readily get them. So I bought a lot of cans of different kinds of food, and kept a list of which ones seemed to be hits and misses. (I still have a dozen cans of the kind nobody liked -- Blue Buffalo Wilderness Salmon -- I’ve been meaning to take to the city shelter).

Around halfway into this experiment I noticed Patchy puking more, so I decided to try to stick with her favorite kinds, which, I thought was helping.

But once I was fully vaccinated this year, it was time to get all the pets to the vet. I noticed Patchy had still lost some weight, I thought it was due to switching around her food too much earlier, and tried to stick with the things I felt she really liked.

Then, of course, Leela got sick, spent two and a half days in the pet ER and almost died back in April, and then it was like... yeah we’re done being afraid of COVID, we’re done waiting. It’s time to get them all their checkups.

My regular vet was doing COVID restrictions so no pet owners inside the clinic back then, so they took Patchy (and the others) in without me. I thought Patchy had lost some weight, but Dr. B. sounded alarmed when he called me with how much lost she’d lost in the last year, about five pounds. He wanted to do some bloodwork for Patchy, and I said of course go for it.

He called back, sounding much calmer and was like “her bloodwork couldn’t be more perfect. Let’s try switching up her food, get her on some sensitive stomach food and let’s see how she’s doing in a couple weeks.”

So two weeks later it did seem like she was doing better, I called Dr. B back and he said to bring her back in a month.

It was my plan to take her back next week when I had some PTO coming. I admit, later than planned... my last couple of months have been mucn more focused on Leela... who, thankfully, continues to thrive. But feeling like my time with her is running out, she’s been my main area of concern.

The last few days though, Patchy has really not been eating well. Sometimes she does OK, sometimes nothing at all. And then puking every day. I swapped her back even to a few cans of the Junk Food (Whiskas) I still had laying around. She’d eat it... and then puke it up. And also she... stopped sleeping with me. I thought... well, it’s summer. It’s probably too hot to cuddle. But she stopped laying on the bed. She stopped coming up for pets when I come to bed and hang out for awhile specifically to spend time with her and pet her. She runs under the bed again when I come into the room. It’s like we regressed to three or four years ago... just two weeks after our two year anniversary of getting to pet her.

So this afternoon we went to the vet. Getting her into the carrier sucked. I tried nice methods, then I had to scare her into the closet by running the vacuum, and then pretty roughly grab her. I have scratches and a pretty deep bite on my thumb which either maybe hit a nerve or is infected, may have to go to the doctor for it tomorrow. (Yes, washed it thoroughly with soap as soon as I could.) I also hated betraying her trust that badly, but it’s for her own good. But it was rough.

Dr B. wasn’t working so I saw one of the other vets. I liked him. Also COVID restrictions are gone so I got to go inside. But after talking to him for a few minutes, going over her history and what changes I’ve made, he spent a long time rubbing her intestines (Patchy was perfectly behaved, at least.) Then he looked concerned. Then he said let’s do an ultrasound.

A few minutes he came back in and showed me her scans.

Lymphoma.

I was a bit stunned for a second so I missed a bit of the technical speak he said next, but it came down to the best thing we could do is give her some medicine that may buy her more time. It doesn’t sound like Chemo or Operating is even really an option. I’m going to call back tomorrow and see if Dr. B or the vet I talked to can talk me through it a little better now that I’ve had a chance to digest.

If I can get Patchy to take the medicine, and if she responds well to it... she may have 3 - 6 months left.

If she won’t take it, or if she doesn’t respond, it’s at this point, a matter of her comfort and quality of life. So... weeks. And I’m worried about getting her to take the medicine, especially since she won’t even come let me pet her and we just had a huge trust betrayal today. I don’t know if I could take her spending her last few weeks hating me, especially if the medicine doesn’t work.

The vet also told me that... I didn’t do anything wrong. And we did the right thing six or so weeks ago by changing her food and seeing if a few other things worked. Especially with how good her blookwork looked. He barely felt the cancer today, he said six weeks ago Dr. B wouldn’t have been able to feel it at all. And for this particular type of lymphoma... there’s not a lot to be done, anyway. That made me feel better, at least.

(As a really dumb side note, after I got her home, I sat down to eat dinner and watch an episode of Star Trek to take my mind off of all of this since I’d been crying since I found out, paid my bill, and drove home, stopping at a drive through so I didn’t have the mental load of cooking. And I’m in the middle of my rewatch of Enterprise. I bet any trekkies reading this can guess what episode was next in my rewatch because yep I’m in season two and A NIGHT IN SICKBAY started playing, of course, so obviously I NOPED THE FUCK OUT OF THAT EPISODE. For the non-Trekkies.... the Captain has a dog on board, an adorable beagle, Porthos. The dog gets sick and almost dies and spends his night in Sickbay. He does pull through. But the ONE episode centered around a beloved pet getting sick and almost dying... and that’s the episode that fate decreed I was supposed to watch tonight. I did not. I don’t know if I can watch it anytime soon.)

So now for the next few weeks I will spend my time being grateful that Leela is alive and thriving and pray she keeps doing so -- I will continue to give her extra love and care and attention, and also I will need to do the same for Patchy. I can’t even do it at the same time because Patchy will not come out here, and will not allow Leela in her room.

I am low-key freaking out that there’s the possibility of the nightmare scenario happening to me again. In winter 2016, after months of being sick, I woke up on Christmas morning and my 16-year-old cat Jim had died overnight. It was terrible, and traumatic, and I had to deal with everything all alone because anyone who could support me was... well, it was Christmas morning and my family was all out of town, too. Posting about it on Tumblr... actually really helped me, since it’s the only place I felt like I could talk about it.

That Christmas was on a Sunday.

Wednesday morning I woke up to hearing my dog, Cebu, moaning in pain. I rushed him to the vet, but whatever happened overnight, it was too late, maybe there wasn’t anything we ever could have done even if I’d been awake when the puking started. The vet said the kindest thing we could do was put him to sleep. And we did.

Also I just, JUST now realized that the vet who helped put Cebu to sleep was the same vet who I saw today about Patchy.

But I lost two of my pets within 3 days of each other. I was very lucky that my job let us have the week between Christmas and New Years off that year. I had a few days to pull myself together, and I needed it. It took months to recover totally, though. Every once in awhile I think about that week and I still cry, though. I miss them both so much and they both had deaths that were less than ideal.

I remember thinking then “I have like, five years of reprive. Leela will be sixteen in five years, and that’s when I have to start to worry again, when I have to be ready to say goodbye again.”

I thought then that even after that I’d have two or three years until Patchy would leave me, and two or three years past that until Fry. And then five more years with Pemily.

Right now I’m realizing that I will likely lose Patchy, very best case in six months, but possibly before July is over.

I need Leela to keep thriving. I don’t know how I would handle losing another two so close together again.

Patchy is... she’s the one who chose me. I chose my other cats. Fry and Pemily I plucked from the backyard when they were tiny kittens and brought them inside. They didn’t have a choice. Leela I adopted from a rescue, she didn’t have a choice. Patchy chose to stay. She chose to stick around when she realized I’d feed her. It took years but she learned to trust, she chose to come inside when it was cold, when it was hot, when it was storming, and when she was pregnant. She chose me to help raise the last litter of kittens she’d ever had. (My entire Rescue Kitties tag is full of adventures in finding, raising and usually adopting out strays. Lots and lots of posts about Patchy and her final litter. Been awhile since I’ve done it, though.)

I used to joke that Patchy was my roommate, not a pet. She ate, drank, did her business, and kept to herself for a long time. Don’t get me wrong, she was a very good, quiet, considerate roommate and I loved her. But it wasn’t until that wonderful day she let me pet her that I felt like she was my pet.

I loved having her just hanging out living in the house since 2014, but the last two years especially have brought me such joy. I’ve tried to never take Patchy’s trust in me for granted. It was EARNED. Every small step forward was a milestone to be celebrated. I worked for every bit of trust and love Patchy has given me, and have been rewarded. And it was worth it. Every minute. Every long, patient year.

Even now I’m telling myself... without me, she would have died years ago. Probably violently, or starved, maybe frozen to death. Getting to die of cancer brought on by older age is not something that most feral cats ever get to do. Getting to become an inside kitty where she’s loved, and comfortable for the second half of her life was something remarkable, brought on by her wiles and will to survive for so many years, bolstered by the food I left out for her. She’s had this much time, this much life, this much comfort and love that she would have never had otherwise, and that’s something to be happy about.

I’ve watched dozens of ferals come and go through my neighborhood throughout the years. I feed them, I work on seeing if I can get them to trust me enough to let me TNR them, but even those that I have, I don’t keep seeing for much longer. There’s one right now, I jokingly call him Patchy’s Boyfriend. He still won’t trust me and never has fallen for the trap when I’ve tried. But he’s there most nights when I feed him around 11. He’s getting terribly thin despite the quality food I leave out. I’ll miss him.

But none of them were Patchy. None of them became what she is to me. None of them survived long enough to adapt and decide to live another life.

Also? I wouldn’t have Pemily without her. Pemily is literally Patchy’s Granddaughter and that is one more thing I love Patchy for.

I feel guilty sometimes, both because I don’t spend nearly enough waking hours with her I feel, but I have three others who need me, as well. One who’s time is growing short, as well. And they don’t get to sleep with me, she does. What a joy it was all winter when I would wake up and she’d be sleeping on my chest. I’d get a bit annoyed when she’d sleep with her backside to my face and her tail would tickle my face and wake me up. I’m a side-sleeper half the night and she hated that it was harder to get comfortable on me that way. She still doesn’t want to have my hand just stay on her, she wants pets and skirtches, no long-form touching. That’s ok. I sleep better with her weight on me.

I don’t know what the next few weeks or months will hold, but at least pet-wise, it’s going to be rough. I’m going to wrap this up and give these three out here a good pet, then go hope Patchy comes and asks for love, too. Tomorrow is one more day with all four of them, and for that, I’ll be grateful, for every remaining day.

