#I will call up my old specialist and BEG for him to please still have the paperwork and tests and results from when I was there

[marvelingjules]

You’ll all be very proud to know that I finally messaged my doctor to request she provide me a referral to an asthma specialist.

So we’ll see how that goes. 🤞

[ana-benn]

Public Relations

This is Steve knowing how thirsty these hoes be....

It's me...

I'm these hoes.

Warnings: Dom/sub relationship, smut, Steve Rogers, pining, angst, jealousy

Pairing: Steve/Stark!reader

Title: Public Relations

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As Tony Stark's daughter, and personal PR specialist you'd weathered a lot of storms.

As the chief PR strategist for the now defunct SHIELD, you'd learned to keep a level head and roll with the punches.

As Steve Rogers girlfriend? Well that's where you'd learned to let go of the control and let the Captain take over. He was firm, and left very little room to wonder who was in charge at any point. Even your dad and Nat had stopped teasing you about dating the 100 year old virgin.

In all honesty Steve was probably the kindest man you'd been with, and he made a point of making sure you were comfortable and satisfied. You trusted him with everything inside of you. It was sometimes difficult to find the hard dominant edge to him, but you were in love and every part of him balanced out every part of you.

Today though? Today you were in the conference room of a prison staring at the hard eyes of your boyfriend with your dad in the corner and an assassin of mythological proportions 20 feet below you. You were here as the Avengers PR manager, NOT his girlfriend or his submissive, though that hard edge in his eyes as you stared at him and he stared back was definitely one you'd seen on a few occasions.

"Steve, General Ross agreed to let you walk out of here a free man. Just sign the papers and we launch the story that you didn't sign so you could get close enough to the Winter Soldier to bring him in. Sam's agreed to go along if you do!" You plead with him.

"What about Bucky?"

"Steve, he bombed the UN!" You said exasperated, you'd been going through this dance for over an hour.

"No he didn't! He was halfway across Europe," Steve ground out.

"Okay, but you can't fix that from prison," you reasoned.

"Did you read this thing y/n?"

"Of course I did. I'll admit it isn't perfect but people are scared. Just sign it Steve." There was a new weariness to your voice now. You knew this wasn't a battle you would win.

Just as that realization dawned on you an alarm went off.

The next few hours flew by. Steve, Sam, and the Winter Soldier broke out. General Ross issued an ultimatum about getting them back, and your dad suddenly seemed to age 10 years.

One thing was abundantly clear though:

As far as the Government was concerned, Steve was no longer an Avenger.

...........3 months later.............

You'd spent the last three months in a fog.

The first month was spent caring for your dad and getting him back on his feet, before Pepper came in and took over. Then you'd gone back to you and Steve's two-bedroom apartment and burried yourself in work. Now since you'd been home you found yourself slowly purging Steve. It hurt too much to see the photos, or have his clothes hanging next to yours. So you'd taken to putting his things in the spare bedroom. Out of sight, but still there. You weren't sure if he'd ever come back to get it, but it felt wrong to throw it away.

Your moods shifted constantly. On one hand you missed the quiet talks and late night conversation, on the other you wanted to hate him for hiding the man who murdered your grandparents. You felt sick at how easily he'd turned against your father. Still you found yourself stealing his clothes and spraying his aftershave on his pillow when you couldn't sleep. Needing his scent and familiar things to bring you comfort.

More than that you found yourself feeling more overwhelmed and anxious all the time now. There was no break from being your business persona. You were constantly being a strong woman on her own, being thrown to the wolves each and every press day. There was no one for you to lean into and hand the reins to anymore.

You missed demanding kisses with rough hands. Sharp thrusts and teeth in your soft flesh. Being completely at someone's control without fear and in complete bliss. Your body knew the difference too, you couldn't even get yourself off anymore, you needed to be dominated.

Which is how you found yourself out to dinner with a guy Pepper knew from Stark Industries. Quinton was a nice enough guy you supposed, but had none of the power behind him Steve did. You knew it wasn't going anywhere after the third time he apologized for talking about the project he was working on with your dad, but you didn't want to be rude.

So you small talked your way through dinner, and gave him a brief kiss on the cheek as you walked to your car. Thanking your foresight to drive separately, and avoid an awkward ride to your apartment. You made the drive home, and as soon as you turned on the light you yelped out loud.

“Steve, what the hell are you doing here?” you said as you made your way to the open blinds. “You should not be here. You’re literally wanted by the UN.” 

“Who was he?” came Steve’s tight reply.

“Who was who Steve? Friday, disengage Stark monitoring software and erase the last three hours of feedback,” you said. “Authorization, Y/N Stark,” Automatically moving to protect your fugitive boyfriend.

“Don’t play with me kitten,” Steve ground out. “The douche at the restaurant.” 

“What, did you follow me? You're talking about Quinton? You disappear for three months with the assassin who killed my grandparents and you’re jealous of a blind date?” you questioned, temper rising. “You don’t get to be jealous. Not anymore, I gave you an opportunity and you didn’t take it.” 

“Really kitten? You think you call the shots now?” Steve said, standing up and walking towards you. “You think I don’t know what you want? What you need? What you’ve been craving?” 

With each step he was backing you towards the wall, “You don’t know what I want Steve. You left remember,” you said, hating how weak and broken your voice sounded. 

“I know kitten, and I’m sorry for leaving you, but I’m here now,” Steve’s voice softened. His eyes darted to your lips, and before you could register who kissed who his hands were lifting you up to him and you lips melded in an earth shattering kiss. 

As your hands settled on his head you felt his bulge press into your core, “Steve,” you moaned.

“I thought I didn’t know what you needed,” he smirked as his lips moved to your neck and his fingers worked their way under your skirt. “Now beg for me kitten, or I’ll have to make you.” His fingers began teasing your wetness under your skirt.

“Please Captain, I’ve missed you,” you whimpered. "Don't tease me, please, you don't know what it's been like."

“I know kitten,” he murmured as he plunged two fingers into your core. You groaned as he began pumping into you. “Such a good girl aren’t you honey. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

“Oh God, Captain..... I....I’m going to......” you moaned out embarrassingly quickly.

“Shhhh, I know. I’ve got you, cum for me. I want to feel you,” he said as he pulled your long awaited orgasm from you.

As you were coming down you felt Steve enter you, pulling another groan from you. You hadn't even been aware that he'd unbuckled his pants.

“That’s it kitten, you take me so good baby,” his hips pounding you in your entryway. “I’m going to make sure you remember who owns this pretty little pussy. You knew that before you even tried to go on that date didn't you? Who makes you feel like this?”

“Steve!” you cried at a sharp thrust.

“That’s right honey. I do," he growled into your neck.

He was quiet after that, focusing more on marking any exposed skin with his lips and teeth. His hands, frustrated at working around your panties chose to just rip your clothing from your body. You moaned at his raw power, pawing pitifully at his shirt wanting his skin on yours.

He separated his lips from you long enough to pull his shirt over his head. He immediately reaffixed his lips to you, and brought a hand to your clit. He worked your body, focused now on bringing you to the edge. As you fell over he held you tight to his body, as he moved back towards your shared bedroom.

You noticed his throat tighten at his side of the closet being empty, and an unidentified look in his eyes at the sight of his aftershave and t shirt on your nightstand. Your hand found his face, bringing his eyes to yours, "I missed you."

His lips reattached to yours. You both knew a real conversation needed to happen, but for tonight you needed to surrender and Steve needed to lay his claim. There was a hunger in him for you that he needed to satisfy like a panther reclaiming his land. He was all hands and teeth, with soft words and possessive demands. By the time you dozed off on his chest that night, pure exhaustion settled deep in your bones, you knew no matter what came next you knew you weren't going to let Steve leave again. You needed each other, and this dance you'd learned together optional. You belonged together, and that was all you cared about.

Tags: @beauvibaby

[stillwinchester]

Destiel AU - toddler!jack, mechanic!dean

“Good morning, sir!”

Dean looked up from his newspaper straight at the kid with a teddy bear. He had no idea where it came from. He was just sipping his coffee and reading the news, when some stranger toddler appeared on the seat in front of him.

“Umm, mornin'?” he greeted him, still confused.

“I have a birthday today,” said kid and grinned. Dean looked around, but nobody seemed to bother with his situation.

“Congratulations, but you shouldn't be alone here. Where's your mom?”

“In Heaven. She's watching over me, like an angel,” kid explained, and after that kicked him accidentally under the table. Dean dusted his knee off.

“And what about your dad?”

“There!” he pointed to the counter, where was standing a dark hair man in the trench coat. “He's buying birthday's milkshakes. Strawberry!”

“Yeah?” Dean relaxed a little bit, good that kid wasn't alone here. “And how old are you?”

“Four! It's more than three,” he said cheerfully. “Look, I have The Marvelous Marvin. He can talk!”

Kid showed him a teddy bear and pressed his belly. A plushie toy said: 'Hello!', his father turned around immediately and came quickly to Dean's table. He picked the kid up and spoke to him:

“Jack, I told you, don't harass people.” And then to Dean: “My apologies.”

“Nothing happened... He's a great kiddo.”

The man tried to smile, but he was too much embarrassed, so it lookes more like a grimace. Jack, on the other hand, seemed not to care about anything, playing with his teddy bear.

Dean pulled something out from his pocket and asked: “Hey, Jack, do you like stickers?”

“Yeah!”

“So, I have something for you. Happy birthday, buddy!”

It was a commercial sticker with a big text "Singer Auto Repair Shop", but there was also a picture of Chevy Impala which was what Jack noticed first.

“A car!” exclaimed Jack, putting a sticker on his teddy bear at once.

“Jack, what do you say?” reminded him his father.

“Thank you, sir!”

“You're welcome!”

The man put Jack on the seat at the next table and went back to Dean.

“I'm sorry once again, he's a little too much excited,” he excused for his son.

“Sure, nothing happened.” Dean shrugged. “I'm Dean, by the way.”

“Castiel.” They shook their hands, and Dean smiled at him.

“It's nice to meet you.”

“You too.” Cas smiled back. “I'm not gonna take more of your time. Have a nice day.”

Cas sat across of his son. The waitress had brought their milkshakes already. The kid started drinking, but a few seconds later he was talking again.

“Dad, can I try yours?”

Dean heared a chuckle, he looked at Cas and caught how he was rolling his eyes.

“They're the same, Jack.”

“Please... I have a birthday,” begged the kid with a sweet voice.

“All right.” Cas gasped, but changed their milkshakes.

“Yours is better,” admitted Jack, and Cas laughed once again.

Dean finished his coffee and walked away a few minutes later, one more time looking at them. The family picture, a lovely and cute view...

*

Cas knew shit about cars, but he was certainly sure his truck shouldn't make so weird noises.

“Crap,” he murmured. Did he say it loud? Crap! He turned to the back seats where Jack was sitting in the child chair. “You didn't hear anything, Jack.”

“That's not true! You said: crap!” said excited Jack. “Crap, crap! Crap, crap!”

Great! Now his kid expanded his vocabulary.

“I think grocery needs to wait. Somebody needs to check our car.”

“Maybe Marvin? He's a mechanic. He has a badge.” Jack pointed at the sticker on his teddy bear.

“Oh, honeybee, I think we need the other specialist, but thank Marvin for his service.”

Cas pulled out the phone to find some Auto Repair Shop on the internet when he realized that actually Marvin could help. He gave a quick look at the sticker and read an address.

*

“I have no idea how to fix a car. Sometimes I even forget to refuel it,” explained Cas to the old man with a baseball cap. He had found out earlier it’s Bobby Singer, owner of this Auto Shop. For a moment, he felt disappointment because deeply in his heart he had hoped he was going to see Dean from the milk bar again.

“I’ll call my best mechanic. We can handle it,” Bobby assured him, and after that he turned around and yelled: “Dean, we have a client, can you come here?”

Dean got out from under one of the cars. He was wearing work clothes, and his face was dirty from grease, but Cas recognized him at once. Jack, who was standing next to him, was too busy with his teddy bear to notice him.

“Oh, Cas. Hi,” said Dean, frowning with confusion. Probably he didn’t expect to see him again.

“Hello, Dean.”

“And how are you, Jack?” he asked a toddler.

“Good! Marvin took us here!”

“Yeah, so let’s see what’s wrong with a car.”

Dean opened the hood and checked the car. It didn’t take him a lot of time before he found cause of trouble.

“It's the engine...” explained Dean.

“Crap!” said Jack, and Dean looked at him surprised.

“Whoa, isn't it a big word for so little guy?”

“I'm big now! And dad taught me that!”

Cas’ cheeks turned red at once, and he mumbled: “No, I... I didn't.”

“You did, daddy. Don't you remember? Truck was broken.”

Dean chuckled, but he was not going to torture him any longer.

“Okay, I need at least half an hour. You can wait there if you want.” He pointed to a bench near a big tree.

“All right, thank you.”

Dean started working, but his eyes were heading to Cas and Jack all the time. He saw how they were talking and playing with a teddy bear, laughing all the time. They looked so happy, and Dean found himself jealous of what they had.

When he finished, he called them and Bobby. Cas paid for the repair and thanked him for help. They didn't go at once, so Dean used an opportunity to talk with him a little longer.

“He's similar to you, like Mini-Cas,” said Dean, and Cas smiled with proud.

“Actually, he's not my biological son... His mother was my very good friend, but she died in childbirth, so I took care of him,” he explained.

“What about his biological father?”

“It's my brother, but I don't know where he is. He ran away when he found out Kelly was pregnant.”

“This one,” started Bobby and patted Dean on the arm. “I kinda adopted him and his brother. And they're good men. I think I did no bad job raising them.”

“Yeah, you were always a better father to me than John.”

Bobby squeezed Dean’s shoulder, and walked away to talk with Jack. Cas looked at his son with love in his eyes.

“It must be hard, huh? Be a lonely father with a toddler?”

“Sometimes. But I've never regretted this. He's my whole life.”

After a long minute of silence, Dean decided to go one step further. He scratched a back of his neck and cleared the throat.

“Listen, Cas, I'll give you my private number...” he started, but then added quickly: “You know if something would be wrong with a car, just call me.”

Shit! It wasn't supposed to look like this... He chickened out.

“Umm, thank you,” said Cas, putting the card with his number in his coat's pocket. “Dean, one more.”

“Yeah?”

“Would it be okay if I call you on another matter?”

“Which means?”

“If I want to, for example, invite you for a milkshake?”

Dean's face brightened with a smile. So, it wasn't like he was the only one who was interested.

“Yeah... it would be okay, Cas.”

“So, I think I'll call you.”

“I will be waiting.”