#personal post tag thingy #my pets #pet illness tw #pet death tw

8 notes · View notes

idkthisisjustforfanfic · 5 years

Photo

two years too late, chapter f o u r t e e n

You’d pulled your hat low over your face, sunglasses pressed up to your cheeks to ensure some level of privacy. You’d been recognized three times already--which was definitely a new record for the same 24 time span.

“Jesus,” Jake laughed when the third girl walked away. “Used to think we’d only have to deal with one famous friend.”

You pushed away from him, skates gliding on the clean ice in Central Park. It’d been a hike and a half up to the Northeast corner in the first place, and now all you wanted was to skate in peace.

“M’sorry--I wish I could make it not happen.” A beat of silence when none of them responded. “Yknow, that’s why I didn’t want to tell anyone at work about me and Harry being friends. I work in a field where it’s my job to talk about celebrities. I didn’t want to have to do it on my lunch break, too.”

You wouldn’t have been so straightforward with them if Harry had tagged along. He blamed his absence on a last minute meeting, but it offered a breath of fresh air and some space to actually breathe it.

“I get it,” Bryn said, skating to catch up with you in front of the others. Jessie clung to the wall with Adam, Jake tried his best to not skate circles around all of you.

“You do?”

“I do,” she nodded, linking her arm in yours. “Some of my coworkers know and they’ve been all over me trying to get tickets for the tour. I don’t tell Harry that, though--he’d feel obligated to hand ‘em over.”

“Exactly. I just didn’t want to deal with it.”

“It can be kind of cool, you know. I told my boss about it and he let me take a day off from work once without even using PTO cause Harry was in town,” Adam’s mouth was stretched into a silly smile.

“Your boss is a wanker,” Jessie said. “And apparently he’s a pushover too.”

“He is both of those things, yes,” Adam laughed.

Jake slowed down to fall back into the group. “So Smalls, what are you going to do about the interview?”

Another groan from your lips, two little boys skated past you, pushing against each other’s big winter coats to beat the other to the exit. “Nothing. Maybe just not do it.”

“Oh shut up,” Jessie said. “You have to.”

“I know,” you sighed. “S’the biggest story I’ve gotten. And it’s not that I totally don’t want people to know I knew him--it’s more that my boss will be livid when she finds out I’ve lied to her all this time.”

“You can’t give it to someone else?” Bryn’s head tilted to the side, Jake’s eyebrows went north.

“S’an idea. Have a coworker who could take it on? You could fake pneumonia. Be out of commission for a week or two.”

“Might as well,” you laughed.

“Y’know, Smalls,” Adam offered a sympathetic look. “He was pretty upset last night.”

“He was? About what?”

“That you downplayed everything so much.”

“Alright, maybe s’not the time,” Jessie tried to defuse the situation, as if Adam’s words didn’t strike up curiosity in your bones.

“What do you mean?”

“He really likes you,” Adam said. “I think he’s sad it didn’t work.”

“Okay,” you spun around to face him, stopping dead in your icy tracks. “He was dating someone else at first--and he didn’t tell me. I had to see photos of them online and confront him!”

“He should have told you,” Jake said, now skating backwards around Bryn. “But he really only saw her to end it. He told me.”

Bryn let out a short laugh. “And you believe him?”

“You don’t?” Adam shot back.

“I dunno,” she said. “I mean, why wouldn’t he have just told her if he ended it? S’not a big deal that he was seeing someone. It happens!”

You held up a hand, hoping to silence them without having to get loud. “S’between me and him, alright? I appreciate the concern for both of us,” you shot Adam a pointed look, “but s’fine.”

“We’ve been trying to trust the two of you to figure it out for a decade, Y/N,” Jessie let out a breath as if she’d been keeping it in for ages. “Feels like you could both use a little help.”

“We don’t need help. I just--I need space,” you said.

And it was true--at first you were sure you’d never want to speak to him again. When the gang first showed up you were convinced that you’d have a miserable time in his presence and be counting down the days until they left, freeing you from any obligation to interact with him.

But now, after museum glimpses of normalcy before Jessie’s outburst, you were wondering if maybe you should have coffee--just the two of you--after they left.

And maybe you’d get something close. The next morning when you were sat on Harry’s leather sofa for the last time as a group of six, he made some joke about how you never could seem to remember where the wine glasses were. It felt almost like he was testing the water--seeing where things stood as two people who were about to be set free into a busy city with no real reason now to see each other. Unless you wanted to.

And when you hugged them all goodbye in the lobby, watching as Roger rebuilt the mountain of luggage in his car, you felt like maybe now was the time to say something. But he said it first.

The last door was shut, Jake’s outline barely visible through the tinted glass as Roger put the car in drive.

“D’ya want a cup of tea?”

You looked up at him, a swell in your chest and an answer from your lips before he could take it back. “Sure.” Up the lift and into his flat, the kettle on the stove while you sat at the counter.

“Thanks for having them come,” you said, shoulders up to your ears. “Even though things were weird, for a minute.”

“Course,” he said, arms crossed over his chest. A long pause, enough quiet to hear the heating kick on and a siren outside the thick windows. “You know, Y/N, I want to be friends with you.”

You looked up at him, your heart in your stomach at his words--a true sign that you wanted more, as if you hadn’t known until he offered words that fell short. “Oh,” you said. “Okay.”

He shifted on his feet, his eyes bringing heat to your face when you finally looked back up at him. “Okay?” He laughed a little, leaning forward on the counter. “S’all you have to say?”

“I don’t know what to say, Harry--fine, we can be friends.”

His eyes narrowed in your face, he licked his lips before parting them to speak. “Are you even curious about my side of it?”

“You already tried to explain your way out of it, Harry. What else do you have t’say?”

“I just want you to listen to me!” His voice was more emotional than usual, as if the tightrope you’d both been walking on had suddenly wrapped around his heart.

“I already did listen!”

“No, Smalls, you didn’t, really.”

“So--okay, then. You want me to agree with you, forgive you really, not listen,” you corrected. He rolled his eyes at that.

A text from Jessie lit up your phone, his did the same thing only a few inches away. You sighed, thumbing back a reply, making them promise to keep you updated on their travel home.

He waited--patiently watching as you replied and set it back on the granite counter. When you looked up at him, he searched your face. “I should have told you.”

“I know,” you said.

“I was too afraid to tell you because everything was going well. For the first time ever, really. Felt too good to be true and I was afraid I’d fuck it up if I admitted that I had seen her.”

“I get it.”

“You do?”

A nod.

“Are you still mad?”

“I don’t know, Harry--I’m exhausted, is what I am.” He didn’t say anything, his eyes begged you to continue. “I can’t do the back and forth anymore. The friends, not friends, talking, not talking. S’been an exhausting eight years since you left home. Maybe not for you, but it has been for me.”

The kettle whistled, he pulled it off before it could scream and flipped off the burner. His voice was quiet. “I know.”

“I never knew if I was going to see you or hear from you and I don’t want to have some weird type of relationship with you that isn’t,” a pause, searching for the word when he slid a teacup across the counter. “Stable.”

“I want it to be stable.”

“I think the only way for us to have that is just,” you trailed off when he nodded, set his tea on the counter and traced a pattern on the counter with just one finger.

“To be friends.”

“Yeah.”

You only stayed for another ten minutes, finished the tea and laughed at a picture of his sister’s new cat. He paused awkwardly at the door when you said goodbye, a hand shoved into his pocket before he could let it wrap around you.

Carly brushed at her hair with her fingers--desperate to go out into the sunny weather for lunch. She stood over your cube, watching as you finished typing a list on the best memes from last week’s episode of the Bachelor.

“S’that the Harry story?” She whispered as if it was still a secret, as if you didn’t give the same nervous update in staff meeting every week._ S’going well_, you’d say. Making good progress.

No one needed to know you were lying, that is, except for Carly.

“No,” you rolled your eyes, clicking out of your story so it’d be queued up for Gabrielle to edit and proof. “S’taking forever, honestly. I haven’t got the slightest clue how to do it. I was planning on actually taking some time tonight to give it another go.”

You grabbed for your wallet, tugging your coat on before you followed her out of your space.

“How’ve things been with him? Still, y’know, fighting over wine?” She offered a smirk, one that threatened to be challenging, but you weren’t in the mood to divulge more.

“S’fine, we’re over it.”

She pressed the button for the lift, looked up to see the bright green numbers start to descend above the doors. “Having everyone in town was good, right?”

“Yeah, a lot of fun, turned twenty-four. You know, a real wild week out of the office.”

You stepped inside and rode it down, shifting aside for other people to cram on for the lunch time rush. When you found your way down the block, she pressed harder. “Any idea what you’re going to do about Whitney?”

You shook your head, thankful for the oversized sunglasses that shielded from the winter sun.

“D’you think you could just lie? Just write as if you don’t know him and hope for the best?”

“If only I’d be so lucky,” you laughed. “Just doesn’t seem realistic. M’still surprised that people haven’t put it together. I made all of my friends delete photos or go private or whatever on social media.”

“Right,” she nodded, a pause at the intersection. “Any more obnoxious tweets?”

“Only one that I saw that made it seem like they’ll figure it out eventually.” She raised her brows with intrigue. “Someone said a picture of me looked a lot like a different picture of me from a few years ago.”

She let out a noise of concern, shoving past someone who moved too slow through the crosswalk. “What do you think you’ll do, then?”

“I’ve got to tell her at some point. The question is how.”

“D’you think she’ll fire you?”

“Don’t know,” you said, voice lower now. “Wouldn’t be surprised. So, I dunno. Maybe I should look for other jobs.”

She let her mouth pull to one side of her face, sympathy clouding her eyes. She let it go, though, changing the topic to a new bar she’d tried over the weekend and a partially successful date she’s had on Saturday. He at least split the check with me, she laughed, which is better than the last one who made me pay.

You ate on the plush red sofas on the twenty-second floor, pretended like the dread of telling Whitney didn’t crop up inside of you every time she popped her pretty head out of her pretty office.

“You know,” Carly’s voice was low when you tossed your take out in the bin. “If you really don’t want to write it, see if she’ll let you transfer it to someone. M’super busy, but, I would obviously jump at that opportunity,” she stifled a grin that tried to break loose on her cheeks.

“Tried that,” you said, defeated. “I asked Whitney why she didn’t give it to you in the first place seeing as you’ve always been a fan.”

“What? You did?” Carly stopped in her tracks, her face a different shade of winter pale than it had been. “What did she say?”

“I dunno, Carly, something dumb. It was a while ago, I don’t remember,” it was a lie, but you weren’t about to tell her that.

“Oh come on, she must have given a reason why she wanted you to do it.” She fell back into step with you now, her eyes still trained on your face with purpose.

You let out a sigh, wishing you could crawl into the safe reprieve of warm sheets--specifically ones that still had a lingering smell of a certain someone. “I dunno, something about wanting it to come from someone less biased, or a more professional outlook, it wasn’t a big deal.”

“What?” She seemed to whisper-hiss in your ear, her fingers wrapping around your elbow to slow you down. “She thought I’d be unprofessional?”

“No, no--that’s not what she said. I told you I don’t even remember! She just wanted me to do it since she thought I wasn’t a fan.”

Her face fell, you couldn’t tell which emotion had taken hold of her. Her eyebrows dipped together and she pursed her lips. “That’s shitty of her--I wouldn’t have been unprofessional!”

“Carly,” you stopped now, turning to face her and ready to backtrack. You knew that Whitney hadn’t been the nicest about her reasoning, but you weren’t about to get into it. “Relax--she was just trying to throw me a bone, remember? She knew I was pissed about being stuck on lists and she was trying to do something nice.”

She let out a sigh, reaching up to fix her pony tail that fell over her shoulder. “If she’d given it to me you wouldn’t be in this mess. She wouldn’t be in this mess with you. Our entire company wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“S’not a mess,” you defended, head pulled away from her in offense. “M’sorting it out, I told you.”

“Right, Y/N, the blurred lines in your friendship with a subject aren’t problematic at all.” She put air quotes around the platonic label, immediately pulling a scoff from your mouth.

“What’s that--” you let your fingers bend like hers had, “--supposed to mean?”

She pulled you into her own cube, small enough to offer privacy but big enough to fit the two of you. “You really haven’t slept with him? You’ve never even kissed? Find it hard to believe with the way he looks at you!”

You inhaled and held it, eyes on her as you contemplated just blowing it all. Her lips curled up at the corners a bit, a laugh from her lips and a softened expression. “Y/N--just admit it. Aside from the fact that you’re writing about him it’s not a big deal. I can handle the fact that him and I will never work out,” she teased.

“I can’t tell you all about it here,” you said, voice quiet as you scanned the room to make sure no one else had heard.

“Fine,” she nodded. “Then let’s do dinner tomorrow night.”

So when you were alone on your own sofa that night, you begged your brain to try to come up with something good enough to publish. You’d lit a candle, put on some music, and drew the curtains. Only a few steps short of a satanic ritual after Alyssa left to meet Owen’s friends. She’d offered to bring you along, but you said you needed the space.

What you didn’t tell her was that you needed the space to cry or freak out or experience whatever would come pouring out of you when you finally had a minute to process the last few months.

You’d never been much of a crier--save for a good shower sob or drunken outburst--and now wasn’t much different. You sat at first and stared at your computer screen, bullet points scattered a blank white page that mocked you.

Friends. You and Harry were friends. He’d been one for a long time, really. Someone who knew you better than most people and someone who knew exactly how to piss you off and make up for it in the same moment.

You’d been walking a tightrope for the last decade, pushing and pulling and wondering when or if it would give. Separated by oceans or continents and still dreaming that one day your lives would align again.

And they have, you know that now. But they’ve aligned in a way that felt messier than before--which you didn’t know was possible.

The version of Harry that Whitney wanted you to write about was someone you didn’t know--one with perfectly coiffed hair and a personal assistant. So you decided that if you didn’t know how to tell the story of that Harry, the one who had celebrities on speed dial and didn’t hesitate to order top shelf liquor, you wouldn’t. You’d tell the story of your Harry.

And when you did that, the words fell onto the keyboard and jumped onto paper, promising that the truth was better than any fiction you could craft.

A text from Alyssa the next morning made your stomach sink to your feet.

Alyssa (8:43am): Okay, not to ruin your day so early, but I just saw these.

Pictured from LA. Ones that you could easily explain. You could find them on instagram and defend your case in the comments. See that bag? It’s got a laptop and tape recorder inside. For professional purposes only.

You let a sigh escape your lips, fine, it was fine. It wasn’t like people didn’t know that you knew Harry at all--it was really just a secret now that you’d known him for so long. Or, at least, it was a secret until you could tell Whitney yourself.

You’d decided--after staring at the blinking cursor on your screen for a good three hours the night before--that you wanted to at least give her the story before you really came out with it. That way, in case you somehow managed to catch her on a day where she was willing to overlook unprofessionalism, unethical behavior, and an altogether shitty situation, she at least had the chance to realize how skillful of a writer you were.

You hoped that after an eventful and exhausting few months the universe had some kind of good karma coming your way. But then the guilt of lying set in and you were back to planning an exit strategy and a plan B for what would happen if Whitney didn’t see the good in you.

You thumbed out a response to Alyssa right after you got off the subway.

Y/N L/N (8:47am): ugggghhhh

Y/N L/N (8:47am): at least no one has put it all together yet

Which was true. You only had to deal with the mess you’d made for a few more days. Your story was due on Friday, Harry left for tour a few days after, and hopefully, things could return to some semblance of normal. Though you couldn’t quite imagine what normal would look like now.

You climbed the steps up to street level, thankful that the sun had decided to fight its way through the late February cloud cover. When you were upstairs and at your desk, another message came through that you weren’t quite expecting.

Pat Martin (9:01am): Would love to grab dinner or a drink one night this week if you’re free!

You stared at it for a second, reading over the words a few times before you were able to make any sense of them. A date--this time you were sure of it.

But did you want that? Did you want to blur the lines between professionalism and romance for the second time in six weeks?

You put your phone face down on your desk, booted up your computer and then checked email. Whitney strolled by you with a bagel in hand, a smile on her face, and a pep in her step.

“How’s the big story coming?”

“Good,” you said, a solemn nod before you blinked twice, a small smile on your face. “Worked on it last night.”

It was probably the first honest response you’d given her about it. She adjusted the bagel in her grasp, crinkling the wax paper that kept her hands clean. “Can’t wait to read it. You’ll give it to me by Friday?”

“Uh huh,” you nodded again, praying she couldn’t smell the fear in you.

When she left you alone at your paper-cluttered desk, you typed out a response to Pat before you could overthink it.

Y/N L/N (9:06am): Sure! Any chance you’re free tonight?

He was quick to type back--you wondered if he was somewhere in LIC late to work, rushing from the subway or already situated at his desk.

Pat Martin (9:07am): I can be in the city by 6:30? Wanna meet somewhere near you?

You stared at the message and got lost in thought. It’d been a while since you’d been on a date--at least, one that really felt like one.

There was a kid at uni after Charlie--a boy from class who always wore these horrific shoes. He was sweet and nice but nothing about him sent a spark through you. In fact, you felt altogether quite unimpressed with his presence after 45 minutes so you cut the date short and headed back to your dorm.

You hoped that this would be different--that Pat wouldn’t want to talk about work the entire time and that maybe he’d walk you home.

More than anything, though, you hoped he’d numb the ache in your chest for Harry.

“Morning,” Carly’s blonde hair was blonder than the day before, loose curls falling around her shoulders. “Care to brainstorm with me for new topics in twenty?”

“Sure,” you said, straightening your posture as if you hadn’t just been pulled away into a daydream of men. “Yeah, wanna grab the conference room downstairs?”

She agreed and laughed hysterically when you told her about your set up the night before. Only needed a candle and a picture of him! She teased, if you chanted loud enough you probably could have summoned him. The afternoon slipped out of your hands, quick and busy, and when the sun was seeping between the cracks of tall buildings, you headed for the bar down the street where you’d agreed to meet Pat.

When your arm was outstretched for the door, your phone started buzzing in your pocket. You pulled it out, unsure of who needed you or who would skip straight to a phone call rather than a text.

But of course, Harry’s name and a stupid selfie he’d taken only a few weeks back lit up your screen. Your finger hovered over the decline button. Three rings, four, then your thumb hit the green button, feet frozen on the sidewalk.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Smalls--s’me. What--uh, what are you up to?”

“Just got out of work,” you said, true. “Grabbing a drink with Carly.”

“Oh, nice,” he paused for a second but then got right to it. “Listen--I have a thing on Thursday night. A dinner thing. I was wondering if you’d want to tag along?”

You were quiet, teeth tugging at your bottom lip when a gust of winter air blew. “As, like, a date?”

“N--no. Not as a date if you don’t want it to be as a date.”

“I thought we were just friends.”

“We are.”

“Okay.”

“Okay you’ll come?”

“Okay I’ll think about it,” you told him, a firmness in your voice that you didn’t think you’d ever used with him before. A firmness that hindered any hope in his response.

“Oh--yeah. Alright. I’ll uh, I’ll talk to you later, then.”

“Okay,” you hung up without a farewell, shoving the phone back in your pocket before taking another deep breath. An event? You had no idea what that would entail or what you were supposed to wear or say or do. It felt too vague to commit to and yet too interesting and intriguing to decline. So you tucked the decision away in your mind, saving it for a conversation with Alyssa and maybe even a glass of wine over FaceTime with Jessie and Bryn.

You pushed the door open and stepped inside from the stinging cold. Pat was already there--a stool at the bar with his jacket still on. He offered a side hug when you walked up beside him, a somewhat sheepish grin sat lazily on his face.

“How was your day?” He asked in greeting, settling back into his seat.