Cas gave him a huge smile one more time before he went to Jack.

“Jack, we need to come home. Let's go!” He took him on his arms.

“Okay, daddy!” Jack raised his hand and waved with it. “Bye, bye, Dean!”

“See you later, buddy! Oh, and I have another sticker for you,” said Dean.

“It's like a doctor, but without needles.”

“Yeah, I'm a car doctor.”

“Cool!”

They drove away, this time without a noisy engine, and Cas thought it's a very good day.

*

Cas put Jack to bed, read him the bedtime stories and kissed his forehead. He turned the light off, but stayed there a few minutes more, just to look at his sleeping kid.

Yes, like he said before, being a single father wasn't always easy, but he would never change his life. At least not in this area. Because, of course, he would like to find somebody who could love Jack like their own son, and somebody who could love him...

Sometimes, especially in the nights like this, he felt lonely, it wasn't like he has a lot of time to meet new people, not to mention dates. That's why he went to the kitchen to make a call.

“Yeah?” asked Dean, and Cas couldn't help smile, hearing his voice.

“Hello, Dean. It's Cas. I hope I don't call too late.”

Answer came almost immediately.

“No. It's never too late.”

Part 2

[anne-loves-anime]

Hello everyone!

Here's my old work. I't SakuAtsu (I honestly LOVE this ship!) and it's angst with happy ending... So enjoy I guess... 🥰❤

Oh! Also, it will be available soon on my Ao3 profile!

(The art is not mine! When I'll finf out who's the artist then I'll update)

Sakusa woke up and already knew that something wasn't right.

First of all, the other side of the bed was empty.

It shouldn't be so surprising, and shouldn't make him worry.

But Kioomi knew Miya, and he knew that his friend always wakes up late.

Especially when it's weekend.

Even so, empty bed wasn't something that made him scared or worried too much.

There could be a lot of incidents which made Miya get up erlier than usually.

And he didn't want to give blonde reasons for thinking that Sakusa cared about him too much.

They were just friends.

Well they were doing this or that sometimes.

They had sex few times, they were kissing often, and they were sleeping in the same bed.

But that's all.

Miya was not his lover or partner.

He was his friend.

A friend that he loved from the bottom of his heart.

He hoped that the blonde would love him too, someday.

But Miya was too much of a player to believe that he could really love someone.

Still, Sakusa were worried.

Something was off.

Black haired man got up, and went to the bathroom.

He couldn't even focus on his daily routine. When he walked to the living room, and he didn't found any sign of Miya there either, he started to be curious.

Where the hell could he go?

And why this early in the sunday morning?

Kioomi sat on the couch, and then something catched his eye.

There was a piece of paper laying on the table.

He got up and quickly took it.

It was a letter adressed to him.

He immidiately noticed that it was Miya's handwriting.

He opened it in a rush and started reading.

Dear Kioomi,

I'm stuck.

I'm stuck between reality and imagination.

Now I don't know which interpretation of me is real.

We're making different versions of ourselves.

Every time we meet someone, we show ourselves differettly to them.

And now I reached the moment, when it's too much for me.

I can't tell if I'm real or if I'm fake.

I don't even know me myself anymore.

But...

It's something new when you are around me.

There are hundreds versions of me in this wolrd, but I Iove myself the most when I'm with you.

I still don't know if I'm real, but you made me someone I want to be.

For you I'm the best version of myself.

By your side I'm not tired of pretending.

YOU made me better Kioomi.

And that's something I had to tell you, before I go.

I'd like to live by your side.

Forever.

But I can't, and I deeply regret it.

Now it's my time to say goodbye.

Farewell, my dear Omi-kum.

And thank you.

For everything.

Love,

Atsumu

When he finished, he was shocked, scared and furious.

But first of all he was worried.

After reading the letter, he was on the verge of crying.

He quickly got up, but then sat down again. Sakusa didn't know what to do.

Where could Atsumu go?

About what was he thinking when he was writing this letter?

Kioomi could only think of two places, which could be Miya's whereabouts.

Right before he ran out of his apartamnet, Sakusa called Osamu.

He asked him if he saw his brother today, and if he know where he could be.

Osamu didn't know anything, but after Sakusa explained everything to him, he rushed out of his shop and started to look for Atsumu either.

Kioomi told him to check one of two possible locations.

There was a reason for being this worried about Atsumu.

The blonde was really down lately.

He was often crying, when he thought that nobody's looking.

He was very quiet but at the same time he enjoyed every moment.

Everyday he lived as it could be his last day.

Just like he was saying goodbye.

And now, after reading the letter, Sakusa knew that everything was wrong from the start.

Person that he loved was suffering, and he didn't do anything.

Kioomi got out of the cab, and ran as fast as he could.

He was there.

Atsumu.

Standing there and looking at the sky.

It was a sunrise.

"Atsumu!"

Sakusa yelled, and hugged the blonde tightly.

"I'm sorry Kioomi. I was hesistant too long. I should've done it earlier."

Said Miya, and smiled weakly.

"Please just go away for a while. I'll do it quick so you won't have to look."

He asked and gently pushed Sakusa away from the hug.

"No! Atsumu... Just go back home with me..." Kioomi begged angry and frightened at the same time.

"I'm sorry, but I can't Omi-kun. I don't know who I am anymore. I'm too tired. I'm sorry." Said the blonde, and tears started running down his face.

"Just tell me... What are you planning to do...? How...?" Asked Sakusa, and slowly wiped a tear from Atsumu's cheek.

"I think I'll just jump. It's pretty high up here... And I will have beautiful sight."

Atsumu answered and smiled softly.

He was a little bit shocked when Sakusa grabed his hand.

"Don't."

That was all Kioomi said, but it somehow worked.

Atsumu's expresion cleared a bit.

"I read the letter Tsumu..."

Sakusa started and Miya's eyes widened.

The reality just got into him, and he looked like he didn't really know what was happening.

"I love you too. So please go home with me." Black haired pleaded still holding Atsumu's hand.

"You... Love me?"

Asked Miya with teras in his eyes.

"Really?"

"Of course I love you idiot! So please let me take you back home."

Sakusa said and pulled Atsumu's arm. Suddenly Miya started crying.

But it wasn't just tears quietly running dow his face anymore.

He was sobbing loud, and hugging Kioomi with all his might.

"I love you! I'm sorry! I love you!"

Cried Atsumu on Skausa's shoulder.

"It's all right... Let's go home."

"Yeah..."

Miya anwsered faintly.

After some time has passed, they were sitting on their coach, and cuddling.

Atsumu got help from specialist, and was feeling better now.

And he was kind of happy.

"Say it again, please."

Miya begged and pouted.

Sakusa sighed and rolled his eyes.

"I love you Atsumu."

"I love you too, Omi-kun" said Atsumu, and laughed.

"Omi-kun..." Miya began.

"Yeah?"

Asked Sakusa, kind of annoyed.

"I want to go on a date. But on a real date." Requried the blonde and smiled.

Seeing his boyfriend this cheerful, Kioomi smiled as well.

"Yeah. We'll go."

He said and kissed Astumu's forehead.

Working everything out was tiring, but it was worth it.

Excpecially when he could see his lover smiling brightly like that.

He knew he was lucky to have Atsumu.

And he knew that he will never let him go.

THE END.

[starrynite7114]

snapshots: fostering II

A/N: Good morning beautiful people! I posted in a previous post regarding why I haven’t update, but basically, I got COVID and it was just not a fun time. 

I am back with an update! This one took some time since I could hardly concentrate while i was out. But I finally have an update. These are the following updates I plan on posting in no specific order.

EZ request

Lake Part Two

Sex Guru Angel

Everything is you: part 12

Another EZ update

Rio request

Two Daddy Angel request: Snuggling and Trip to the aquarium 

That’s my plan before going back to school at the end of the month. Given, I may sneak in a few things in between those things I have mentioned above. 

Prior to me getting sick, I turned off anon, but I have turned it on again. Hopefully New Year, no hate? Regardless, my inbox is open!

Enjoy the update! Love you all!

Shoutout: To my better half, @angelreyesgirl, thank you for helping me map out the rest of the fostering chapters. And thank you for just being fucking you. I LOVE YOU, even though you put me through emotional turmoil with our shows, especially last night. lol 

Groupchat for updates! Please join since the tags could be a bit iffy at times!

If you would like to be added to the tag list, please let me know! My tag list is a little messy, but please let me know if you want to be added!

Masterlist

Snapshots

Word count: 4786

Warnings: Fluff, Infertility, a smidge of angst

CREDIT TO THE ORIGINAL GIF MAKER

“You did tell Angel right?” Gilly helped you bring in the crib his cousin had graciously let you borrow into your home. 

You looked at Gilly as you held the six month old in your arms, who was comfortably sleeping. You and Angel had discussed the possibility of fostering, but there was no final decision that was made. The agency called you and it was an emergency after the baby was brought to an emergency room last night by his mother and was taken away since the mother had tested positive for amphetamines. Since it was an emergent situation, the social worker begged you to take the kid for a few days while they got him situated. You figured it would be a good start for you and Angel was out of town due to an extended run up north.

“It’s just for a few days.” 

Gilly groaned, placing the crib in your room. “That literally did not answer my question, yet it fucking answered my question.” He shook his head. “You have to tell Angel. There’s no guarantee the kid is going to be gone by the time he comes back and what if they head back early?”

“Eva said three days tops. And Angel literally told me they won’t be back till the weekend. The baby will be situated with a foster family by then.” 

And somehow, Gilly didn’t believe that. 

Gilly helped you set up the crib and buy a few things for the baby such as snacks, formula, diapers, and wipes. He watched as you settled on the couch with the baby boy.

“What was the name of the kid again?” Gilly questioned as he settled on the arm chair. 

“Believe it or not, it’s Angelo.” You chuckled. Looking down at the baby in your arms, your heart swelled. It further cemented that you wanted to try this whole fostering thing, to see foster children while they wait for their forever homes. Though, you know it would be difficult, it was a first step. You knew that you and Angel weren’t exactly ready to adopt yet, so you opted to be an emergency foster parent when the need arose. You just didn’t expect it to happen as quickly as it did. 

“Oh man, you’re not going to be able to part from this one.” Gilly saw the way your eyes marveled at the baby in your arms. The way you were holding the child, smiling at every little movement. The baby looked incredibly comfortable in your arms, smiling whenever you smiled at him. Angelo would laugh this hearty laugh when you would make faces at him.

Ares entered the living room, taking his usual spot beside you. He eyed the baby curiously and looked up at Gilly, before looking back down at the baby.

“Wow, now it’s going to be Angel and Ares fighting the baby for your attention.”

“No it won’t because the baby isn’t staying long.” 

“Come on Y/N, you honestly believe you’re going to be able to give Angelo back knowing his mother is a drug addict.” Gilly could just see the wheels turn in your head, your heart clenching at the idea of having to give back Angelo to such an unstable home. 

“Look, stop, I can give Angelo back, regardless of his mother’s choices, I heard that she tried her best to care for Angelo.” You were thankful that Angelo didn’t appear to be harmed by whatever his mother chose to do in her life. 

“She’s been getting by with luck. But you should tell Angel so he doesn’t freak out when he comes home and you have a baby.” 

“Guessing keeping this a secret is out of the question?” You gave him a sheepish smile.

“Oh no, absolutely not. This is too big for you to keep to yourself.”

But you did keep it to yourself. 

And much like Gilly predicted, baby Angelo was still with you Saturday morning and Angel walked in your shared home on Saturday afternoon, doing a double take when he saw Angelo laying his head on the half circle nursing pillow with Ares laying down against the pillow, providing some sort of support as you made faces at him, blowing raspberries on his tummy. 

“What the fuck is this?” Angel knew of your intent to do fostering. You completed the classes two weeks ago, but he didn’t think it would be this quick. And he definitely didn’t expect to walk in and have a baby in his living room. And he definitely didn’t expect the dread at the pit of his stomach, feeling defeated when it came to his hope of you two conceiving your own child. He didn’t have a problem with adoption, if that’s what the cards had for you two, he didn’t mind. But being faced with the decision that you seemingly made on your own, it slightly irritated him. He felt like you were giving up without even trying.  

“Babe!” You stood up, smiling at your boyfriend. Ares lifted his head before jumping down the couch. He walked over to Angel and nuzzled his cheek against Angel’s leg. 

“Oh no, even the fucking dog is trying to sweet talk me. You’re both in fucking trouble. Baby, what the fuck?” Angel’s eyes couldn’t part from the baby on the couch. 

“I know, I know, this looks bad, but it was an emergency.”

“An emergency? Like last night? Cause I know you would have told me if you emergently had to foster a baby.” Angel walked closer as if the baby wasn’t real, that if he moved closer, it would all be an illusion. Because he knew for a fact that you would tell him something as enormous as this.

You sighed. “Try three days.”

“Three days?!” Angel gave you an incredulous look, his higher octave of tone scaring Angelo. The baby began to cry, causing you to frown. You picked up Angelo, trying your best to comfort the baby. “Y/N, this is, this is unacceptable. How can you not have told me you were fostering a baby?”

“He was supposed to be gone before you came back.” It was a terrible reason, you could attest to that, but it was all you had. 

“I don’t give a fuck, this is our home. You’re bringing in a baby into our home. I have the right to know these things. This isn’t a fucking puppy or a toy. You can’t just bring the baby in and bring it back out as if it’s nothing.” Angel didn’t think you thought of this as a game, but he knew how simple you thought things through at time. For you, just like your computer software, you make the software, test it out and hand it over to the company that requested the said software. You came to help the company from time to time, otherwise, it was no longer your headache. And that was how Angel saw your thought process was when it came to fostering. He loves you, but this was the reason he was apprehensive about the idea of fostering. Not only would you have a difficult time parting with the child when the time came, but the way you handled it wasn’t ideal. This wasn’t a toy baby for one of those subjects in high school and it wasn’t a dog that could charm their way to people’s hearts. 

This was another human life. 

And the way you handled the whole thing, it showed Angel that fostering was definitely not right, at least not right now. 

“I know he isn’t a toy or a puppy. Don’t insult my intelligence.”

“Then don’t insult mine. We’re a fucking team. Regardless if the baby was going to be here for an hour or a year, you should tell me. This is why we shouldn’t foster a child, you can’t even communicate to me that we’re fostering one.” Angel shook his head. “You’re not even going to try for a baby?”

His words pierced through your heart and you could tell Angel immediately regretted his words. 

“I’m sorry, did you say, not try for a baby?” You scoffed. “That’s rich. You’re all talk about being okay with not having your own biological child, but now, fostering a child is staring us right in the face and the only thing you can do is give me flack for bringing a child in our home.”