You let out a sigh and nodded. “Good, fine. Starving though.”

“Best nachos in the city, here, so that’s good.”

The bartender materialized in front of you, eyebrows raised to take your order.

“I’ll do a Blue Moon,” Pat leaned forward a little when he ordered, his eyes fleeting over to you. “And the nachos.”

“I will also do a Blue Moon,” you nodded, a smile in his direction once you were alone again.

“Why the sigh about work?” He folded his hands together on the dark wooden counter, scratched and dents told the stories of customers past.

“Just busy, is all. Big story coming up.”

“Yeah? What about?”

“Harry Styles, actually. An interview.”

His eyes went wide, the glow of neon wall decor lit up his irises in the dim room. “S’a big deal.”

“Yeah, so the stress level is a bit higher than usual.”

“Understandable. Interviewing one of the biggest celebrities in the world would certainly leave me with a lot of sleepless nights.”

You nodded, biting your lip to keep from telling him the truth. It was harder than that, really, seeing as you had to fight the feelings in your heart and all the while deal with a level of confusion--both professionally and personally--that you’d never known before.

You returned the pleasantry. “How was your day? Anything new and exciting at Digitize?”

“Not really--mostly spent the day looking forward to this,” he offered you a cheeky smirk, pulling his eyes back down to his hands when the bartender delivered two glasses--foam reaching up to the rims. He picked his up and held it in the air, waiting for you to let yours clink against his.

“Cheers,” you said, the drink jumped over the edged and trickled its way down to your hand. “To a Tuesday night.”

He was nice--he told you about his brother and his favorite band. He talked about New York and wanted to hear all about England._ Is it true that everyone has to curtsey or bow to the Queen?_ He asked.

Only if you’re lucky enough to meet her, you told him.

He was intrigued by your desire to move west--to find some solace in the States and give up the opportunities that surely would have been afforded to you if you moved to London. A fair question, absolutely, but you weren’t quite at the point to give him the truth.

Staying in London meant a higher likelihood of having to deal with Harry, bumping into him at work events or covering different things he did--or at least, so you thought.

So you didn’t tell him everything he probably would have liked to know. You left out pieces of your life--details like the LA trip or your recent birthday celebrations didn’t seem like they were appropriate topics of conversation for only one drink and a plate of nachos in.

And you wondered when he walked you back to the subway if you’d ever get to that point with him, because the moment his lips touched yours, quick and chaste and extremely politely, your cellphone started to feel like it was burning a hole in your pocket.

The N train pulled up and you hugged him goodbye, promising to see each other again soon. But when the doors shut between you and the rest of the world, your fingers typed out a message and pressed send before you could think better of it.

Y/N L/N (7:15pm): What do I have to wear if I come?

come talk to me about tytl

read the other parts here

AN: on the shorter side but you best all be gearing up for a wild FINAL FEW CHAPTERS. Yes, that’s right. Either chap 15 or 16 will be the end...still writing and editing all that so stay tuned! so much love to all of you who’ve tagged along on this wild ride!!!

tag list: @clorenafila @ainsleesolareclipse @castawaycths @harryspirate @wanderlustiing @ursamajor603 @thurhomish @omgsharry @stepping-into-the-light @rachkon @jdcharliewhiskey @shawnsblue @gendryia @g0bl1nqueen @laula843 @flooome @a-woman-without-a-plan@awomanindeniall @shaw-nm @staceystoleyourheart @ohprettylittlemind-deactivated2 @anssu-amry @my-fandomful-life2 @stylesfantasy @bookingbee @mleestiles @haute-romance-quotidienne @craic-head-horan @talk-british-2-me-britbritharry @at-least-im-1 @paigemck00 @rawmeharry @pinkpolaroidgirl @blackxxmagicc @sksspotkitty @nearbyou @kalesouffle @sunnflowerchild @lmk12310 @sing-me-a-song-harry @afterstylesmadeit @myhat @caritocp @liquor-and-intellect @harryinsweatersandbandanas @daydreamsofh

#tytl #harry styles fanfiction #Harry Styles Fan Fiction #harry styles fic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry styles writings #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles drabble

138 notes · View notes

yellowocaballero · 4 years

Text

You And Me (And Your Friend Daisy)

Thanks for pushing me to finish this, Anon! This is a short, fun, and romantic story written in the verse of my other fics Bell, Book, and Candle and No Sin But Ignorance. Takes place some time post the ending of No Sin But Ignorance. That being said, this is probably very comprehensible without knowledge of those fics, so feel free to just view it as a no-apocalypse au. The majority of this was written while writing Feste - more accurately, when I needed a break from the crushing depression of Feste, so that’s why it’s so cheerful. :)

Yes, it’s named after that Garfunkel and Oates song, because that’s the plot.

The rest of the story is under the cut!

*******************************************

“Are you going to tell me where we are?”

“You have to guess! And no peeking!”

Jon sighed, slouching in his seat. He hated surprise vacations. He hated being forced to leave work and ‘take a break’ because ‘you’re contractually obligated to use your PTO hours’. And he did take vacations, he didn’t know why everybody acted like he didn’t. He and Georgie took Gerry to Blackpool once a year for Spring Break. That was a whole week off. That was enough for anybody.

But Martin had been pointedly sending him emails about ‘fun couple’s trips’ and ‘romantic getaways’ in an ultra-subtle act of subliminal messaging. Indeed, the three emailed promotional advertisements listing off fun, relaxing, and romantic things to do with your significant other were so subtle that Emma was forced to listen in on the automated JAWS voice reading them out and then call him a ‘fucking idiot’.

Whatever. It wasn’t as if Gertrude took any vacations, and nobody got on her back for it. Jon was willing to bet that Dekker never sent Gertrude any passive aggressive emails. He would have to ask him later - they got boba together once a month, he was an excellent conversational partner. He was, of course, slightly insane, both for his fervent adherence to the ancient religions and willingness to come within five feet of Gertrude Robinson for personal reasons, but all the best supernatural hunters were.

“Well, we’ve clearly been driving north for the past eight hours, judging from the angle of the sun,” Jon said, annoyed. The car radio was playing the Archers in a dull drone, which Jon had insisted upon, because he and Daisy never missed an episode. This confused and frightened Martin. A bag rustled, and Jon knew that Martin was fishing around in the plastic convenience store sack for more Jaffa cakes. “Combined with the time, that can only mean that we’re going to Scotland. I don’t have any close friends in Scotland and I’m willing to be you don’t either -”

“Hey!”

“ - so unless you assigned yourself the task of following up on the Scottish Slaughter Statement without me assigning it to you, and deciding to bring me along, I’m guessing that we’re going to stay in a hotel and do...touristy things.”

“Wrong again,” Martin said triumphantly. He liked keeping track of every time Jon was innocently incorrect about something, just to prove it to everyone else. “I mean, yes, we are in Scotland, you’re right about that, but we are not staying in a hotel. We’re staying in the country.”

“Darling, I would love to sit on the Scottish Moors and stare out into the endless, unceasing fog with you in complete silence,” Jon said lovingly, “but I thought you wanted to do something romantic.”

“That’s not romantic?” Martin gasped, horrified. “Have you even read Wuthering Heights?”

“You and Gerry are two peas in a goth pod.”

“He’s goth, I’m gothic. There’s a difference. And don’t tell me that you don’t enjoy gothic literature - you’re literally a Byronic hero.”

“Oh, here we go,” Jon sighed, as the car bumped over a speed bump. He hadn’t heard another car for hours now, and he knew that they had to be in the middle of nowhere. The weather had grown colder, more humid, and occasionally he could hear the bleat of cows. It was...calming.

Then Martin started listing off the very many reasons why Jon was a classical Byronic hero, then Jon had to remind him that none of that stuff had technically happened, then Martin began insisting that it happened in their hearts, then Jon got deeply engrossed into today’s episode of the Archers and felt the need to inform Martin about its illustrious and aged history, which prompted Martin to put on Hatsune Miku when the episode was over and indoctrinate Jon into whatever ‘Vocaloid’ was, and by the time the car transitioned to skittering over bumpy gravel they were both entering a heated discussion about the most superior of the ‘Vocaloids’.

“ - and she created Minecraft?”

“And she’s trans,” Martin said heatedly.

“Good for her,” Jon said, just bemused. The car engine quieted, and keys clinked and rustled. “Are we here?”

“Yep! Seven hours later.” Martin sighed and made a quiet, satisfied noise, probably stretching, and Jon didn’t bother to fight his smile. Man was like a cat. “I want to show you around and everything, but honestly that drive was exhausting and I might take a nap first.” He sighed happily. “Peace. Quiet. No coworkers.”

“I’m your coworker,” Jon pointed out, opening the door of the car as Martin did the same. He stepped onto gravel, grinding his trainer a little into it, and breathed in. The air tasted...fresh. Clean. Pure and just a little chilly. It was nice. It perked Jon up, as the wind lightly tousled his curls. He stretched his legs too, cramped from being knitted up in the small car. Martin popped the boot and started loading packages into his arms, and Jon walked over and held his arms out so he could help Martin carry the packages. Martin dropped a picnic basket filled with snacks in his arms, and handed him his own suitcase, as Martin dropped his own suitcase on the ground with a heavy thump. “How does a teenage girl create a video game? That’s very impressive.”

“This week you are my boyfriend,” Martin corrected him, thumping the boot down. “No Emma getting on my case about misfiling the papers. No Michael concern trolling me. No Eric judging me for my taste in tea. No Gertrude terrifying me every second of the day. I am free. I am not going to think about work, or anybody related to work, for a single second. No Entities. No fear demons. No monsters, besides my boyfriend.”

“Thanks,” Jon said wryly. “Aren’t we forgetting someone?”

“Oh, darn it!” Martin opened the back door of the car, and pulled out a carrier. The wire door of the carrier cinched open and Tiresias came bounding out, barking madly and running in little circles around Jon, his tail beating against Jon’s leg. Jon laughed, lifting his burden higher in his arms, and let Martin loop his arm around Jon’s and guide him towards what he had to assume was some kind of building. “C’mere, boy. Good boy! You were so good for the trip! You’re getting a hundred snacks as soon we get inside.”