“I am okay with not having my own biological child, but I would at least like for us to try and explore every possible fucking option. It’s like you got one opinion and shut down. Why can’t we get a second opinion?” Angel did not want to be arguing with you. This was not how he saw his day going. He wanted to get home so he could take a nap, take you out on a nice dinner and make love to you till Sunday afternoon. Now, you two were arguing and Angel knew it wasn’t going to be swept under the rug any time soon. “I meant what I said, I want to be with you regardless if you can have a baby or not, but again, one opinion you shut down. You’re an IT specialist, you look for every way to fix a fucking problem with a software, but with your own life, you got one solution and that’s it, you gave up.”

The tears that welled up in your eyes made you look away from Angel as you rocked Angelo in your arms. You didn’t just look at one solution, you got a second opinion in Arizona and the doctor more or less told you the same thing. Rafael gave you the number of his cousin who saw a specialist in LA, but after having two opinions basically stating the same facts, it was hard to hear over and over again that couldn’t have a child. 

“You know, you can be a real asshole at times.” You walked away from Angel, Ares following suit as you closed the door, choosing not to slam it since Angelo finally calmed down. 

“Fuck!” 

=================

You were laying on the bed, Ares at your feet and Angelo sleeping soundly right beside you. You had a long body pillow on his one side and you on the other. The tears have subsided, but you were still quite upset at Angel. You understood why he was upset, you should have told him about the baby, there was no rhyme or reason as to why you didn’t. You sniffled, wiping your nose as you had your hand on Angelo’s little tummy, watching him as he slept. A new batch of tears formed in your eyes as reality set in that you could never truly have this, a child created by you and Angel. A child with Angel’s smile and beautiful brown eyes. A child with a mixture of your personalities. 

It upset you that you couldn’t give that to Angel. The fact he assumed that you didn’t look at other options hurt you, but, it’s not like you told him either. 

You felt Ares rest his head on your calf, his warmth bringing some comfort to you. Hearing the door open, you closed your eyes, not ready for another showdown with Angel. You heard him sigh as he closed the door. You weren’t certain if he walked back out or was inside the room, but you kept your eyes closed.

The bed dipped under his weight. You felt him rest his hand above yours that was on Angelo’s tummy. 

“I wish you knew just how much I love you. Seeing you with a baby is painful because I know you’re hurting more than anyone else about your current predicament. It’s the reason why I don’t want us to foster, at least not yet. Knowing you can’t have a child, I know it’s killing you and I’m just trying to protect you.” You felt Angel softly squeezed your hand. “You’re the love of my life, if I can protect you from the world I would.”

You weren’t sure what you did to deserve Angel’s love, but hearing him say those words, it made your heart swell.

You felt him move, most likely getting in a more comfortable position. 

“What are we going to do with you little man?” You heard Angel sigh. 

Angel heard the faint cries at first and he was going back to sleep when he realized it was the baby. He cracked an eye open and saw Angelo on his belly, his face scrunched up, small cries coming from his lips. Ares lifted his head and was about to stand up when Angel gestured for him to stay down. 

“Hey papa’s, you doing okay?” Angel had his fair share of babysitting jobs when he was younger so he knew how to care for a baby, but this was different. This baby was technically under your care and it wasn’t someone he could give back at the end of the day. It was one of the things he feared too. You two didn’t know what kind of baby or kid you would end up with. What if they ended up becoming serial killers?

Angel knew it was ridiculous, but he thought of your safety, that was his main priority. 

Angel picked up Angelo, holding the baby in his arms. He stood up, hoping he could rock Angelo back to sleep, but the cries came before he could do anything. Moving towards the kitchen, he hoped you prepared bottles for the baby since he didn’t exactly know how much formula to use or the ratio with water and such. Thankfully there was a bottle. He warmed up the bottle and checked the temperature. Once it was good, he placed the nipple at Angelo’s mouth which he gladly sucked on. Angel chuckled, making his way over to the couch to sit down. Ares joined him, resting his head on Angelo’s legs.

“At least you adjusted well to him.” Angel sighed, watching as Angelo greedily drank the milk. “Man, you’re hungry.” Ares adjusted himself and watched Angelo drinking his milk. “Don’t get used to him, we can’t keep him.” Ares looked over at Angel and for once, Angel saw this demon dog of yours give him the puppy dog eyes. “That only works on your mom, not on me, nope.” He looked down at Angelo and he assisted him by holding the bottle for him. “Wonder why she had to take you in so suddenly.”

When Angelo finished his bottle, Angel burped him, moving to sit back down. Angelo reached for the necklace around Angel’s neck that rested on his chest. Angel watched as the infant became enamored with the necklace, playing with it, slightly tugging on it. He laughed, the sound slightly startling Angelo before a smile broke out on his own face. Angel couldn’t believe he was thinking it, but all he wanted was to keep that smile on this precious baby boy.

“Oh no,” Angel groaned. 

Ares sat up, pawing at Angelo and Angel petted him under his neck, and just shook his head. 

“I think he’s cute too, but we can’t keep him.” Ares scoffed and turned away from Angel, laying down. “You can throw a tantrum all you want, but we’re not keeping the baby.” Angel shook his head. “I have no idea what she got in her head, but we can’t keep you little man.”

Angelo snuggled his face against Angel’s shirt, the gesture making Angel’s heart melt further. As much as he wanted to keep Angelo, he didn’t know how good of an idea that was. You two were still working on your relationship and he still wanted to try to get a second opinion for what was going on. He had faith that miracles could occur, but as he said, he didn’t mind if you two ended up adopting. But he wanted to at least try, to at least put the effort of having a child. He saved up money and he was certain your medical insurance would help with it. 

=================

Before you knew it, sleep overtook you and when you awoke it was due to Angel waking you up.

“Baby,” Angel shook you awake, your eyes blinking adjusting to the light. “We need to get more diapers. What size are his diapers?”

You yawned and pointed at your closet. “He has more in there.”

Angel nodded his head and went inside the closet, taking a diaper before laying Angelo right next to you. Sitting up, you looked down at him and looked over at Angel. 

“I didn’t hear him cry.” You commented.

“Yeah, I know, he started getting fussy so I picked him up.” Angel cooed at Angelo as he picked him up. “What’s his name?”

“Angelo.”

“No shit,” Angel smiled. 

“Right?” You returned his smile. Watching Angel hold Angelo, it made you tear up all over again. You wanted this so badly for Angel, for Angel to have his own child and seeing this, it made you happy yet, it saddened you. Maybe you should call the doctor in LA just to see if the third time’s the charm. 

He looked up at you and sighed. “I hate fighting with you.”

“Me too.” You frowned. “I’m sorry for not communicating it to you that Angelo was here. I don’t even know what I was thinking.”

“Just make sure it doesn’t happen again. You can’t just drop a baby on us. We have to discuss this, we’ve always been a team, that hasn’t changed.” Angel reminded you.

“I know,” you crawled over to him and Angel held you with his free arm, pulling you against him. “I think the excitement of having him, it just threw me off and I guess I was being a little selfish. And maybe some part of me wanted to surprise you.”

“Consider me surprised querida.” Angel kissed you. Pulling away, he looked down at Angelo, who was just looking at you two then back at you. “Fuck, I’m going to get used to this and it’s going to suck when he leaves. What’s his story?”

You proceeded to tell Angel the story of how you gained emergency custody of Angelo. You saw how Angel’s eyes softened and the anger that also appeared.

“That’s messed up. How can,” Angel paused and shook his head. “We can’t give him back to her.” Angel’s overprotectiveness has come out and you knew that letting go of Angelo was going to be difficult on you both. 

“Angel, babe, I agree, but she still has custody.” You had temporary custody of Angelo, once things settled with his mother, they would most likely give him back to her. You truly hoped the report was right and that his mother just recently relapsed and was working on getting better, but addiction was hard to kick. 

“She’s an unfit mother.” Angel spat out. He shouldn’t be preaching, he killed people and was part of a heroin trade, but he would never endanger a child.

“Babe, we don’t know that.”

“Don’t know that?” Angel scoffed. “She continued to do drugs with her child in the same home as her, that’s unforgivable.” 

You loved how passionate Angel felt about Angelo. He’s only known him for a few hours and he loved the little guy already. It made you smile and you hugged Angel once again, which surprised him. He sighed and kissed the top of your head, his attention back on Angelo.

“I was so worried that you couldn’t give him back, but I think it’s going to be me.” Angel chuckled. “How come you still have him?”

“Thanksgiving is next week, guess people aren’t in a rush to handle the case.” You shrugged. “We have to talk about the possibility of keeping Angelo. It’s a long shot, I doubt his mother would give up custody, but maybe we should discuss it in case it is presented to us.” 

“I’m in.”

Angel’s reply surprised you. It’s not that you didn’t think Angel was going to be on board, but you two just argued earlier about having biological children and now, he was on board with keeping Angelo.

“What?” You pulled away from him, choosing to sit on the bed. Ares laid beside you, laying his head on your thigh. “We literally just argued about having biological children, and now you want to keep him?”

“I never said I didn’t want to adopt a child with you. I’m on board with whatever you want mami, you know this. But I just want you to at least consider getting a second opinion.” Angel began to rock Angelo back and forth, the baby falling asleep in his arms rather easily. Placing Angelo in his crib, Angel leaned on the wall beside his crib. “I want everything with you. I meant what I said when I told you I was okay with not having children of our own, but I want you to at least explore every fucking option.”

“You don’t think I did that?”

“I don’t know baby, did you?” 

“I got a second opinion in Arizona and the doctor basically told me the same thing. I wanted to come back to you Angel, but if I came back, I wanted us to have an option to have a child together.” You confessed. “When you came for me, I knew it was a matter of time before you broke down through my walls and I was back in your arms. But before I came back, I wanted for us to know our options. So I got the second opinion and it still wasn’t great news.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know, I was already disappointed that we can’t have kids and the way you reacted the first time frightened me. I figured you didn’t want to hear another disappointing fact about me.” You were mostly disappointed in yourself. You knew it wasn’t something you could control, but knowing you couldn’t have a family in the traditional sense, it hurt. 

Angel moved to kneel in front of you, taking your hands that were on your lap. “From now on, we talk about everything, regardless of disappointment or whatever. I love you. Let me be your support system. I know you’re used to counting on yourself, but it doesn’t have to be that way. It’s been us against the world since we were thirteen fucking years old and that hasn’t changed. Regardless of what’s occurred the last six months, that hasn’t changed. You’re my girl and I’m yours.” 

You nodded your head, wiping your tears away. “There’s a third option Rafael told me about. It’s in LA.”

“Okay, make an appointment, we’ll go.” Angel rested his arms on your lap, his hands holding your hips. 

“Angel, maybe we should wait till after the holidays, I don’t know if I really want such sad news during the holidays.”

“Nope, let’s do it, regardless of the results, I’m here for you. We’ll face it together. Make the appointment for next week and we’ll handle this.” Angel cupped your face, bringing your lips to his. 

“I just don’t want you to be disappointed. Maybe we should just give it time.”

“Nope, this is your defense mechanism, putting shit off. Fuck no baby, let’s meet with the doctor and we’ll go from there.” 

“What if it’s the same results? That’s what’s killing me Angel.”

“Then we’ll think of other ways.” He pursed his lips. “I know it’s hard, but don’t you want to explore every option so we can at least look back on this twenty years from now and know we did everything we could to have children?”

Angel got you there. You wanted to live life with no regrets and he was right. When you looked back on this moment years from now, you want to know you tried every option.

“I understand the fear of disappointment, but there is no disappointment if we know we tried every viable option that we had.”

“When did you get so wise?” 

Angel chuckled. “Coco is rubbing off on me.” He kissed you again, wrapping his arms around you. 

“I’ll make the appointment.” 

“Good, just let me know when and we can make a day out of it. I can visit my tio and tia while we’re there.” 

You smiled, nodding your head at his suggestion. You picked up your phone and noticed a missed call from Eva. Before you could even call her back, the doorbell rang. Angel made his way to the front door to answer the door. You followed after him and found Eva with her usual purse and folders in arms. 

“Hey Eva!” You greeted. “I was just about to return your call, we had a nap.”

Eva chuckled. “You’re fine, I figured you were napping or occupied with a seven month old child.” 

“This is my boyfriend, Angel.” You introduced the two finally since you usually just mentioned them to one another. 

“Very nice to finally meet you Angel.” Eva shook Angel’s outstretched hand.

“Likewise.” 

Eva was in her mid-forties, her hair style reminded you of a 50’s housewife. It fit her face well and she was honestly one of the kindest people you knew.

“It’s five in the afternoon on a Saturday, you’re still working?” Angel commented as you all sat down in the living room. 

“Yes well work never stops.” Eva shrugged with a content smile on her face. You knew Eva was a workaholic. Many social workers have gotten a bad reputation these past few years, but Eva always seemed so genuine to you. “But, I want to make this visit quick and hopefully it’ll work out for all of us.”

“Sure, what’s going on?” You were seated beside Angel, your hand in his.

“Angelo’s mother has given up custody of Angelo and I was wondering if you would be interested in fostering him till we can handle all the necessary paperwork.” Eva was hopeful. She saw how you quickly bonded with Angelo and the last few times she’s seen that occur, the child ended up being adopted by their foster parents. And if she was being honest, she was hoping this would be the case here. “Or if you’re interested, maybe you would like to adopt Angelo.” You were an ideal candidate. Regardless of your marital status, you had a steady, stable job and you also had a home and a good support system. 

You looked at Angel who squeezed your hand, placing a kiss on the back of it. “You already know how I feel.”

“We would love to adopt Angelo.” You said quickly, Eva laughing at your enthusiasm and clapped her hands together. 

“I knew you would, this is perfect. I’ll handle the paperwork, but I wouldn’t expect anything till after Thanksgiving. Honestly, I do not foresee any trouble with the proceedings, especially since his mother gave up custody of Angelo to the state.” Eva stood up. “I will keep in touch, but have a very happy thanksgiving and I will speak to you both after next week.”

“Yeah, of course.” You were in disbelief how quickly everything was happening, but it made you feel as if it was meant to be, that everything was just simply falling into place. You and Angel said your goodbyes to Eva and as soon as the front door was closed and locked by Angel, you ran over to him.

Angel caught you, your legs and arms wrapping around him. Your lips were on his, one of Angel’s arms rested around you and his hand cupped your face. Pulling away, you rested your forehead against Angel’s.

“Fuck, baby, this is so quick.” You wanted to scream in joy, but Angelo was taking a nap. You felt Ares nudging your back, wanting to join the festivities. Going back on the ground, you hugged Ares, happy that you got to keep Angelo after all.

“It’s just things falling into place baby.” Angel sat on the floor next to you, Ares coming to Angel and giving him kisses. 

“We have a baby.” You breathed out. You rested your head on Angel’s shoulders. “Holy shit, we’re parents.”

Angel laughed. “You’re really stuck with me now. Cause if you even try to leave, I’ll take our kid and the dog.”

You laughed along with Angel. The appointment for next week made you nervous, even though you weren’t sure if you would even be able to book an appointment. Regardless, whatever the outcome of next week was, you were happy that you had Angelo. 

You and Angel were building your family.

That was the most important thing to you. 

=================

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[villainsandvictimsalliance]

The Leauge of villains in a horror movie (no quirk au)

I just think itd be interesting

I'm more a fan of horror books than movies, because I get scared easily with visual content. BUT I'd do the best I can. Here it goes:

THE YEAR OF THE DEMON LORD AU :

The story is about a little boy (Shimura Tenko) who was sold to a demon (AFO) by his father (Shimura Kotaro), who was trying to bring his mother (Shimura Nana) back to life.

The demon tricked Kotaro and he only brought the ghost of Nana back. To mark the little boy as his, the demon changed Tenko's name to Tomura. His hair also changed from black to white and he got permanent scars along his face and neck, the a curse that would be always screacting.

The story cuts to the future, where we see an older Tomura playing with his train set. Nao, Kotaro's wife, is arguing with him because she refuse to let the demon take the kid. That night when the demon appears, Nao makes her choice: crying, she tells the demon to take Kotaro in exchange of letting her son live for another 15 years. The demon accepts the deal but in exchange he decides he's gonna take the lives of all the Shimuras one by one, whenever he wants.

Nao takes her family and begins her career against the clock: she needs to find someone who can fight the demon to free her son.

She doesn't hide to his son what is happening. Tomura knows he's cursed and a demon is looking for him. But Nao also teaches him about how his grandmother, Nana, used to fight against demons all the time. Tomura is not alone and he can't let the demon take him, because he is a special boy, she knows it. Whatever happens, the demon can't take him.

Within the first 5 years, Tomura lost both his maternal grandparents. Tomura is now 10 years old, but they haven't found someone to fight the demon. Instead, Nao has spend those years finding someone to teach Tomura how to resist the demon's influence. His name is Kurogiri and he's a young specialist on fighting satanic influences. He becomes like a father to Tomura and Hana, something Nao is grateful for.

Another 5 years go by and Nao dissappears. Hana is 18 years old, Tomura is 15 years old. The grieve causes Tomura to forget most of the past 15 years old of his life. Hana starts her theological studies as Kurogiri helps Tomura develop his supernatural abilities. They don't tell Tomura the truth, because they want him to have some normal years.

Tomura gets some friends. They all are strange and weird as him, almost all of them having some or other form of connection with the supernatural, even if they don't know about it.

Hana and Kurogiri agree that it's best for him to keep some close friends to help him. Still, they're time is running out.

Tomura doesn't know why her sister acts so strange. She's jumpy, scared, tearful and constantly worrying over him. She fights a lot with his friends, he goes paranoid.

They have a fight. Tomura leaves their home. After some hours, Hana panics and calls everyone to go after him. She barely finds him and is able to apologize when she sees the demon lurking in the shadows. Hana tells him to run but Tomura doesn't. He stays there while the demon takes his sister.

Everything comes back to him in a flash. He faints. When he wakes up, he finds out Kurogiri was the one who saved him, but he got his own curse for getting in between the demon and him.

With all his family dead and his mentor injured, Tomura needs to make a decision. Is he going to expend the rest of his years looking for a savior or is he going to fight the demon himself?

Tomura dissappears. Hana is dead. The Villain Club (the way Tomura decides to refer to his friends), are madly worried. Tomura has always helped them, he was always there when they needed him, so how can the let Tomura just dissappear like that?

Magne uses her power to contact a ghost to help them. Most of them are terrified and won't even talk to her. Compress is her anchor to the real world, Twice is the bait, so Toga is the one protecting Magne from the ghost in the spirit realm. Since Spinner is not spiritually sensitive and Dabi can't control his powers, they are the ones protecting the others in the real world.

Toga, Spinner and Dabi are doing their best, but there are too many ghost attacking them. They are almost past the limit when Magne finds the ghost of Nana.

She explain the situation as quickly as she can, before begging them to rush, giving them Tomura's location. He plans to contact the demon behind Kurogiri's back to get done with the whole deal.

Tomura is not strong enough, but he's tired of watching the people he loves die. He knows in his bones that if he asks his friends for help, they won't refuse. But getting involved equals getting kill, and that's something he can't deal with.

I bet you already know that everything goes wrong from this point further.

The demon needs some time to properly possess Tomura. The Villian Club are on their way, but know the demon knows that too.

They crash. Magne gets badly injured and she just knows the demon won't let her live, not when she was the one who contacted Nana. That's why she tells the rest to go save Tomura while she stays behind. She's gonna use her own blood, flesh and bones to create a protection for them. Human sacrifices are powerful, and even more when the person gives their love willingly.

Tomura is fighting the demon's will. Their in an abandoned building, one the Villian Club needs to break in. Except now they're not only dealing with ghosts, but with demon possessed humans.

This time, Compress and Twice are the ones to keep the demon's servants at bay. They find Kurogiri is already there, but there are too many. He orders the rest to keep going.

Spinner, Dabi and Tog fight their way to the room where Tomura is. While Toga is on transe to properly kill the demons, Spinner needs to carry her on his back and keep her safe in the real world. Dabi is able to kill both demons and humans in the spirit and real world, but it activates his curse and the more he uses his senses, the more his body burns.

When they reach Tomura, is almost too late.

Toga almost collapses for just staring into the demon's real form. Spinner needs to wake her. Dabi can use his arms properly anymore.

That's when the ghost of Magne appears. She's not dead, thanks to Giran and Mustard finding her on time. Using Giran as an anchor and with the help of Giran, she finds a way to contact the Villain Club to give them the final piece Nana told her: the demon has always wanted Tomura because he has the same special ability she was born with: the can bind demons inside of them to destroy them from within.

All they need to do is bring Tomura's consciousness back and tell him that he can contact his dead family, because every life the demon has ever reclaimed keeps living inside of him. A demon as old as that one... He must has thousands and thousands of ghost inside of him.

Dabi and Toga take the most damage, because they're both trying to slow down the demon in both realms the best they can. Spinner is in charge on making Tomura wake up. But how?

He remembers Tomura once confessed that, in order to wake from a nightmare, he created a copy of his father on his subconscious. Whenever the copy of his father put his hand on Tomura's face, he knew he was in danger and his instincts kicked him awake.

With Dabi and Toga defeated, with the possessed humans surrounding the rest of the Villain Club, Spinner tries one last time: he let's the demon capture him, let him think he's done. And when he lowers his guard, Spinner puts his hand on Tomura's face.

For a second, just the laughter of the demon. And then...

“Spinner?”

Spinner almost cries out loud. Or maybe he does. He can't talk, so it's a blessing that Dabi has kept himself awake enough to yell Tomura to contact his family. When Tomura retreats, the demon already attempting to regain control.

The Villain Club uses their last sparks of energy to anchor Tomura. Like hands holding him all over his body, reminding him he's not alone.

And that's when Tomura remembers his mother, his sister, his grandparents. Nana.

He cries and kicks and shouts and bites his way down down down into the demon memory, reclaiming all those lives who took, asking them for help. They are like specks of dust floating on the air, slowly retaking their mortal form. And they are so many... An army of the death.

When he reaches his family, he's tired. He can't move anymore. He closes his eyes while he hears how the ghost tear the demon apart. And he feels gentle hands, gentle voices, gentle smiles.

With the delicate touch of a pair of colorful wings, Tomura feels a kiss on his cheek.

“I'm sorry I had to leave you. Could you forgive me, please? About that night?”

Tomura begins to cry.

Hana, his sister. He'd recognize her voice anywhere.

“It was a silly fight. I was never angry with you anyway. And you're here now.”

She laughs, taking his hand to guide him out of the darkness and he misses her so much.

He knows he can't stay there.

He let's his mother hug him and kiss his forehead, smoothing his hair. He promises to take care of his scars and scratches. L

“My brave little boy, I knew you could do it.”

He let's his grandparents tell him how proud they are. They don't accept the apology of Tomura for being the reason they are dead.

“It was our choice, a great one. We're glad of what we did, so don't regret it for us.”

When he opens his eyes, he's at the hospital. Apparently no one else died, but scared a bunch of people to death for suddenly reappearing with a bunch of injuries, covered in blood and mud.

The Villain Club gets to be angry with Tomura for not asking them for help and then they get to hug the hell out of him.

And if this is a horror movie, why didn't I kill more people? Because this is my au and I get to save them all for being the author.

Happy fucking ending you all.

And remember: I never told any of you that the demon was dead, because no one ever saw him dying.

[villainscomplex]

this, at least.

hey so anyway yall know how there was that big boom of angsty ship fics right

,,,,,i wanted to write one too and I have no other excuse

!!! MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH !!!

Also on: 

AO3

Wattpad

FFNet

Quotev

----------------------------------------------

In his dreams, Asahi dies slowly.

His body is a mass of static and there is nothing but pain and pain and more pain. He’s vaguely aware of someone, somewhere, calling his name. Asahi, they’re saying, Asahi, please wake up.

And he does.

Asahi jerks awake violently, legs tangled in his blankets and hair plastered to the back of his neck, cold with sweat. He still feels like there’s — what? He doesn’t know the source of the pain, only that it is sheer pain, radiating through the core of his very being. It’d be easy to think it’s something simple, a bullet wound or head trauma, but the way it nestles into his chest and takes root there begs to differ.

In his dreams — nightmares, they prefer — Asahi is made of fear and desperation, of please, no, and the unnerving feeling that he’s forgetting something. There’s always someone with him, always whispering his name, fingers cold on his face.

It’s always the same scene.

He steps into a doorway and panic swells in his chest, but he’s never sure what triggers it. There’s nothing in the room but darkness, and then his feet come out from under him, and he is falling. The ground is far, and he falls forever and ever, until time stops short. He crashes into it in one graceless dive, shatters apart, and reforms at the seams with the sweet familiarity of agony.

He’s sure, with every fiber of his being, that something is missing. He doesn’t know what, or who, only that it is missing and the absence feels like a hole in his chest, a hollow place where the pain doesn’t reach.

Asahi leans forward in his bed, struggling to catch his breath. His hair falls like a curtain around his face. He can’t remember why he keeps it long, only that the idea of cutting it feels wrong, and so he lets it grow.

Suddenly, his bed feels unappealing and cold, and he staggers out of it into the quiet of his apartment.

If his life was a story, the narrator would say something like this — Azumane Asahi is a twenty-six year old man with severe amnesia and a wedding ring on a necklace, to which he doesn’t know the location of the missing pair. And that’s it, they’d say, just a detective with no memory and a lot of anxiety. He doesn’t think he’s important enough of a character to warrant any sort of life story.

His phone is where he left it when he’d arrived home the night prior, tossed onto his side table in a fit of weariness. The screen blinks dimly back at him, still miraculously alive, but only with about six percent to spare and at least three new messages to speak of. They’re all from one of the few people he actually texts, and even without looking at the contact name, Suga’s typing style is distinctive from Daichi or Shimizu’s.

He checks the time in the corner of his screen. It’s nearly five-thirty in the morning, which isn’t a bad time, but it’s still earlier than he normally gets up. Going back to sleep is about the most unappealing thing he can think of right now, so even if he isn’t a morning person, he plugs his phone up, clicks on the shabby TV, and goes to make a pot of coffee, listening to the steady drone of the early weather report.

The ring around his neck is a cold weight against his bare skin, small and heavy against the hollow where his throat meets his clavicle. It rolls and clinks softly against its chain as he moves, a quiet, ever-present reminder of a past he doesn’t remember.

It’s easy to make assumptions. He doesn’t know who has the pair to this ring, only that it feels too important to get rid of, so he keeps it around his neck. For all he knows, he was married once. Someone else had — maybe still has — the pair to this ring. He doesn’t remember being married or who his partner is, but he’s sure they must exist.

Maybe they’d left because he’d forgotten.

Asahi tucks the assumption away before his anxiety can take it and run. He’s got a life now and he can’t go ruining what he has by overthinking whatever he used to have. Lacking the vast majority of his memories hadn’t stopped him from rebuilding his life these past few months, bit by bit.

It’s only been a few months since the accident and even though he doesn’t remember it personally, that’s all everyone keeps referring to it as. The accident, like he’d gone and suffered a massive memory loss by total coincidence.

Asahi kind of hates it. He tries not to think too hard about it.

In hindsight, it hadn’t been an easy recovery. He supposes nobody ever really thinks about what would happen if they lost a chunk of their adult memories and nobody would tell them why. He’d had friends to support him through it, even if he had taken a while to remember the three of them, and because of their support he’d been able to get back on his feet.

He’s still a rookie at this detective work, but sitting down and poring over the facts and figures of the cases he’s investigating is oddly comforting.

Light peeks out from over the horizon as the morning settles in, blanketing the world outside and the living room within in a sheet of pale light. Asahi’s eyes ache from his lack of sleep. The bags beneath them have gotten worse, and he’s sure he’ll inevitably get scolded about them when he sees his friends again.

By the time Asahi arrives at his workplace, the city around him has come to life. It’s never quiet here by any means, but once the sun is up, it seems everyone takes to the streets at once. He leaves early to avoid the rush, but always inevitably catches the start of it and makes it just in time, stumbling into the doorway of the detective agency’s office.

“Hey, Azumane,” the receptionist greets with an easy smile, leaning over the desk to be seen, “just in time. Still relearning the trains?” Asahi isn’t too familiar with Narita, but the man is calm and rarely bothered by high stress situations, and he appreciates the cool head and easy attitude first thing in the morning. He’d been one of the first to make sure Asahi had felt welcomed here, and Asahi is eternally grateful for it.

“Yeah,” he rubs the back of his neck, averting his eyes, “it’s a lot to get used to all over again. I keep hoping I’ll just jog my memory somehow and miraculously remember.”

Narita laughs. “I’m sure it’s somewhere in that head of yours.”