“Are you going to tell me where we are yet?” Jon asked, exasperated.

Martin squeezed his arm happily as they walked up an incline, shoes scuffing dirt. “I got permission from Daisy to borrow it. It’s her cabin, just outside of Applecross. It’s really in the middle of nowhere, nobody around for kilometers. Just us and a great deal of cows. It’s really gorgeous, Jon, with such clean air and beautiful hills. I can’t wait to go for walks with you. You’ll get so much time to go through your audiobook collection. And we can snuggle, and I can cook for you, and we can listen to more radio dramas, and we can talk about our future, and you can pet the cows…”

“Sounds wonderful,” Jon said honestly, squeezing Martin’s arm back. They paused, Martin rustling his keys again, and Jon heard the grinding of metal before a door seemed to creak open. “I can’t wait to spend this week with you. I could use a little peace, I think.”

“Gods, me too. You have no idea how stressed I’ve been. It’ll be just you, me, and -”

That’s when Martin screamed, and Tiresias barked excitedly and ran forward, almost bowling Jon over, and a familiar voice broke the quiet of the rustic cabin.

“Aren’t you a good boy, Tiresias? Aren’t you a good boy?” Daisy Tonner’s grin was audible through her words, but it held a familiar tint of ferociousness. “Hullo, Jon. Blackwood. What are you doing here a week early?”

“Early!” Martin squeaked. “I said we were coming up the first week of September -”

“Really?” Daisy said, voice casual. Seemingly. “Because I have it down in my calendar as the second week. This is my vacation. And I’m not leaving.”

Silence stretched between them. Jon smiled happily towards the sound of Daisy’s voice, placing his burdens at his feet, and soon Daisy walked forward and enveloped him in a bone cracking hug.

“It’s so good to see you,” Jon said, hugging her tightly back too. “I’m sure we can share the cabin for the week. It’ll be fun, like a sleepover!”

“Oh, I think so too,” Daisy said, her voice tinged in a wolf’s grin. “Don’t you think so, Martin?”

“Good fucking christ,” Martin said.

****

True to his word, Martin was exhausted enough that he immediately made the bed and collapsed into it. Jon lovingly took off his shoes and socks and Tiresias even, adorably, pulled the comforter up around Martin’s ears. But Martin didn’t sleep: he seemed preoccupied in angrily muttering to himself about how he didn’t get the time wrong, she did, this was all her fault, and it was also completely on purpose, devil woman, everybody was trying to ruin everything -

“Love, if I ask her to go, she’ll go,” Jon said.

“No! Ugh!” Martin screamed lowly, muffled, and Jon realized with amusement he was screaming into the pillow. “It’s her house, she’s doing us a favor, I don’t want to be rude! I can’t kick her out of her own home!”

“Are you going to be passive aggressive at her until she leaves?”

Incriminatingly, Martin was silent.

“She’s more stubborn than you are. If you try to solve this with your usual methods she’ll outlast you.”

“I hate her so much,” Martin groaned.

“Don’t say that,” Jon said loyally. “She’s really come around to you, you know. She hasn’t threatened to chop your dick off in - oh, two weeks now. That’s a new record.”

Martin groaned again. Jon kissed him on the cheek, turned the light off - “Jon, you just turned the light on.” - turned the light off for real this time, and went into the living room/dining room/kitchen to start putting away all the food they had brought. He bent over his suitcase, withdrawing Tiresias’ harness, and whistled to call him over before snapping the harness on. Tiresias stiffened into what Georgie called ‘Buisness Boy Mode’, and Jon grabbed his handle with one hand as he loaded the groceries into the other.

“Here, let me help.” Daisy lifted the other load from the floor, leading the both of them into the kitchen and opening the fridge. “I know Georgie’s organizational system.”

Jon just sighed, slowly navigating his way to the fridge to put his own load away. They had clothing to unpack, things to set up, and arrangements to plan, but Jon had the sense that none of it was getting done immediately.

“What were your plans for this week?”

“I normally go up here to hunt,” Daisy grunted, sliding cans into the cabinet. At Jon’s raised eyebrow, she clarified, “with guns. They’re all locked up in the gun cabinet, as is my ammo and knives. Neither you nor Martin have the keys, but the cabinet is in a closet near the bathroom. That should be locked too.”

“Goodness, Daisy, I’m not an errant toddler. I won’t play with your collection.”

“You’re my errant toddler,” Daisy said loyally, giving him a noogie and making him scowl. “Say it. Say you’re an errant toddler.”

“Goodness, Daisy, leave me be -”

Then she lifted him up, like he was nothing more than a bundle of sticks, and held him in the air as he screamed and kicked his legs, trying to get down. Tiresias, the Traitor, the Serpent, the King of Lies, barked happily. “Let me down! Daisy!”

“Say you’re an errant toddler and I’ll let you down.”

“I shan’t. Daisy, stop -!” But then she started tickling him, which was extremely dangerous, and Jon was forced to cackle out in breathless laughter, “Fine, I’m a toddler, let me down, you crazy woman!”

She tossed him lightly onto the pull-out couch, putting away the rest of the groceries herself, and Jon let Tiresias sit on top of him and lick his face as he could almost audibly hear Martin pouting in the bedroom.

“This’ll be fun,” Daisy said, shutting the cabinet and rustling some familiar boxes. “Can’t believe Tim paid me fifty quid to do this. I would have done it for free.”

“Do what?”

“Never mind. I have your copy of Life, do you want to play?”

“Sure!” Jon sat up, feeling Daisy sit down next to him and set out the game pieces. Then something occurred to him. “Wait. What are you doing with my copy of Life?”

“Georgie lent it to me.”

“...why did Georgie -”

“I was going to leave it here for when you came up,” Daisy said easily, and Jon nodded in acceptance. “Spin the spinner to see whose turn comes first.”

Jon considered thinking deeper about this, but Daisy wouldn’t lie to him. She was the most trustworthy person he knew. She didn’t have a deceitful bone in her body. He shrugged and reached forward and found the spinner, giving it a good twist before rubbing his thumb over the braille. Something occurred to him.

“Maybe we can ask Martin if he wants to join -”

“I’m sure he would prefer his rest.”

“Okay!”

This vacation was going to go great. Why had Jon been worried?

****

That night they had a delicious barbecue outside, cooked by Daisy. Martin ate it in angry silence, which was quickly broken by Jon’s frequent nudges and directions for conversation. He wasn’t the most socially adept person at the best of times, but Martin and Daisy were two of his best friends and he knew how to get the both of them talking. He was even able to draw them into a spirited conversation about 19th century literature - Daisy preferred Russian novels, while Martin preferred Gothic romances and Hugo and Jon tended towards nonfiction. Afterwards Daisy grabbed her gun, kissed Jon on the cheek, did something that made Martin squeak in fear, and tramped off to go hunt deer or something. Jon waved her off with a blessing, his sixth sense thrumming with satisfaction for the Sacrifice.

He spent the night cuddled up with Martin, watching Beauty and the Beast on his laptop. Martin was obsessed with Disney movies in a way that explained a great deal about him, and Beauty and the Beast was his absolute favorite. Jon ran his fingers through his soft and feathery hair as Martin squeezed his hand, and Jon’s heart settled in complete contentment. The audio description voice droned gently about the heartwarming falling in love montages, but Jon wasn’t really paying attention: he just felt safe, and warm, and as if he wanted the moment to last forever.

Then his mobile rang, a clear automated voice saying “Gerard calling. Gerard calling.”

“Oh, I should get that.” Jon straightened, throwing out a hand on the coffee table where he thought he had put his phone, and Martin pressed it into his hand. He accepted the call quickly, putting it on speaker and holding it up to his ear just like, he was reliably assured, ‘an old man’. “Hello, honey?”

“Jon!” Gerry yelled. “Did you get the cabin okay?”

“Oh, so everyone knew but me,” Jon said, amused. “You’re on speaker, Gerry, so say hello to Mr. Blackwood.”

“Hi Martin! Are you guys having a good time? You have to take me next time, I want to see Daisy’s guns!”

“You will not see Daisy’s guns,” Jon said quickly.

“Hi Gerry,” Martin said, a smile clear in his somewhat strained voice. “Sure, you and Georgie should come up next time. Make it a party. Why not.”

“Told you she’d do it,” Georgie said, and Jon perked up. “Hullo, love. How’s your romantic getaway going?”

“Oh, it’s lovely,” Jon said, excited. “We’re going to walk down to the town tomorrow, check out some of their antique stores. I’ll let you know if we find any interesting art.”

“I’ve been up to Daisy’s cabin a few times with Melanie, it’s delightful. Great place for her to hunt and for me to practice my carrion photography. It’s always nice just to get away from it all! I hope you haven’t touched any work, Jon.”

“I haven’t,” Jon said loyally. He paused a beat. “Do Statements count? Because I was planning on listening to a few recorded ones as a sort of bedtime story?”

“That’s just self-care,” Georgie assured him. “Treat yourself, queen.”

“Thanks, honey. Make sure Gerry gets his homework done? Do you need any help? I have some time now -”

“I got it,” Georgie said, laughing slightly. “I can still help a fifteen year old with his English. I’ll make sure he brushes his teeth too. Just enjoy yourself.”

“Have a good time, Dad!” Gerry called, the affectionate nickname making Jon smile. “Bring me back a cow!” Slightly more muffled, Jon heard him say to Georgie, “Mum, when Jon goes on a romantic getaway, what do you think they -”

“Night, honey! Night, Martin! Love you!” Georgie called loudly.

Jon laughed, unable to stop himself from waving a little, as if they were there. “Night, you two. Love you too. Stay safe.”

“We will! Bye!”

The line clicked off, and Martin’s arm stretched across Jon’s shoulders squeezed a little tighter. Jon extended a foot and clicked the space bar on the computer, starting up the movie again.