Asahi doesn’t stick around to chat much longer, heading up to the main office. There’s only two others inside, both at their desks doing very different things. Akaashi, ever studious, is hunched over a case file from a recent completion of his, scribbling away. Kozume, on the other hand, their resident cyber specialist, reclines back in his chair, tapping away at his phone and looking like he’s half asleep. “Azumane,” Kozume yawns, “there’s some files on your desk.” There are in fact — Asahi turns to confirm — files on his desk.

There’s also a boy there.

His back is to Asahi, but he can see the slicked black hair, wild and dark, sharp against the evident paleness of the boy’s skin. The boy visibly straightens when Asahi turns to look, whipping around in his chair.

Okay, no, a man. A grown man.

Asahi feels a little like deer in headlights, caught in the sharp stare of the man’s golden eyes, interrupted only by the equal shock of bleached blond hair in the forefront of his bangs. Asahi feels pinned in place by that unblinking stare, and it takes him a moment to remember to move.

He circles to his desk a little hesitantly, starkly aware of the other man’s stare following him the entire way around. It’s still on him when Asahi seats himself on the opposite side of the desk, and Asahi steels himself to meet it, smiling nervously.

“Hello,” he greets, “I’m Azumane. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting any clients today.” “I’m Noya!” The man declares, gives no further context, and slaps a file down in front of Asahi. “I need you to look into this.”

The words CASE CLOSED stands out in stark red lettering on the front. Asahi resists the urge to frown. It isn’t uncommon for them to receive requests to look into closed cases, but generally speaking, they’re a waste of money and time.

“Listen,” he starts hesitantly, “honestly, I’m still very new at this. Could I recommend you to one of our more experienced investigators?”

Noya shakes his head adamantly, looking appalled at the mere suggestion. “No!” He says, loud enough that Asahi flinches. “This is important to me! You have to do it!”

“I-”

Noya stares at him, lips turned down, eyes wide in a silent plea. Asahi takes the file.

There’s no photo inside, but it's very clearly labeled as involuntary manslaughter. The victim had only been twenty-five, but the details are absolutely minimal. There really won’t be a lot he can do with this, even if he does accept it. He’s sure the case is closed for a reason.

“Look,” he starts, raising his eyes.

Noya is gone.

Asahi leaps out of his seat, file in hand. Noya had just been there. He’s not surprised the man is fast, but Asahi hadn’t even accepted the case yet, and Noya hadn’t even stuck around to answer questions. Asahi races out of the office and into the entry lobby, head swinging from side to side in search of the shorter man.

“Narita,” he asks, leaning over the side of the receptionist’s counter, “did you see where that man went?”

Narita frowns at him. “What man? I haven’t seen anyone pass by.”

“I-” Asahi sighs, dragging his fingers through his hair hard enough to yank it out of his half bun and just resigns himself, tucking the file under his arm. “Nevermind. Thanks anyway.” Narita gives him another odd look as he turns away, returning to the main office. When he enters, Akaashi and Kozume both glance up strangely, matching the look Narita had previously given him, but Kozume loses interest much quicker than he’s gained it, as if this is a perfectly normal, everyday incident. Akaashi’s gaze tracks him all the way back to his desk, and only then does it fall away, leaving Asahi to his own devices. For a long time, Asahi just stares at the file. Case closed stares back at him, bold and red and final.

It isn’t to say that it’s quite uncommon for them to get a closed case to investigate. Generally speaking, it’s recommended to avoid closed cases. More often than not, they lead to dead ends and more broken hearts than when they began. The police may not investigate as much as private detectives, but they weren’t always wrong by any means. But Noya hadn’t given him too much of a choice in the matter, so against his better judgment, Asahi opens the file.

It’s almost pathetically small, three pages at most. There’s no photos, but from what Asahi can gather, it’s a twenty-five year old man who fell victim to an armed robbery incident, whose death was ultimately ruled involuntary manslaughter as a result. The culprit had never been caught, but the man’s partner had suffered some sort of collateral damage. There’s no further information on any of the three; the partner is unnamed and there are no photos of the man or the partner.

There’s nothing here that points to the case being anything other than what the file says, much less any sort of connection. He considers, briefly, that maybe Noya is the partner and wants the man brought to justice, but he doesn’t have any confirmation to this theory. It just seems like a home robbery turned homicide.

It’s essentially a dead end. There’s no address to begin the investigation and no family on the file to contact in regards. If Noya is the partner, Asahi could start there, but if he’d suffered some sort of trauma related to the incident, then Asahi has to take his testimony with a grain of salt. And this is all based on assumption — he doesn’t even know the extent of Noya’s personal involvement with this entire situation.

Noya hadn’t left him any contact details.

The thought strikes him abruptly, and Asahi sighs. This isn’t going to go anywhere without Noya’s cooperation. Asahi hadn’t agreed to investigate it in the first place. Resigned, he closes the file again and slides it underneath a few others on his desk, where it’s quickly forgotten in the wake of the rest of his work.

When he leaves that evening, files tucked away in his bag, the sun hangs low over the horizon, lethargic orange rays reclined across the darkening sky. It’s as beautiful as it is ominous, and Asahi ducks his head to avoid wandering eyes as he hurries to the train station, long coat swishing behind him.

The temperature sinks as it grows late, and despite his scarf, Asahi’s face burns with chill by the time he gets to the stairs leading down into the train station. People swarm around him, talking and huddling, faces as red as his own and stark with the relief of getting somewhere decently warmer.

Close enough to the rails to actually get on the train, but not close enough to get trampled by those trying to get good seating, Asahi tucks his chin into his scarf and takes a steadying breath.

He wonders if he was always an anxious person like this; had too much noise always been overwhelming to him? Had he ever walked with his head up, unconcerned about the opinions of those around him? Was this ever present bundle of nerves set deep in the square of his chest just a side effect of a tragic accident that nobody will tell him about?

He slides his thumb over the crest of the wedding ring on his necklace, a motion that feels like nothing but pure instinct, and then nearly yanks it clean off his neck when a hand grips his elbow, hard, and he flinches.

Asahi looks down.

Staring back up at him indignantly, lips fixed into a frown and golden eyes wide, looking as if he’s entirely unbothered by the cold despite being in nothing but a t-shirt and basketball shorts, is Noya.

“Azumane-san!”

Asahi is unbelievably shaken right now. After all, the odds that Noya would show up at the same train station as him were slim, even for this side of the city, but here he is, grip hard on Asahi’s elbow. If Asahi had gears in his head, they’d be stalling right now, and the little embodiment of his consciousness would be trying to restart it to no avail.

When the wires finally reconnect, Asahi gasps. “Why don’t you have a jacket?”

The words come out more demanding than he intended, but it’s too late to apologize, so instead, Asahi strips off his overcoat, and then the coat beneath it. Goosebumps prickle over the nape of his neck where it’s exposed to the cold, and he hurriedly yanks the long coat back on, handing the other off to Noya. Noya, who has since let go, looks a little surprised as he accepts it.

“I’m fine!” Noya huffs, but he pulls the jacket on regardless.

The sleeves slip past his fingertips, effectively dwarfing him. Asahi thinks it would be rather comical if he wasn’t so upset at this precise moment, but even swallowed up by Asahi’s undercoat, Noya feels like a force to be reckoned with, a storm lying in wait.

Asahi can’t put his finger on it, but Noya’s brash personality seems familiar, somehow. Mentally, he goes through his limited list of friends. Sugawara fits the bill closest, but even his chaos is of a different sort.

The train whistle breaks him out of his thoughts. He spots the lights as it barrels down the tunnel.

“Have you solved the case yet?” Noya asks, gaze still fixed on Asahi, unwavering.

Asahi frowns at him. “Listen,” he begins, turning his gaze back to Noya.

His words die in his throat. Noya stares back at him, eyes glittering in the faint light of the underground station, wild hair stirred around his face by the gust of cold air the train brings with it. The doors hiss open, but Asahi doesn’t move to get on yet. People stream by them on their way on or off the platform.

He can’t say no. He doesn’t know what it is, but Asahi is suddenly resigned to seeing this through. Noya’s eyes are intense and focused, hard with determination and a type of fire that Asahi can’t remember ever seeing before. He can’t say no.

“I haven’t,” he says, “but I’m going to investigate it as best I can.”

Noya’s grin makes him think that perhaps this is the right decision after all.

The train whistles again. Asahi starts, whirling back around to the platform. Oh no, the train’s going to leave.

“Are you-” He begins, glancing back to Noya, intending to ask if he’s getting on the same train.

Noya is gone. Asahi stares incredulously at the spot where the man had been, dwarfed in Asahi’s coat. He turns, glancing a full circle around himself, trying to spot that shock of blond in the crowd, but no, Noya is gone.

Maybe he got on the train.

Asahi follows suit, tucking his overcoat a little tighter around him as the doors slide shut. The people on the platform all blur together in a mass of color as the train pulls away, but Asahi swears he catches the piercing stare of golden eyes. It’s gone before he can think too hard about it, and Asahi spends the train ride and subsequent walk home staring into space. He hadn’t gotten Noya’s contact info.

“I’m home,” he says to no one as he opens his door and steps in, taking his shoes off.

Maybe he should get a dog.

Sighing heavily, Asahi drops his bag onto the floor by the door, where it tips to the side and lets a few papers and files slide halfway out. He pays it little mind, figuring he can think about it later, and makes his way down the narrow corridor into the bedroom at the back.

It’s sheer muscle memory that gets him through his nightly routine, and by the time he lets his hair down and flops into bed, he’s too exhausted to think. The somber tendrils of heavy sleep drag him deep into the sheets.

He dreams. (He has nightmares.)

Wake up, wake up, wake up, the voice is saying. Asahi, please wake up. Please don’t leave me. Please, no. Please, no.

This time, when Asahi jerks awake, the sun is still low below the horizon and his phone reads 4:36 A.M, but there’s no chance of him going back to sleep so he dons a hoodie and decides to do something with himself. In the end, Asahi goes for a run. It’s been a while since he’s just gone out like this, so he takes the short route that loops through the backside of a local park. Asahi jogs what he can, but it quickly becomes clear that he isn’t nearly as in shape as he clearly had been once. He can tell he used to be muscular and healthy prior to the accident, but he’s hardly been focused on maintaining that post memory loss. Still, running feels natural, so he tries to keep it up.

He runs into Noya again. Asahi rounds the bend, huffs of breath forming white clouds in the chilly morning air. There’s only a handful of other souls up and about this early, and from what Asahi can tell, they’re all out running too. It’s a nice change of pace to get his mind off of everything, but it’s clear the universe has other plans. As he nears the park’s massive lake, he spots a figure sitting right at the bank of it, leaning precariously over the water.

Even from this distance and without his glasses, he recognizes Noya’s wild hair paired with the white t-shirt and black shorts combo. Noya’s back is to him, but he visibly straightens as the sound of Asahi’s footsteps approach, head twisting around to fix those ever startling eyes on the taller man. “Azumane,” his eyebrows pinch, “what are you doing here?” There’s this nagging feeling in his chest. It strikes him as odd again; something about Noya is so unnervingly familiar to him, but he can’t put his finger on it. He’s sure if they had known each other prior to his memory loss then someone as headstrong as Noya seems to be would have said something about it by now, but Noya doesn’t seem bothered like Asahi is. He shakes it off.

Something seems off. Noya is quieter, more pensive. His gaze has returned to the surface of the lake immediately after confirming that he knows the person approaching him. It’s a strange change from the loud, fierce boy Asahi has started to know him as. “Noya,” he greets softly, joining him carefully by the water. “I was out for a run. Are you okay? Aren’t you cold?” “Oh,” Noya seems to remember something, “I forgot your jacket. Sorry.” Asahi shakes his head. “It’s okay. You couldn’t have known I was going to come running. It isn’t like I’ve done this in a while.” Noya is staring at him again, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He’s frowning — it’s only a faint, downward quirk of the lips, but it seems so out of place on Noya’s features that it catches Asahi off guard. A matching frown slips onto his face.

“Have you made any progress?” Noya asks suddenly, peering up at Asahi intently. “With the case, I mean.” “Noya, it’s only been a night,” Asahi reminds him gently. “I’ll look into it more later, but nothing’s changed from when you asked me yesterday.” “Yesterday?” Noya echoes, as if confused. “Oh… Right. When you gave me the jacket. Okay.” “Are you sure you’re okay?” Asahi persists. “I’m fine! Listen, I’ve gotta go, ‘kay? I’ll catch you again sometime soon.” Noya takes off before Asahi can so much as consider asking about contact information. At this rate, he’s going to be stuck only contacting Noya whenever they happen to run into each other in town. Belatedly, near the tail end of his run, he realizes that Noya must live nearby, to have been at the park.

So why had he been all the way across town yesterday? Asahi glances back, as if the answer will appear behind him. The cold wind replies, whispering through the bare branches of the trees. He just can’t shake the feeling that something is too familiar about Noya to forget. Maybe it’s just the man’s strange tendencies or the way he seems so desperate for the case to be solved as soon as possible, but Asahi just can’t get rid of this feeling. He doesn’t know what it is yet, only that it feels too important to completely dismiss a third time.

So this time, he tucks it away in the back of his mind for safekeeping.

⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤

“Oi, Azumane,” Kozume leans around his laptop, “what was that new file you got? An investigation?”

Asahi starts at the sound of his voice. After the two loudest members of their agency had gone off on lunch, the room had finally become quiet enough for Asahi to focus on his research. His desk is in clutters, public records scattered across the surface, laptop balanced precariously on the corner and held in place only by half of a large, opened book. Asahi is in the middle of rereading the case file when Kozume speaks up. He's so focused that, in his surprise, he nearly takes out his laptop himself. Kozume just lifts one disinterested brow, strands of dark hair slipping back into their usual place over his face. “Uh,” Asahi begins, eloquently, “something like that. Client wants me to look into a closed case. I think he’s probably got some pretty personal roots in it, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him it isn’t a good idea to reopen old wounds.” “You’re too nice, Azumane-san.” Akaashi remarks from his desk without looking up. “Sometimes, it’s best to put a stop to it before it can start.” “Then again,” Kozume muses, “I guess we are getting paid for this, huh?”

They lapse into a mutual silence again.

Asahi feels like there are still eyes on him, but Akaashi is still looking at the paperwork on his desk and Kozume has returned to his laptop screen. The rest of the employees aren’t here, and Narita is presumably still at the front desk. With a faint frown, Asahi shakes the feeling away and returns his attention to the files.

His information is severely limited. That’s the biggest issue. If there had been an address on the file he could have started his investigation there, but Noya would be the easier source. The only issue with that is that Asahi still hasn’t gotten Noya’s contact information to ask him about it. That being said, he’s not even sure if Noya actually knows anything or if this just happens to be a personal investment of his. Asahi isn’t in the habit of prying about people’s personal connections to a case. As long as he can get their information and go on about his business, he’s content, but Noya is so forthright and intense that Asahi can’t help but be curious.

It bothers him, but he doesn’t know why.

“Oh,” says Kozume, voice breaking into Asahi’s thought process abruptly again, “another robbery. I wonder if it’s a chain?”

When Asahi looks back up, Kozume is still looking at his laptop, but now he’s leaning closer to the screen, visibly reading something. He turns away and wheels his swivel chair over to the side table by the door to retrieve the remote.

“Last I heard, there wasn’t any correlation between the places that were being hit.” Akaashi replies, gaze lifting from his papers. “They’re thinking it’s separate cases, but who knows. The police don’t read too into situations if the evidence is obvious.” “Lazy asses,” Kozume scoffs, clicking through channels on the overhead TV.

“Robberies?” Asahi speaks up, confused.

He hasn’t been actively keeping up with the news outside of early weather reports recently, a little more concerned with his own issues and his work. It’s more than enough to balance work and the whole memory loss thing, and while he definitely should be better about keeping up with the rest of the world, it hasn’t been his main concern as of late.

Kozume settles on a news channel. The news anchor is in the middle of reporting on the subject at hand — another local robbery. It’s the third in the past two weeks, but there’s no evidence to connect it to the other two. This one had targeted a tiny, one bedroom home on the city outskirts. Asahi frowns at the news coverage. He doesn’t understand why anyone would target a place where there was unlikely to be anything to be gained, but he feels bad for the homeowner. The newscast says they came out undamaged since they weren’t home at the time, but nonetheless, he understands the feeling of having your life uprooted suddenly.

Asahi shakes his head and returns his attention to the files before him, scribbling notes down on things to look into further and potential leads. He’ll have to remember to find Noya again and get his contact information this time. Noya is the best lead he has at this point, and hopefully he can get something out of the other man to get him somewhere in this seemingly dead end case.

In the background, the television drones on.

When evening gives way to the end of his work day, Asahi finds himself searching the rush hour crowd for the tuft of electric blond that he’s becoming so familiar with. He can’t figure out why he’s trying to find Noya here; after all, he’d come to the conclusion that he lives on the other side of town, so he doubts he’ll see him here. On the other hand, it’s possible Noya works over here too. It’d be a strange coincidence for him to be in the same working and living situation as Asahi himself, but it’d make sense as to why Noya had come to their agency in particular. It's possible that it's also the opposite way around, with Noya living here and working on the other side of town. All of the facts Asahi knows check out with one of those theories; it’d explain why Noya was at the train station, too.

But by the time he gets to the station, he hasn’t spotted Noya anywhere. Even amongst the people waiting on the platform, he can’t see the wild, dark hair, and there’s a pang of disappointment in his chest. He tries to ignore it, but it’s a persistent feeling, and more surprisingly, one that doesn’t feel new. He can’t imagine forgetting someone like Noya, but he’d forgotten someone like Suga already, so his memory loss isn’t discriminating.

The train whistles a warning. Asahi startles, hurrying on instinctively. He hadn’t even realized the train had pulled up. He looks for Noya one more time, but upon confirming that the other man is nowhere to be seen, averts his gaze to his feet. The train doors hiss shut around him, before it lurches into motion, pulling away from the platform.

It’s strange, he thinks, how lonely the platform looks disappearing behind them.

When the train comes to a hissing stop at his destination platform, Asahi’s phone begins to vibrate aggressively against his thigh. He waits until he’s clear of all the people to check it, unlocking the screen to several tests and a missed call from Suga. Just as he’s going to check the texts, Suga’s name lights up his screen again. Asahi nearly drops his phone in his haste to answer the call.

“Asahi!” Sugawara practically yells. “Have you been keeping up with the news?”

Asahi slowly brings the phone back to his ear as he walks, having held it away in his haste to avoid having his eardrums blown out.

“The news?” He echoes. “Like the robberies?”

“Yeah! Apparently, there was another one! I guess the person tried to fight back and get this - they ended up in the hospital with multiple gunshot wounds.”

Asahi grimaces. If all of these robberies are connected, then it could be a problem. Generally speaking, most robbers would flee if they were caught or met with resistance, but if this one had no qualms with hurting people, it could get dirty. Asahi is hoping they aren’t connected, but it’s starting to look doubtful. He’ll have to catch up on the situation when he gets home.

“That’s-”

Asahi cut off, turning his head to follow the abrupt streak of color that had caught his eye. He’s a few blocks from his apartment, at best, but now he turns around entirely, gaze searching. He spots it again just in time to watch it vanish through the door of a tiny coffee shop. Asahi hesitates.

“Asahi?” Sugawara calls from his phone. “Hellooo? Earth to Asahi! What happened?” “S-Sorry, Suga,” Asahi says quickly, feet already guiding him towards the building, “I have to go. I’ll call you back later, okay?”

“Huh? Hold on, wh-”

The line goes dead as Asahi jabs the end call button, shoving his phone unceremoniously back into his pocket as he enters the cafe. The bell chimes gently overhead as he pushes the door open, and someone at the front calls out a greeting that he only half hears. He’s busy thinking about how Suga will be upset with him later for hanging up so abruptly; he’s thinking that maybe he should feel a little worse about that than he does, and it has him wondering if he’s less of a friend for it. He’s busy thinking about how he’s sure to get an earful later, but his body is moving across the cafe, toward a booth in the corner where he can see the backside of dark, wild hair, and the small flick of a tag sticking up from the inside of a white t-shirt.

The man in the booth lifts his head when Asahi rounds the table, piercing gaze fixing onto the detective. It’s as if he comes back to earth all at once, awareness lighting his eyes and his expression picking up in something vaguely resembling surprise. “Asahi!” He half yells, slamming his palms into the table and standing in one motion.

Asahi flinches at the abrupt shout and one of the employees glances their way. Ducking his head bashfully, Asahi makes himself as small as possible as he slides into the booth across from Noya, reaching out to gesture Noya back into his own seat. Preferably, he thinks, as quietly as possible.

Luckily, Noya drops unceremoniously back into his seat, staring intensely at Asahi.

“What are you doing here?” He demands.

“I…” Asahi grimaces, knowing how strange this is going to sound, “I saw you coming in. You never gave me any sort of contact, so I haven’t been able to reach you for anything regarding the case.”

Noya visibly straightens. “Have you figured out something new?”

“Well, not exactly, but-”

“Oh,” Noya continues, cutting him off, “I don’t have a phone.”

Well, that certainly threw a wrench in things, didn’t it? It’s just Asahi’s luck, he supposes. Still, he’s got to figure out some way to keep up contact with Noya, since he’s Asahi’s only sure link to the case.

His phone buzzes incessantly in his pocket.

“Okay, then take mine,” Asahi grabs a napkin from the table, fishing a pen from the front breast pocket of his jacket. “And if you can, just let me know if you come across anything new. Can we meet again sometime here to sit down and talk? Like Friday?” Noya takes the napkin and with surprising tenderness, folds it, and tucks it into the pocket of his black basketball shorts. He’s staring at Asahi still, but Asahi can’t tell what he’s thinking about.

“Okay,” Noya says, “Friday.”

And there it is again; Asahi meets his gaze and he feels like he’s missing something, like there’s a piece here that he should be aware of. He can’t shake it, that feeling that he just knows Noya from somewhere, from before all this.

“Noya,” he breathes, “have we met before? Before you came in with the case?”

Noya scrutinizes him for a long moment, almost unresponsive, as if the question hadn’t even registered to him. There’s something off about the entire moment, the motionless state of someone who feels like he should always be moving. Slowly, his lips pinch into a frown, just a little downward tilt that looks so off on his features. His expression darkens, hooded over like a shadow fell across him.

He looks unsure. He looks scared.

It’s only for a moment, so quick that Asahi is sure it must have been his imagination because then Noya is laughing, loud and rambunctious and more like the one that seems familiar to Asahi.

“No way!” He decides. “You must be imagining things, Azumane-san! There’s no way you’d forget someone as cool as me!”

Asahi feels like his veins have frozen over. He’s cold down to the bone.

“Of course,” he agrees, smiling shakily, “that’s true.”

There’s a seed of doubt rooting itself in his chest, and Asahi is too scared to try to figure out the root of it.

He stands again, bidding Noya a good night, and hurries out the door before the other man gets another word in edgewise, but he feels Noya’s gaze follow him out the door. His phone vibrates in his pocket again, and he takes it out, preparing himself for the earful he’s going to get.

Something is reassuring about Suga’s ranting on the other end. It gets him home.

When he looks over the case again that night, he writes details about the recent robberies down on a notebook next to it. He gathers what he can from the news and more from the internet. Tomorrow, he’ll get more info on it from Kozume, and Friday, he’ll get what he can from Noya. He doesn’t know yet if he’s making progress here, but he’s hoping for the best.

At this point, it’s all he can do.

It isn’t until he’s getting ready for bed, braiding his hair back out of his face, that the thought strikes him. He’s thinking about the tiny coffee shop, about the bell over the door, about the way Noya had called him Asahi. He has the distinctive memory of introducing himself only as Azumane.

So where had Noya gotten his given name?

⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤

“You look different,” Noya remarks.

Asahi feels like he’s having deja vu. He hardly knows where the week has gone, and now he’s back at the tiny coffee shop with Noya. They’re seated in the same booth as before. Noya’s shirt tag is sticking out. Asahi has his hair loose.

“It’s the hair,” they say, in sync, and Noya grins when Asahi cracks a smile.

“Finally!” He laughs. “I was starting to think you couldn’t smile properly! You’re so nervous all the time that I was starting to wonder how you’d ended up in this line of work.”

Asahi tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “Well, I’m sure it probably wasn’t my dream career, but I don’t remember enough about my old life to know how true that is. I guess it seems like a pretty unpredictable career, but it’s routine enough to be comforting.”

Noya frowns at him. “Whaddya mean you don’t remember?” Asahi winces. Outside of the fact that nobody else wants to discuss the accident, Asahi tries not to talk about it too much. Trying to remember gives him an intense migraine, and he hates the pitying looks he gets from it. He hates feeling helpless, and there’s this part of him that wouldn’t be able to handle it if Noya looked at him like that.

“I had an accident a while back,” Asahi replies vaguely, waving one hand dismissively, “nothing important.”

Noya’s watching him like he doesn’t believe him. Asahi avoids his gaze; he has the distinct feeling that Noya will see right through him otherwise.

“Okay,” Noya finally says, “then what about that necklace you’re always playing with? The ring. Are you married or something?”

Asahi doesn’t even realize he’s messing with it until Noya points it out. He’s busted, caught like a deer in headlights under Noya’s drilling questions. His words die in his throat, lips parted but nothing coming out.

I don’t know, he thinks, clenching his fist around the ring. He shoves it back into his shirt and grips the edge of the table, focusing on keeping his hands there. “No,” he manages, smile tight again, “but it doesn’t matter. We’re here to talk about the case, remember?”

Noya’s gaze flicks down, but he doesn’t push it.

“Right.”

Noya talks. It’s not all connected, more stream of thought and dropping details as they come to him, but Asahi listens. He takes notes, putting things that he knows already on one page and things he’s hearing for the first time on another. Some of Noya’s tales have nothing to do with the case, but Asahi lets them slide, and then he realizes that Noya hasn’t been talking about the case for a while.

But here’s Asahi, pen down and still listening. There’s something about Noya’s energy that’s so easy to get wrapped up in, and Asahi hadn’t even realized he was in it until it was too late. Maybe it’s the way Noya feels familiar to him, like second nature, or the way he’s sure he must know Noya from before, but the sensation is contagious, quick like electricity and quiet like a thief.

“Azumane-san?”

Noya’s voice breaks into his thoughts again. Asahi starts, focusing back on the task at hand. He doesn’t know when he’d stopped writing, or when the case discussion had ended and the casual talk had begun, but he does realize, belatedly, that they never got their coffee. The baristas bring them out here, he’d noticed, so it strikes him as a little strange.

“Sorry,” Asahi tells him, “I just realized we don’t have our drinks.”

As if on cue, Noya’s gaze moves from Asahi to the woman approaching their table. Asahi tears his gaze away from the man in front of him to focus on her as well, putting on his most polite smile as she sets the coffee down in front of him.

“Here you go,” she says, “sorry about the wait.”

She turns to leave, and Asahi realizes that she’s only brought his drink.

“Sorry, ma’am?” He calls quickly. “What about my fri-”

He turns to gesture at Noya and falters. The seat across from him is empty; Noya is gone. The employee gives him a strange look, glancing between him and the empty booth across from him. Asahi swallows his sentence back down, where it feels like a thick lump in his throat.

“Nevermind,” he says instead, “thank you.”

She glances at the booth opposite of him again and then seems to simply accept it as strange, for she turns and heads back to the front, leaving Asahi alone with the ghost of Noya’s electric presence.

He ends up getting a to-go cup for his coffee.

Asahi doesn’t know how he got back to his apartment, only that he gets there and he comes back to awareness when he’s unlocking his front door. He falters, hand on his doorknob, gaze fixed on the crook between his thumb and his forefinger. Everything comes back all at once. Is this the right thing to do? Should he have just followed the advice and refused the case upfront? He doesn’t even know when Noya had slipped out. Had it been the brief moment he’d turned his attention to the girl at the shop? Asahi hadn't even heard the bell.

Why hadn’t Noya said anything?

Asahi is starting to think he’s getting too ahead of himself, thinking one normal conversation and a borrowed jacket makes them friends or something. But there’s the thought he’s been hesitant to admit to himself; he wants to be friends with Noya. Something about the other man makes him feel comfortable, regardless of his eccentric nature, and he’s starting to think that maybe Noya was right about his career choice being the wrong one for him.

He can’t afford to get attached to every other person he meets in this line of work. Noya is the first, but Asahi can’t say for sure if he’ll be the last, and Asahi doesn’t even know when the line in the sand got washed away. He doesn’t know if it happened halfway through their conversation or the first time he’d realized something about Noya was too familiar to ignore. Still, Noya had been right about one thing: there’s no way Asahi could have forgotten someone like him.

It’s the only reason Asahi is hesitant to let the feeling of familiarity go.

He realizes with a start that he’s still standing outside, so he pushes the door open and ducks into his apartment. Whatever he ends up deciding to do here, he’s got all the information he thinks he’s going to get from Noya. For now, he needs to crack down on the case. The longer he drags this on, the worse it will get for the both of them. He wants to give Noya the best chance he has of moving on from this, and the only way to do that is to solve it as soon as possible.