“You’d make a really good dad,” Martin said, almost to himself.

Jon settled back against Martin, leaning his head against his shoulder. “I feel like one already, honestly. Obviously, I have far more experience with teenagers than babies, but they can’t be that hard. If I don’t drop them…why?”

Martin coughed a little, abruptly flustered. “No reason! No reason.”

“Do you want kids?”

“Can’t exactly have them biologically,” Martin muttered, before sighing. “Yeah, I’d love to...foster or adopt or something. I’ve had my - differences - with my parents, but I’m still glad they adopted me, you know? I’d like to pass that on. But...better. Much better.”

“Georgie is talking about fostering again once Gerard moves in with Eric,” Jon said quietly. The thought of Gerry moving out, of living full time with Eric again - it just seemed weird. Almost wrong, although it wasn’t - Eric adored Gerry, and he was a competent father. It was just that...well, technically, Gerry had been living with them since the beginning of the universe. On a purely literal level, they really had always had Gerry with them. It would be strange. “As a - recipient of the foster care system myself, I’d like to make a difference too.” He smiled thinly. “We’re very compatible, aren’t we?”

“Would it be...you and Georgie…?”

“I don’t know. Does it matter?”

Martin sighed a little. “Is it dumb that sometimes it feels like you already have a family built in?”

Hm. Jon hadn’t quite thought about it that way. “You know those jokes about me and Georgie being married are just jokes,” Jon said reproachfully.

Martin moved away a little, leaning forward, slipping his arm from Jon’s shoulder. He abruptly missed the warmth. “But you’re partners. You’re raising a kid. And I know Daisy and Tim think of themselves as your overprotective big siblings, they aren’t even wrong.”

“Many people have siblings? And friends? Some even have kids, I’ve heard.”

“I don’t.” There was really nothing for Jon to say to that, so he didn’t say anything. “I don’t want my entire social circle to just be through you…”

“It won’t be,” Jon said firmly, reaching out a hand and brushing it against Martin’s arm. He squeezed it firmly. “You don’t have to be Lonely anymore, Martin. I won’t let you.”

“Is that a promise?” Martin said, as if he was joking, as if Jon wasn’t certain that he wasn’t. As if he needed the reassurance.

“How can you be lonely when I’m here?” Jon said, and trailed his hand up along Martin’s arm until he reached his neck and he could cup his face. He rubbed a thumb against his wispy stubble, light and thin. “I’m right here.”

Martin kissed him, and then the movie was quite thoroughly forgotten as Jon necked with his boyfriend on the couch like a teenager. They forgot everything, and for a small period of glorious time Jon forgot everything that he knew, in all of its entirety, and his Eye saw only the here and now.

Then the door thumped open, the wind blew into the cabin, and heavy footsteps thumped into the room. Something dragged behind the footsteps, something that sounded a bit...wet.

Martin, who was thoroughly on top of Jon and almost done unbuttoning his shirt, froze. Jon just craned his head, trying to hear the sounds of what was likely a dead deer being pulled in through the entrance way better.

“Hello Daisy!” Jon said, still pinned down. “How was your hunting?”

“Lucrative. We’re eating venison tomorrow.”

“Great! Need any help getting that put away?”

“No, I’m good.” Tiresias barked happily. “Here, boy, you can have a little. Good boy. I’ll probably skin and clean it outside, I just wanted to get my gloves.”

“Take your time!”

Martin sighed and got off Jon, straightening his own clothing. “Yeah, Daisy, take your time.”

“Oh, am I interrupting something?” Daisy said blithely. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You’re fine,” Jon assured her, fixing his own hair from where it had grown tangled. “Want to finish this movie with us?”

“Sure, let me gut this animal first.”

“Great! Scooch over, Martin.”

“You know,” Martin said, “maybe we want to move to the bedroom?”

“If we stay in the living room I can hook up your laptop to the television and we can watch the movie that way,” Daisy said innocently.

“That sounds good,” Jon agreed. He patted Martin’s hand. “Is that alright with you?”

Martin sighed. “Yeah. Of course.”

That night, Jon curled up next to Martin on the creaky wooden bed, listening to the flies buzz around them and the crickets hiss their lilting song outdoors.

His earbuds were still nestled in his ears, the soft hum of his Walkman cutting the quiet night, his own pre-recorded voice reading out a story. Martin sat next to him, and occasionally Jon could hear the soft shift of the pages of a book turning. Every so often Martin would gasp, or make a little noise at some exciting event in his book.

Jon rolled over, throwing out an arm and pulling Martin in close, resting his head on Martin’s shoulder as he let the earbuds roll gently out of his ears. Martin was soft and warm, the cotton of his t-shirt rubbing up against Jon’s cheek, and Jon let his mind gently bliss out and drift away.

He thought about the breakfast he wanted to make the next morning, and of the soft beat of Scottish sun on his face. He thought about the creak of cobblestones as jumped-up jalopies rolled over them, and of the shifting and groan of old wood. He thought of the bright, sharp summer smell of the highlands, and the sinking and sticky marshland.

“We should visit the antique store in town tomorrow,” Jon murmured. “Georgie’s been looking for a new lamp, and I think they should have a nice Rococo one for cheap.”

“Oh? Maybe I can pick something up too.” Martin gently scratched Jon’s scalp, making him bliss out even further. “Nice of you to always loop us in on the best deals, you little shopping catalogue.”

They, of course, had not been to the town yet, and there was no reason for Jon to know of the antique store, or the Rococo lamp. Jon hadn’t even thought about it, the information as available and easy as the layout of the convenience store down the street and a left turn from his childhood council flat.

Martin’s voice broke the quiet, cutting through the buzz of insects. “You know I love you, right?”

“I know everything,” Jon yawned, snuggling into Martin’s side closer.

“Not what I meant.” Martin hesitated, almost awkwardly. “You’re a literal mind reader and everything, but I’m not, so…”

“Oh, Martin.” Jon reached a hand up and cupped Martin’s cheek. “I built this world from the bedrock of my love for you.”

“Uh - wow! That’s - it’s kind of weird how you can just say that and have it be true!”

“Our lives are weird,” Jon agreed, brushing his thumb over Martin’s lips, and he carefully leaned his head up to kiss him, and they passed the long silent minutes just like that.

Several hours later, Jon found himself jerking awake. Martin was snoring beside him, and he couldn’t feel any sun on his face, so Jon figured it was likely still nighttime. He carefully slipped out of bed, reaching out a hand and trailing it along the wall until he managed to leave the bedroom, navigate down the hall, and enter what he was fairly sure was the living room.

“Jon?” A voice broke the night. Daisy, who had taken the pull-out couch. “You looking for the loo?”

It was only then that Jon realized that he didn’t know why he had gotten up. Tiresias snored loudly in the kitchen, adding a subtle undertone to the noise from outside, and Jon found himself shrugging helplessly. “I don’t think so. Did I wake you up?”

“Nah. Hold tight, I’ll help you to the couch.” Sure enough, after the almost silent footsteps echoed through the main room Jon felt a soft hand on his back, and she led him towards the couch. Jon lightly kicked it, testing its height, and gently lowered himself onto it, the springs of the pull-out bed breaking through the night. “What has you up?”

Jon just shrugged again. The bed creaked beside him, and he felt calloused fingers carding through his hair with gentleness that would have been surprising to most people.

“Am I a bad boyfriend?” Jon asked, surprising himself. He hadn’t even known he was thinking that.

“Did Blackwood tell you that you were?” Daisy asked sharply.

“No! No, not at all.” Jon sighed. “I just...I just have different needs than him.” He could already tell what Daisy was thinking, and he shook his head. “Not about the - the you know what thing. I just...I know how much he loves me. I know what he thinks of me, I know his dedication to me. Sometimes I just assume that he’s - capable, of what I’m capable of. Do I not tell him I love him enough? Am I not affectionate enough?”

“You aren’t as perceptive as you think you are, Jon,” Daisy said, amused. “I think you’ll find that Blackwood has quite a few more secrets than you think he does.” She untangled her fingers from his hair and squeezed his arm. “Blackwood’s insecure. All insecure people want mindreader boyfriends. But you force him to use his words and ask for what he needs, Jon. It’s uncomfortable. But it’s good for him. He needs to learn to speak up for himself.” She hummed slightly. “He reminds me of Basira, a little. She’ll never tell you that you bothered her, and she just lets it pile up and up. But then you go just a little too far, and then she explodes all of that pent up anger and frustration on you. She likes to pretend she’s a real robot, but she’s just as human as the rest of them.”

“I’m so terrified of Basira,” Jon said miserably. “Remember when I dropped a plate and she told me that the reason why my gran didn’t love me was because I was an attention seeking nine year old?”

“She’s so mean. I love her so much.” Daisy patted Jon on the back. “Buck up. I’m working on Blackwood. You focus on enjoying your vacation.”

Jon let himself lean to the side, resting his head on Daisy’s shoulder. “I’m worried that Martin will realize that I’m not capable of expressing romantic affection in a socially typical manner and leave me.”

“God, shut up, whiner.” But the bed creaked and Daisy’s head gently slid out from under his shoulder, and Daisy gently helped Jon to his feet. “I’ll get you back to bed. Bitch about your imaginary relationship problems to me in the morning.”

Translated: I love you, I’ll always be here for you, and goodnight. Jon huffed a quiet laugh. “Aren’t the lights off? How can you see anything?”

When Daisy spoke again, a quiet bass growl echoed underneath her words, and Jon grinned with her. He Knew, like how he Knew that he loved Martin enough to destroy the world, that Daisy’s eyes were flickering yellow in the darkness. “Don’t be fooled by appearances, Jon.”

She helped him back to bed, and when Jon slept through the rest of the night he dreamed of nothing but Martin’s weight on his.

****

“What a beautiful morning!” Martin said loudly. “The birds are chirping, the Scottish highlands are beautiful, I am here on my romantic vacation away from everybody with only my lovely boyfriend for company - and Daisy Tonner!”