Asahi takes his shoes off at the entryway and heads into the living room, setting his bag down next to the low table in front of his couch. He yanks his hair up into a half-hearted bun and collects his notes and files, adding them to the growing pile on the table. Clicking the television on for background noise, he gets to work sorting. The details are still minimal, and the progress looks minimal, but it’s better than nothing. Besides, there’s still that robber at large, and while Asahi has no surefire proof to connect the two outside of a gut feeling, he’s learned very quickly to trust his gut.

He glances up at the TV just in time to catch a glimpse of a reporter standing in front of a house, door caved in and front yard taped off by obnoxious yellow crime scene signs. It catches his attention immediately, so he glances down at the caption.

Armed robbery. Voluntary manslaughter.

Asahi’s heart jumps to his throat. His eyes dart down to the file. What were the odds?

What if it hadn’t been involuntary? The file states that the person had been found dead at the scene, a victim of multiple gunshot wounds from a robbery gone wrong. Robbery. Check. Armed suspect. Check. Had they considered a lack of qualms against hurting people? Asahi flips his notebook to a fresh page and begins charting all the locations the robber had hit thus far. Maybe there’s some sort of pattern they’re overlooking, a rhyme or reason to the places the robber is targeting.

His facts are minimal but sure.

The robber only targets houses, never businesses. The types of houses vary. No known pattern thus far.

The robber is armed and dangerous. Generally, there’s minimal damage to any people they happen to rob, but when those people get in the way or fight back, it’s a different story. There have been people both hospitalized and killed.

The robber has no qualms about killing people who got in the way.

Asahi stares at the page. Finally, at the bottom, he writes Noya? beneath his list of facts. He doesn’t know what the precise connection is with Noya’s case in all of this, but if he can predict where the robber is going to strike next, maybe there’s something to be found there. That’s only if the police themselves don’t beat him there first. Either way, hopefully, some sort of confession would come out and Asahi could call this closed properly. If this is unrelated, then he’s going to have to think of something else fast.

It’s nearly four in the morning when he finally talks himself into going to sleep, but it’s restless at best, and he rises early. He’s off on weekends, so they’re his only opportunity to go get things done if he doesn’t want to go right after work. The case weighs heavily on his thoughts for the entirety of his morning run. When he passes the lake he’d run into Noya at that time, he pauses, only for a moment, to glance around, but Noya isn’t there.

Asahi keeps running, but he’s starting to feel less like he’s keeping active and more like he’s trying to get away from something. He feels like he’s running away from a lot of things, as of late. It can’t be helped.

Azumane Asahi is a coward, he tells himself, and this time he doesn’t think it’s a lie at all.

The next time he sees Noya, it’s on the same route and nearly a week later. Asahi finds himself searching the route consistently without even knowing if Noya even lives in the area, hoping to catch some sort of glimpse of the other man. He hasn’t heard anything from Noya since the day at the coffee shop, and he’s starting to grow a little concerned.

His traitorous heart says something else, but Asahi tries not to listen too hard to things made of glass.

There’s rustling overhead when Asahi passes beneath a tree. It’s followed by a loud yowl, and it’s this that makes Asahi falter in his steps. He pauses, turning his head up to squint into the branches. The early morning sun is bright, near blinding, but the shadow that covers Asahi blocks it out.

He sees the little tag sticking out of the collar of the white shirt first, and then the outstretched arm, pale and skinny, reaching out to a higher branch. Asahi can mostly only see the person’s silhouette, but he knows that figure anywhere.

“Noya?” He calls up hesitantly.

Golden eyes fix on him immediately. Noya looks vaguely surprised, arm still outstretched, lips parted into a perfect little circle. There’s a cat a few branches up from his perch, a skinny little tabby with all of its fur puffed out. Its teeth are bared at the other man, a low growl rising in his throat.

Asahi hasn’t ever seen a cat react like that to someone. Usually, the strays around this area are calm, used to the joggers and families who come through the park trails all the time. He frowns a little at the sight, putting one hand on his hip and using the other to shield his eyes as he peers up.

“Oh,” says Noya, “Hey, Azumane. Fancy seeing you here.”

“I run here every morning now,” Asahi frowns, “you already knew that. What are you doing up there?”

Noya gestures to the cat, who swings at his moving hand. “I came up to save him, but he won’t let me anywhere near him. I think I’m just gonna grab him and deal with the consequences later.”

“What.” Asahi intones.

Noya reaches for the cat.

“What?” Asahi repeats. “Wait, no-”

Noya stretches out of his crouch and snatches the cat in one quick motion. The tabby immediately begins yelling, claws sinking wherever they can reach. Noya yelps, and then takes a surprised step back into mid-air. Asahi shouts. All at once, Noya and the cat come crashing down through the branches, and Asahi slides down on his knees beneath them, breath leaving his body as they collide.

Asahi groans softly from his place on the ground. Noya scrambles off of him, eyes wide. He’s still holding the cat, who looks shaken, but overall unharmed.

“Asahi!” Noya gasps. “Are you okay? Shit, I’m sorry!”

Asahi waves him off with one hand, sitting up slowly. His torso aches where he’d ungracefully caught them, but at least they seem unharmed. His hair falls loose around his shoulders, and he looks around for the tie, only to find it snapped on the ground. It’d been fraying, so he isn’t surprised, but it’s still a little inconvenient.

“It’s okay,” he manages, when he finally catches his breath, “are you two okay?”

Noya beams, holding the cat up victoriously. “We’re totally fine!”

The cat bites Noya’s hand. Noya drops the tabby, and he bolts without so much as a glance back. The short man sulks as he stares after the vanishing animal, crossing his arms over his chest. There are claw marks down the length of his forearms and branches still stuck in his black basketball shorts.

“Rude,” Noya says, getting up.

He offers a hand to Asahi, but Asahi, a little doubtful that Noya can lift him, stands on his own.

“You should be more careful,” he says, frowning.

“I had it handled!”

“You fell out of a tree.”

Noya purses his lips. “You know. Fair.” He sticks his index finger out as if to agree that Asahi has a point. “You got me there.”

“How did you even get up there?” Asahi asks, gazing up at the tree.

There aren’t any visible branches that Noya could have used to climb, and Asahi has to admit that even with his height, he would have been hard-pressed to reach the lowest ones. There’s no way to get a handhold on the trunk, either, so he’s not sure how Noya got up there to begin with.

Noya shrugs. “I climbed? The cat couldn’t get down so I went up to help him.”

Asahi sighs. “Okay, Noya. My apartment isn’t far from here, so let me at least treat the scratches. It’d be bad if you got something.”

Noya hesitates, but then he looks down, inspects his arms, and grimaces a little.

“Okay, lead the way.”

Asahi tucks his hair behind his ears and turns, starting at a steady pace back up the pathway. Noya keeps at his heels, carefree and cheerful as he turns his arms over, inspecting his new battle scars. It’s almost endearing, Asahi dares to think, but he’s still not over how the cat had acted with Noya. Asahi is sure Noya isn’t a bad person, but he’s never seen a reaction like that in the months he’s been running here.

He frowns back as if the tree itself will give him answers, but it stands tall and silent, shadowed against the pale blue sky.

When they climb the steps to Asahi’s apartment, the realization hits him like a bullet. He’s bringing Noya into his apartment. How had they gotten here? Is his apartment even clean? It’s so plain that he doesn’t know what Noya is going to think about it. Had he done the dishes already or were they still sitting in the sink?

Anxiety settles in like a second skin, but it’s too late to do anything about it now. They’re already at the door and Noya is looking up at him expectantly, waiting for him to unlock it. Asahi tries to hide the way his hands shake as he puts the key in the lock and opens it, letting Noya into the dark entryway.

Noya kicks off his shoes at the entrance, and Asahi follows suit, stepping in ahead of the other man. The sink is clean. The living room has a few books on the table and stray papers from his brainstorming session the other night, but otherwise it isn’t unacceptable. He flicks the light on and crosses to the table, shoving the papers messily together.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company,” he says, “make yourself at home and I’ll grab my first aid kit.”

Noya plops onto the couch, looking around like a curious child. Asahi feels strange having someone over like this. He seldom has company, especially new company, and he feels like he’s being assessed for some sort of test. Clutching the papers to his chest, Asahi hurries into his room for the first aid kit in his bathroom.

Noya is still sitting on the couch when Asahi returns. His gaze is fixed on a photo hanging on the wall. It’s of Asahi, fresh out of the hospital, Suga and Daichi standing just behind him in the frame. Shimizu had been the one to take it, and it’s one of the earliest things he still remembers. Noya frowns at it a little, like he’s struggling to think about something, and Asahi just figures he must have zoned out.

“Noya?” He says as he nears.

Noya straightens, almost imperceptibly, turning his gaze to Asahi as the other man crouches in front of him, opening the first aid kit and setting it aside on the table. Noya gets the hint and offers out his arms while Asahi prepares a cotton pad for cleaning the scratches.

“Ouch,” Noya hisses once Asahi starts dabbing over them.

Asahi shakes his head, holding Noya by the wrist to keep his arm steady.

“Are those your friends?” Noya asks suddenly.

Asahi glances up at him, and then back at the photo. “Yeah,” he says, turning his gaze back onto his task. “The one with the silver hair is Suga. The dark-haired one is Daichi. Our other friend, Shimizu, took the photo, but she’s not very fond of being in them. They were there with me when I was in the hospital for a while.”

“What were you there for?”

Asahi grimaces, remembering why he’d avoided the subject the last time he’d talked to Noya. “Uh,” he starts hesitantly.

He can feel Noya’s gaze on him, but he doesn’t meet his eyes. Asahi gets the feeling that he’ll spill everything if he does, so he stubbornly keeps his focus on treating Noya’s scratches.

“It’s okay, Azumane-san,” Noya laughs, “you don’t have to tell me. I was just being nosy.”

Asahi exhales, a little relieved. He wraps up Noya’s first arm, having finished treating the scratches there. Moving onto the second one, Asahi grabs a fresh cotton pad. He frowns as he sets back to work.

“Noya,” he starts, “where did you go, the other day? At the cafe, I mean?”

Noya stiffens a little under his grip.

“Sorry about that,” the other man mumbles, “I had an emergency I had to handle, so…”

“Oh,” says Asahi, unconvinced, “okay. I was just worried… You just up and vanished without saying anything.”

Noya doesn’t go into any more detail, and Asahi doesn’t push it. He gets the feeling Noya isn’t telling the whole truth, but he’s not going to try to force it out. He has his own secrets, and he’s sure Noya has plenty himself. Despite seeming like a very open person, he’s come to notice that Noya is strange, like he’s never quite there most of the time, and the times that he is, he seems so full of life that he’s ready to burst with it.

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” Noya’s voice is painfully soft.

Asahi’s heart aches. He doesn’t know why that gentle voice hurts, only that it does something strange to him. He catches himself holding his breath, as if even that will break this moment. He knows better. He knows better. He doesn’t know Noya, and Noya doesn’t know him. They’re client and employee, nothing more.

Asahi doesn’t even know himself. How could he even hope to let someone else know him?

“It’s okay,” Asahi gets out, but his voice sounds foreign to himself like it’s coming from someone else speaking in his place instead of him.

Something about the intimacy of the moment makes Asahi feel like he’s an outsider, watching his own hands and fingers tenderly take care of Noya’s newly acquired scratches. He knows there’s more on the man’s face, but he’s scared to raise his gaze. He’s scared that whatever is happening is going to shatter the moment they make eye contact. Asahi is going to realize it’s all in his head, or Noya is going to realize it’s strange for him to be in what is essentially a stranger’s house.

He feels like he knows Noya. The feeling won’t go away, but Noya has told him that he’s sure they’ve never met. Asahi couldn’t forget someone like him, and Asahi is inclined to agree. He’s stalling now, and he knows it, and he’s sure Noya knows it, but neither of them say anything about it as Asahi cleans over the scars a second, and then a third time.

Finally, he bandages the second arm. Noya’s skin is cold beneath his grip, freezing like the other man has been standing in negative temperatures for hours. Asahi knows this isn’t the case, so he assumes Noya must just run cold in comparison to Asahi himself. Noya seems unbothered, either way.

“Thanks,” Noya finally breaks the silence.

Asahi dares to raise his gaze. Noya’s eyes are trained on him, sharp and focused with such intense clarity that Asahi is momentarily taken aback. Noya looks as if he’s a page ahead of Asahi, waiting for him to catch up. Asahi isn’t sure if he should, much less if he wants to.

“Well,” he replies, averting his gaze to get another cotton pad, “I wasn’t just going to leave you after I watched it happen. I don’t mean to be rude, but you seem like you’d neglect taking care of them.”

Noya grins crookedly in the corner of his vision. “You’re right,” he says, “I would. But that’s not all I was thanking you for.”

Asahi pauses, mid-turn, pad raised to start in on the scratches on Noya’s face. He blinks, confused. “Huh?”

“That was for everything,” Noya continues. “I know this case isn’t easy on you. I’m sorry I dumped it on you, but something told me you’re the only one who can handle it, and I always listen to my instinct. It hasn’t steered me wrong yet. So I was saying thank you for putting up with all of this.”

Oh, Asahi thinks, and then says, “Oh.”

Noya laughs. “Oh?”

“Sorry. No, wait. I mean… You don’t need to thank me.” Asahi reaches out, carefully starting to clean the scratches across Noya’s cheek.

“Ow,” Noya says, again.

“Sorry,” Asahi frowns, knowing there isn’t much he can do about the pain.

“It’s okay. I got myself into this, so I’ll tough it out!” The golden-eyed boy declares.

Asahi smiles to himself. Noya’s energy is near contagious, and he’s just about forgotten about his previous anxiety of having the other man in his house. Noya seems nonchalant and uncaring, like he doesn’t care to judge how Asahi lives either way.

“There,” Asahi says, putting bandages over the last few scratches. “Done.”

Noya gives him a double thumbs-up, grinning so widely it looks painful. “Cool! Thanks, Asahi! You’re the best!”

Asahi holds both hands up placatingly. “I wouldn’t go that far…”

“No!” A fire lights in Noya’s eyes, and he reaches out, grabbing both of Asahi’s hands so abruptly that the brunet squeaks. “It’s true! Don’t go selling yourself short, okay?”

Asahi’s voice catches in his throat. He wants to protest again, but Noya’s gaze is so intense that he physically can’t bring himself to do anything more than nod in agreement. It seems to satisfy Noya, so he releases Asahi’s hands and hops up from the couch.

“Alright! I’m gonna head out now, but I’ll see you soon, yeah? We’ll get this done!”