“Glad to be here,” Daisy said affably.

“This is so much fun!” Martin said, still loudly.

“I think so too!” Jon said enthusiastically.

Tiresias barked.

After a breakfast pointedly prepared by Martin, they all got dressed and saddled up to go walk into the village. It was a quick walk, only about twenty minutes, and Martin and Daisy enjoyed the scenery as Jon enjoyed the warm grip of Martin’s hand in his and the breeze on his face.

When the trail began sloping further downhill, and their footsteps began to slide against the incline, Jon pulled what Gerry would have called a ‘pro-gamer move’ and moved his grip up until he was clinging to Martin’s arm. Martin sprayed a hand out, resting it against Jon’s back, and helped him down the trail.

“Whoah! You alright, honey? Careful of your step!”

“Jesus christ,” Daisy muttered.

“It’s hardly Jon’s fault -” Martin began heatedly.

“Yeah, Daisy,” Jon said, delighting in setting them against each other like the cold, uncaring god he was, “check your privilege.”

Then they were off, because despite Daisy was allergic to social consciousness, and Jon whistled a jaunty tune, composed in the 15th century and unknown to all but its lonely shepherd creator, as they navigated their way downwards.

The village was small, nothing more than two streets with cheerful wooden facades and swing porches set out on the decks with wizened elderly people sipping from bottles of Irn Bru and smoking down cigarettes to the dregs. At least, as narrated by Martin, who seemed to already be mentally writing his small-town murder mystery in the Scottish highlands (Martin’s poetry needed work, but his fiction held a certain massmarket appeal). Knowing Martin, the protaganist would likely be either a grandmother with his own personality, or a thirtysomething gay man who had twelve counts of arson on his record and was running from the cops.

Wait. Wait, Jon should use his words. Ask instead of look. Display interest in Martin’s inner life - which, granted, seemed to be a waste of time when Jon could just Know and not waste his breath, but Georgie had been coaching him in this.

“You should give the ex-con narrator a boyfriend,” Jon said supportively. “Maybe bring back the gay bar owner from the last book?”

Martin almost tripped over the gravel. “How did you know I was thinking of - Jon, I told you not to read my mind!”

“Lay off, you know he doesn’t do it on purpose,” Daisy said uninterestedly, growling at what Jon guessed were passerby on the street.

“Daisy, stop telling me how to talk to my boyfriend -”

“Oh, he’s your boyfriend now, is he?”

“Yes! Yes, he is!”

“Let’s get some ice cream!” Jon said loudly.

“How did you even know there was an ice cream - fine! Fine, of course!” Martin sighed loudly. “Why not!”

As it turned out, they were right in front of ice cream. Jon loved it when things worked out.

****

Twenty minutes later, after Martin laboriously reading out all of the entirely too many flavors to Jon, Daisy growling at everybody at the store like an errant dog, fighting with the owner of the store extremely politely about his actual dog existing, and finally taking their ice cream outside to sit at a picnic bench and attack their waffle cones, Jon felt content.

He indicated this by telling everybody everything he knew about emulsifiers, which were extremely neat and a lot of fun! Because nobody was stopping him talking by saying ‘let’s talk about something else, Jon’ or ‘isn’t that a bit boring, Jon?’ he moved onto the history of waffle cones, safe in his assumption that everybody was as interested in the topic as he was.

“I love you so much,” Martin said, somewhat dazed, when Jon stopped to draw a breath. “Did you know that this is the second time this has happened?”

That stopped Jon short, when nothing else did. “Really? Has it?”

Martin’s spoon scraped his small paper bowl. “Yep. Uh - for my birthday, I think. Me, Tim, and - and Sasha, and you. You ordered rum raisin. I was thinking...did you actually like rum raisin? Or did you just panic?” He laughed, somewhat self-consciously. “You didn’t remember about it even before the whole apocalypse thing, so no sweat, but…”

“Oh.” Jon realized, for probably the fifth time, that Martin held years and years worth of memories in him, and that Jon had only fragments and impressions. He knew that he had everything important, that everything he needed was within him, but - did he? What if he was missing the key to everything, the key to Martin, and all he needed was to just Look deeper? “That’s - I could remember it, if I wanted.”

“It’s fine, Jon,” Daisy said quietly. “Don’t go giving yourself a migraine.”

“I could,” Jon insisted. “I’d like to remember something like your birthday, Martin. Precious memories, or - or something. Give me a moment, I can send a quick prayer, and -”

“You know,” Martin said, and he squeezed Jon’s hand. “I’d rather make new memories right now. Where we are right now, that’s - that’s the most important place, innit?”

Jon smiled at him, and he knew, in the most mundane of ways, Martin was smiling back. “I like to think so too.”

“Ugh,” Daisy teased, although perhaps to an outsider it may have sounded mean, “get that sappy shit outta my face.”

“You’re just as bad with Basira,” Jon shot back, smiling. “You two are in love -”

“Take that shit back,” Daisy hissed.

“You want to get married -”

“Who told you!”

Jon tapped the lens of his glasses smugly. “A little Eye told me.”

“Beholding cuck.”

“No, that’s Peter -”

“Martin would know all about Peter, huh?” Daisy sneered, and the pressure on Jon’s hand intensified for a brief second before it withdrew completely, leaving his hand cold and empty.

“Jon, can you give me and Daisy a few minutes of privacy, please?” Martin said pleasantly.

Jon raised an eyebrow, licking the ice cream dripping down his hand. It was Vast flavor. Tasted like...ozone. “Why?”

“He doesn’t know the area, you can’t send him off alone,” Daisy shot back, strangely smugly. “Come on, Blackwood. Whatever you want to say to me, you can say it in front of him.”

“You know what, fine. Fine!” Martin thumped the table, making Jon start and Tireasias stiffen. “I have done nothing that warrants this kind of treatment from you. You are disrespecting me, disrespecting my relationship, and you are insulting my fucking intelligence. I appreciate you loaning us your cabin, but if I knew that it would come with strings attached then I would have paid for my own bloody hotel! Why are you doing this!”

“Tim gave me fifty quid,” Daisy said, like the wolf that had caught the canary. “Plus it’s fucking funny.”

“Done what?” Jon asked, confused.

“I want you out of my vacation, Daisy,” Martin hissed. “If you won’t leave the cabin, then I am booking my own Air BnB and that’s fucking final! I don’t care if I have to - to fight you in the street about it, I can and I will, you don’t want to mess with me -”

“Sure.”

Martin stopped short. Jon licked his ice cream, fascinated by the drama. “What?”

“I said sure,” Daisy enunciated clearly. “I was waiting for you to fucking say it. I told Basira I’d be home by tonight, anyway. Knew you’d snap.”

“I - what! What! What?!”

“You’re a pushover, Blackwood,” Daisy said. “Your coworkers, your friends, everyone - they just walk all over you. It’s fucking stupid. You are the archival assistant who survived the apocalypse with memories and sanity intact. You lasted longer on the position than anyone since Emma Harvey, and you didn’t have to lose your soul to do it. You looked Elias in the face as you burned his Archives down. You’re not a pussy. And I was sick of seeing you act like one. It’s fucking annoying.”

“I hate you so fucking much,” Martin whispered, somewhat in shock.

“Well, I hate seeing my best friend date a passive aggressive loser, so we’re both unhappy.” Daisy stood up, feet shuffling against the cement, and Jon felt her press a kiss against his forehead. “You two have a nice day out. I’m going to go hunt things, and head back to London. Take care of yourself, Jon. And cut out the PDA, it’s gross.”

Suddenly, violently, with a crushing realization, the entire vacation was recontextualized.

“I don’t appreciate any of this,” Jon said crossly, scowling in her direction. “Honestly, Daisy, you don’t -”

“Blame Tim. Love you, Jon. Love you, sweet puppy. See you later, Blackwood.”

Jon and Martin sat in silence as the sound of footsteps receded from Jon’s hearing, and the low murmur of the small village set in around them. Martin still seemed to slightly be in shock, his ice cream slowly melting, and Tiresias yawned sleepily in the sun.

“I hate her so fucking much,” Martin whispered.

But Jon just smiled, and reached out to brush a thumb over Martin’s close-cropped hair. He leaned in, whispering into Martin’s ear. “Hearing you yell at the scariest woman I know who isn’t Gertrude Robinson was pretty fucking sexy, love.”

“I hate her so - wait, it was? Really?” Martin coughed awkwardly. “Well, she really had it coming, and it’s not a huge deal, and I know she’s your best friend and I should be nice to her, but -”

“ - but she was right,” Jon said firmly. “An arse about making her point, but she was right. I’m working on using my words. You should too. All of the books say communication is key in a relationship. So let’s communicate, alright?” He faltered a little, uncertain if Daisy would want him to say this. “And - and it was obvious, from what she said, that Daisy respects you. It’s a very difficult thing, to win Daisy’s respect. I think she was trying to help us, in her own - unorthodox manner.”

“I hate her so much,” Martin groaned.

“It was very sexy,” Jon hinted.

Martin leaned in and kissed Jon lightly, and Jon could feel his smile against his own. “How about we finish our food,” he said quietly, “walk around town for a bit, buy some souvenirs for your family, and then go back to the cabin and snog and cuddle for a very long time? If that’s okay with you?”

“I’d like nothing more,” Jon said.

And he was right. It was messy, and weird, and painfully uncomfortable.

It was perfect.

#Bell book and candle #immortal with a kiss #no sin but ignorance #my writing #the closest thing you will ever see me write to a safehouse fic #jonmartin #the magnus archives #jonmartin fanfic #the magnus archives fanfic #tma #*bangs pots and pans* i am ace and sex-repulsed like jon so this is the bible how of how to write ace and sex-repulsed relationships #this is my 10 page apology for sidelining jonmartin in my 500 pages of tma fanfic

48 notes · View notes

astoldbygingersnaps · 4 years

Text

On Petco and COVID-19:

I’ve seen a lot of stories and reports about various companies and how they are treating their employees poorly in the wake of COVID-19, but to my surprise I haven’t seen anything about my company, Petco. I suppose it makes sense, given that Petco isn’t as large a company as Target, Starbucks, or Walmart, but I believe people should know what we as partners have been dealing with since the outbreak really picked up steam in the US.

Before I detail exact what my personal struggle with the company has been, I’d like to make one thing clear: I am a hard worker. I have spent five years of my life--half a decade--dedicating myself to this company. I am both a dog trainer and a keyholder, and I take both of those duties very seriously. Nothing means more to me than taking care of pets and their people, and I pride myself on providing the best care and service to our guests as possible. So when I say that this entire situation is forcing me to abandon my job out of disgust for the way I and my fellow workers have been treated, I want you to understand how much that means.

I love the work that I do, but that does not change the fact that I, along with many other Petco partners, have been exploited, dismissed, and outright lied to during this crisis. While I understand that we are living in a dangerous and chaotic time that is difficult to navigate, such a fact makes it all the more necessary to treat people with dignity, compassion, and respect. I do not enjoy putting an organization that I have given so much of my heart and soul to on blast, but the events of the previous month have made it clear that Petco as a company does not care whether or not its employees or even its customers are harmed or killed because of their negligence.

For almost a month our concerns have been ignored, belittled, and redirected, and the little action that has been taken has been incredibly delayed and led to even more confusion. Furthermore, we’ve had little clear guidance on what we, as partners who work in retail stores, should be doing to take care of ourselves and our guests.

It is also worth noting that our CEO, Ron Coughlin, was sending out emails to Petco Pals Rewards members in the beginning of March claiming that stores would be instructed to disinfect and clean regularly, but no such instructions were ever given. We never received any emails or forms of internal communication telling partners on how they should be cleaning, and because of this my own store took time out of our day to develop a cleaning schedule and shared our template throughout the district. Again, this is something we did OURSELVES, NOT something we were explicitly told to do. So, if you don’t care about how retail workers have been treated, at least care that you, as a customer, have been lied to.

From the beginning, there has been a very clear divide in how store partners have been treated compared to corporate/office workers. While corporate/office workers have the luxury of working from home with full benefits and are allowed to perform social distancing to the CDC’s guidelines, we are not so lucky. Again, I understand this, to a point: because of their positions they are able to perform their jobs from home while we are not. But such a decision was consistently framed as “difficult” and “emotional,” which, frankly, is bogus. What’s so hard about giving your employees access to work from their personal computer? And what’s so difficult for them anyway considering they’re not the ones who have to come in contact with the public day after day?

Through the second week in March, numerous communications were spread throughout the company on our internal Workplace service, each one more inadequate and inefficient than the last. The worst was a ten minute long video where our CEO repeatedly stated that “pets are our main priority” and described over and over again how we simply MUST stay open for our customers. It wasn’t until the very end of the video that any mention was given to partners at all. The entire post was incredibly off-putting and made me, as a partner, feel incredibly undervalued.

What made things worse, however, were the comments under the video. Floods of partners shared their concerns and disappointments. Many of them cited having young children or older relatives at home, or were immunocompromised themselves, and worried about the danger that working in a retail environment put themselves and their loved ones in. And what was the company’s response? To tell these people over and over to simply “partner with their district manager if they were worried.” That’s it. No direction, no guidance, no words of comfort. Nothing. One person was even accused of simply not having a desire to work rather than, I dunno, A FEAR OF CONTRACTING AND SPREADING A DEADLY ILLNESS.

The post in question (all names have been blacked out to respect privacy):

It was some of the most vile behavior I have ever witnessed, both from upper management and lower-level employees like myself who were displaying an almost slavish devotion to a company that was so ready and willing to dispose of them. Multiple people stated they were proud to work for our company in this moment, which was utterly baffling to me, as I had never felt more worthless to Petco than I did seeing those messages.

So! Let’s talk about partnering with your local leader! (Spoiler alert: it’s fucking useless)

On March 15th, my direct supervisor and I made a call to our district leader to “discuss our concerns.” What followed was thirty minutes of our life wasted where we were told the exact same thing as we had been told via the Workplace post: no partner would lose their job for taking time off if they displayed symptoms or came into contact with a person who had COVID-19 (the absolute bare minimum, in my opinion), but they would be required to either take a fourteen day unpaid medical leave or use their personal PTO and sick time to cover the cost. Around this time I was both showing symptoms (dry cough, fatigue, shortness of breath) and learned that my fiancee, whom I live with, came into direct contact with someone with the illness via her work. The possibility of contracting COVID-19 was especially worrying for us, as my fiancee has severe asthma and I have scarring on my lungs from chronic bronchitis; were we to get sick, the consequences could be severe. It’s even more concerning given that the state we live in, Massachusetts, has one of the highest rates of infection in the US and hospitals are in danger of becoming overwhelmed. Therefore, I decided to make what I believed was the most responsible and ethical decision, and went on leave.

Fortunately, I am lucky; as a full-time worker who has been with the company for many years, I have accrued enough PTO and sick time to cover the weeks that I would be gone for. But many people who work for this company are not so lucky. Many are part-time workers who are not entitled to benefits, and some are full-timers who may have already burned through their paid time off as it resets on the anniversary of your hire date. So now these workers, like many other workers across the country, are being asked to choose between taking care of themselves and their community or putting food on the table. It is absolutely inhumane, especially given that last time I checked our CEO is worth more than two million dollars--yet the rest of us are forced to worry about paying our rent and feeding our families while we do the dirty work on the front lines.

Since I initially took leave, this has been amended, and employees who have been affected by COVID-19 have been given access to 40 hours of sick time, regardless of their status as full or part-time. But that only covers one week of the mandatory self-isolation period, meaning partners are still at risk of losing money.

Time and time again we have been told how much our overlords value us. We have been thanked, we have been praised, and we have had so many meaningless words and tiny gestures thrown at us. Sure, our store hours have been cut and we’re offering curbside pick-up to reduce foot traffic in certain stores (my store, a smaller Unleashed location, doesn’t qualify for curbside pick-up, because of our size). Sure, changes have been made to the dog training program to freeze classes and puppy playtime for the time being. And sure, there has been a partner assistance fund opened to support partners in these ~trying times. I applaud the company for making these necessary changes and for putting their money where their mouth is when it comes to donating directly to us.

But in a lot of ways, it’s too little, too late, and so many of these services remain inaccessible to all partners. Hell, partners have even been policed about when they can actually utilize their own personal sick time even though we are in the middle of a global health crisis.

Even for those of us who have done everything exactly as we were supposed to, we are still getting screwed. Currently, I’m battling with Petco HR to get paid for the first week of my self-isolation as, even though I submitted all my time off requests accurately, none of it was reflected in my paycheck; because we get paid by-weekly, I have yet to see whether my second week will be covered, but I suspect I will have to battle for that as well. As a person who lives paycheck to paycheck in one of the most expensive cities in the country, I quite literally can’t afford this right now. But, of course, the HR team is off work right now because of COVID-19, because unlike us they have that luxury.

In addition to this, I’ve also been prevented from coming back to work because our Leaves Coordinator now claims I need a doctor’s note to return to work even though I have it in writing, from paperwork directly from the Leaves Department, that I do not, as evidenced here:

I would also like to note that I confirmed that I would be returning to work on the afternoon of March 27th and received an automatic reply that I would hear from a representative in 24 to 48 hours. I did not, in fact, hear back from a representative until March 30st at 11:59pm EST, ten hours before I was scheduled to return to work, as you can see here (again, I am hiding my personal information as much as possible to try and avoid retaliation from my employer):

While I understand delays given that our HR and Leaves Departments are no doubt bogged down given how many employees are currently in the same boat as me, it does not change the fact that I am suffering because of their lack of action.

It would be one thing if the facts had been clearly communicated from the very beginning, but as you can see that’s very much not the case. Instead, I’ve been jerked around, lied to, and, again, had my pay withheld. Every day I spend at home fighting with these people is another day of pay I lose and cannot get back. Words cannot express how terrible this whole experience has been. I’ve cried nearly every day and been so anxious and depressed I’ve literally vomited from the stress. All the years I’ve spent building my career and taking care of clients while earning money for this company and this is the thanks I get in return. It is quite literally sickening.

Throughout this entire process I and many of the Petco employees in my area have been treated like absolute garbage. The stores in our district are running on fumes because so many partners are sick and/or on leave. Employees are running entire stores on their own and not getting breaks because we’re so short-staffed. One store in our district even closed down because a groomer tested positive for COVID-19 leading to the entire store shutting down and being professionally cleaned... and then re-opened almost immediately, causing even more of a burden on the remaining employees scrambling to cover all these near-empty locations. Our technology is over-loaded and crashing because it can’t bear the weight of our increased Buy Online, Pick Up In Stores (BOPUS) and curbside pick-up orders. It’s absolute insanity and it needs to stop.

I am not the first person to say this, nor will I be the last, but the crisis we are currently experiencing has starkly exposed how broken our economic and social structures truly are. Along with doctors, nurses, and medical care professionals working in hideous conditions to keep the rest of us healthy and safe, the people who contribute the most to our communities are those that have traditionally been looked upon as unskilled and overall less-than: janitors, housekeepers, garbagemen, cashiers, shelf-stockers, etc. Very quickly public perception has turned, and now society as a whole knows what those of us who work these types of jobs have always known: we are essential. We have the power in society. And we should use that power to defend ourselves and each other, which is why I’m writing to you now. By shining a light on the flaws and failings of this company, I believe we can hold them and others like them accountable and demand better, because we absolutely deserve it.

The bottom line is this: if you care about workers’ rights, if you value the safety and lives of your fellow humans, and if want to slow the spread of this disease that has upended everything we hold dear, don’t go to Petco. Don’t reward this company’s bad behavior with your money because they have proven they do not deserve it.

#petco

40 notes · View notes