Noya reaches out, bumping Asahi’s shoulder with his fist. The little tap startles Asahi back into reality, and he scrambles to his feet, following Noya to the door and watching him put his shoes on. At the door, they both hesitate. Asahi looks down at his feet, but he can feel Noya’s gaze on him.

“Be safe,” Asahi says, finally.

Noya stares at him for a long moment. Finally, he reaches out, squeezes Asahi’s arm, and then turns away and bolts down the stairs. Asahi watches him jog down the road, and then vanish over the crest of the hill, out of sight, but never out of mind.

Maybe, he considers, he should have tried to make him stay.

Asahi stares at the hill Noya had vanished over for a long moment longer. He stares as if he’s waiting for the other man to turn around and come back, citing that it’s too late to head home, and the trains aren’t running anyway, so it’d take a while on foot. Asahi still doesn’t know if Noya lives nearby or closer to the agency, but either way, he could have thought of something.

He stares on, but Noya doesn’t come back. Finally, Asahi closes the door behind him and flicks the lock.

“You’ve been busy lately,” Kozume remarks, the following Monday, without looking up from his Switch screen.

Asahi doesn’t know how he gets away with playing video games at work so often, but he supposes as long as Kozume is efficient at his job, their boss doesn’t really care. He’s starting to give Asahi some eyes about the case he’s on, so he knows it’s time to hurry up and wrap it up.

Narita comes in, bearing coffee. He hands them out to each of the others in the room, setting Kozume’s next to him and handing Akaashi’s off. Crossing to Asahi, he offers out the coffee.

“Same as usual? How’s it going?” He asks.

Asahi accepts the warm drink from the receptionist. “It’s going,” he sighs, “I haven’t made too much progress outside of some guessed predictions. My sole witness has this habit of up and vanishing and apparently doesn’t have a phone to contact.”

Narita nods sympathetically. “Client isn’t making it easy, huh? This is probably your first one of those, but I see them come through all the time. It’ll work out, so don’t stress too much.”

“He can do with a little stress,” Akaashi comments, taking a sip of his coffee.

Narita turns to give him a withering look and then turns back to Asahi. “Anyway, drink up while it’s warm and then go back into this thing with a fresh mind, yeah? Good luck, Azumane.”

Asahi watches the receptionist go, and takes a long drink of his coffee. It burns his tongue, but he doesn’t flinch away. The moment of pain, however brief, does its part to make everything come into sharper focus. Three days from now, he’ll have been slugging through this case for a month. That’s the time limit he’s going to give himself; if he hasn’t figured this out or made any significant progress in the next few days, he’s going to tell Noya he can’t do it.

Resolution set in his mind, Asahi dives back into his work with renewed vigor.

“Don’t stay too late,” Akaashi says, later that night.

Kozume is already long gone, and Akaashi had finished his work, so he’s getting ready to leave too. It’s just Asahi now, with everyone else out. The black-haired man puts his jacket over his arm and strolls out. Only a moment later, Narita peers in.

“Azumane? Someone is waiting outside for you.”

Asahi glances up, confused. He hadn’t been expecting anybody, but it’s as good a reason as any to change location. He nods in acknowledgment to Narita and hurries to pack his things, pulling his bag over his shoulder and heading out.

Outside, he glances around in search of the person. It takes him a minute to spot them, but when his gaze shifts down, it catches on the streak of blond in Noya’s hair. The other man looks up when Asahi emerges from the building, and then stands immediately when he realizes who it is.

“Noya?” Asahi questions, surprised.

“Hey,” Noya smiles crookedly, “sorry for showing up out of nowhere. I was out and I just ended up here. Are you getting ready to head home?”

Asahi readjusts his bag. “Yeah, I just finished for the night. How did you end up way out here again?”

Noya opens his mouth to answer, and then closes it again, frowning in confusion. Finally, he just shrugs a little, as if he isn’t sure himself.

“I just did,” he says. “Can I walk with you?”

Asahi hesitates, but finally nods in concession. Noya falls into step beside him as he heads out towards the train station. It’s later than Asahi usually leaves, and the streets are nearly empty now. The sun is starting to set beneath the taller buildings in the distance, and Asahi gets the feeling it will be well past dark by the time he gets home.

“Do you live around here, Noya?” Asahi asks, glancing down at the other man.

He recalls seeing Noya back near where he lives, as well, but maybe the shorter man just gets around a lot. This is his chance to finally figure it out, so Asahi seizes it.

Noya hesitates a little, lips parting like he’s going to speak, then closing again. “Uh,” he starts, glancing around, “well-”

Noya cuts off, gaze catching on movement nearby. There’s a girl, no older than seven or eight, stumbling down the sidewalk. Even from this distance, Asahi can see the scrapes on her knees. She’s bawling, rubbing her face with the back of her hands, but steadily making her way down the sidewalk nonetheless, like she’s on a mission.

Asahi exchanges a look with Noya, and they both hurry toward her. Noya reaches her first, crouching in front of her and starting to talk. Asahi is a short pace behind him, catching up just in time to hear the child speak through her tears and sniffling.

“A bad man came into our house,” she sniffles, stuttering around her hiccups, “and Mama told me to run away and get help, but she’s stuck there with him!”

Asahi’s blood goes cold. This is it. The one time he hadn’t been trying to find the man and it practically fell into his lap. Noya is clearly thinking the same thing, expression hard and eyebrows downturned. He meets Asahi’s eyes and nods.

“Hi,” Asahi says, crouching down, “I’m a detective. I can go help your mama, but I need you to tell me which house is yours. Can you do that for me?”

The girl sniffs, looking up at him. “T-The one with the flower mailbox Mama and I painted…”

Noya is already running. Asahi squeezes the girl’s shoulders, getting back to his feet.

“Listen carefully. We’re going to go help your mama, so I need you to be brave for me, okay? Find someone and ask them to call the police for you. We’ll make sure your mom is safe.”

The little girl’s gaze follows him as he runs after Noya. He has no chance of catching up with the spitfire of a man, but Noya waits at the door for him, clearly trying to find a good way in. Asahi glances into the shattered window. The coast seems clear. He gestures to Noya and creeps around to the front door, opening it slowly.

It doesn’t creak, and Asahi thanks any god that exists as he and Noya sneak into the quiet house. Asahi puts a finger to his lips, signaling for Noya to follow him. Together, they quietly round the corner and immediately come face to face with the robber.

They catch the man by surprise. Asahi sees it in the glance he gets of the man’s expression before he’s forced to leap out of the way, bullets riddling the wall where he’d just been standing. To his right, Noya hisses from his spot on the ground, and Asahi has to suppress the nausea that rises in his chest at the sight of red blossoming across Noya’s shoulder.

“Noya,” he gasps, scrambling over, “I’m so sorry. I should have reacted faster. You’re going to need medical attention-” “Asahi,” Noya’s grin edges on pained, but he’s pushing through, nudging Asahi away. “I’m fine. I'm tough, remember? So don’t worry about me. I’ll live, so worry about that kid’s mom first. You bust that guy for the both of us, okay?”

His fingers brush Asahi’s cheek, cold against the skin there, and Asahi’s everything zeroes in on just that sensation. He focuses on the way that Noya’s hand feels against his cheek, electricity at his fingertips. He focuses on the way that regardless of whether he’d known Noya before or not, he knows him now, and he wouldn’t ask for it any other way.

Kissing Noya feels like second nature. He’s careful of the other man’s shoulder, even if it’s nothing more than a brief press of lips, but when he pulls away, Noya exhales like it’s the first breath he’s taken in years.

“Stay safe,” he tells Asahi, “‘cause if you die on me, I’ll summon you back and annoy you as a ghost.”

Asahi laughs. “I won’t. Get somewhere safe, Noya.”

He squeezes Noya’s hand and then hurries into the hallway, keeping low and staying alert. He doesn’t know where the robber is, but the robber doesn’t know his location either. But only one of them has a gun, and it isn’t Asahi, so he’s at a disadvantage here. His priority is getting the woman out safely, but he hasn’t seen her yet, so he’s hoping she’s already hiding somewhere safe. His and Noya’s arrival had distracted the robber for a moment, and he just has to hope the moment is enough if he can’t find her first.

Asahi ducks behind the couch just in time to avoid being seen by the man who creeps in through the next hall. He drops to his hands and knees, sneaking around the side to watch the man’s slow progression towards the kitchen, where he assumes there’s a side door. The man’s gaze sweeps the room once, twice. Asahi creeps forward when his back is turned, and the moment he takes a step to move away, Asahi lunges.

He’s scared. God, he’s terrified. He shouldn’t have made any promises to Noya. He isn’t immortal. If this man gets the upper hand, Asahi knows he has no chance.

But he can’t think about that. Right now, he can only focus on survival, on grappling with the man before him for control over the single gun. The robber’s eyes are wide, wild with disbelief. Asahi can’t figure out what he’s so surprised about; surely, he’d expected someone to come after him eventually for all of this? Asahi pulls and the man resists, They shove and turn and twist, brute strength against brute strength, fighting for control of the situation. A stray shot shatters a vase, and there’s a muffled whimper from the closet next to it.

The woman.

Asahi has the upper hand. It’s only for a moment, but the sound distracts him, and the moment is more than enough. The robber twists around and slams his elbow into Asahi’s face hard enough to send him pinwheeling back into the coffee table, head slamming into the wood hard enough to make his vision go black, and then blurry. The aftermath leaves Asahi feeling like there’s an army in his skull waging war against the bones, pounding relentlessly against his forehead.

It hurts. It hurts. He can’t think. He can barely see straight.

He’s been in this situation before.

When he manages to get his vision to focus, only a little, he is staring down the barrel of the gun. The man’s chest heaves, expression twisted in fury, all bared teeth and vicious stance. And this is it — Asahi has no chance here. This is the end, and his promise to Noya will go unfulfilled after all. He thinks about Noya, laughing loud and free, holding his hand to the sunlight so the golden band on his finger glitters. Except Asahi doesn’t know where he picked up that memory. His head is pounding, a steady thump, thump, thump against his skull. His head is pounding and he is thinking and Azumane Asahi is going to die here and now, just like the man in the case he’d been trying so hard to solve. He can’t even close his eyes, watching the man’s finger on the trigger as if in slow motion.

But it never comes.

Instead, there is Noya, howling bloody murder, all feral motions and vengeful anger, streaking out of the hallway and barreling into the man. They both hit the ground and the gun skids away from them. Asahi’s shaken, but he still notices the lack of red staining Noya’s white t-shirt. Asahi trembles, but he realizes right away that Noya’s wound looks as if it had never existed to begin with. Noya looms over the man like a wraith, teeth bared, golden eyes glittering with a promise, a threat, and Asahi thinks to grab the gun before the man recovers from Noya’s winding attack. The would-be thief writhes beneath the other man, but Noya is unyielding and less hesitant than Asahi.

He takes the flower pot off the table and breaks it over the man’s head, knocking him out cold. Asahi is left in stunned silence, clutching the gun, staring at Noya as he hunches over the unconscious man, shoulders heaving with every breath. Asahi is still concerned; he can’t see Noya’s wound, or any sign of it, but for all he knows, Noya had just managed to find an extra shirt. It’s doubtful and farfetched, but it’s the only possible explanation, isn’t it?

“Asahi,” Noya gasps, “Asahi, are you okay? Did he hurt you? You’re bleeding.” He hadn’t noticed, but now that the adrenaline is wearing off, Asahi touches his head and his hand comes away red. He stares at his fingertips, dizzy, and finally sinks to his knees. Noya scrambles off of the man and barrels right into Asahi, straddling his waist to lean over and inspect Asahi’s head. Outside, sirens wail as their backup arrives, and Asahi sighs, relieved that the little girl had found somewhere safe. The officers come flooding in. Asahi feels like hell, but he’s more worried about making sure everything gets taken care of, so he directs them to the woman hiding, and then to the unconscious robber on the ground. It’s over.

Reaching out to touch Noya’s face, Asahi feels like sobbing. “I’m okay,” he rasps out, “I’m okay. You got shot, though, didn’t you? You shouldn’t do reckless things with a wound like that.”

Noya scrambles back off of him and out of Asahi’s reach before the detective can inspect his previously injured shoulder. He takes a little step aside, gaze averted, frown fixed on his features. Asahi’s eyes follow him as he moves away a little.

“Noya?” He frowns, moving to stand.

One of the officers shouts. Asahi’s attention catches on the shout and his gaze follows, catching sight of the previously unconscious man thrashing on the ground. He’s on his stomach facing Asahi, and one of the officers is straddling his back to cuff him. It’s his expression that catches Asahi’s notice, the sheer rage, face twisted up in hatred. His eyes glitter furiously, lips pulled back to bare his teeth in a snarl.

“You’re supposed to be dead!” He shouts. “You both died! I know I killed you, so why the fuck are you still alive?!”

Asahi’s heart falters in his chest. His head hurts. God, it hurts.

“I robbed you months ago! I shot that boy to death! You were dead! You’re supposed to be dead!”

He keeps shouting it. Asahi is cold to the bone, dropped into an endlessly deep pile of fresh snow with no way out. All he sees is the man’s face, and all he hears is dead and his head hurts so much. He’s supposed to be dead? He’s alive, though. He’s alive, but he doesn’t have memories, and he’s supposed to be dead. What boy had he meant? Noya? Did that mean Asahi had known him before after all? Had they both lost their memories?

Something is screaming in the back of his mind to come out. Asahi clutches his head in his hands, feeling panic swell heavily in his throat, suffocating him. His vision is dark at the edges and the gun is on the floor beside him, just within his gaze.

“Asahi,” Noya croaks behind him, voice soft and pained.

Asahi, it echoes and echoes and echoes, and all at once, everything slams back down. He remembers, and he doesn’t know how he could ever forget. The wedding band burns against the hollow of his throat like a brand. He watches, dumbstruck and breathless, as the robber is hauled out. He remembers who he is. He remembers who Noya is.

“Yuu,” he gasps, whirling around.

But the other man is gone.

⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤

Asahi hates the smell of hospitals.

The nurse tells him he’s fine to leave, but he needs to come back for another check-up in a week to make sure there isn’t further head or brain damage. The doctors know his memory has returned, so they’re hopeful, but Asahi can’t share their joy. He goes home, empty-handed and desolate. He’s thinking about everything, about Yuu, about the wedding band around his throat. He doesn’t know where the other man had vanished to this time, but he hopes he’d at least had the sense to get medical attention.

And a week goes by.

In the seven days that Nishinoya Yuu is gone, Asahi dreams.

In his dreams, Asahi dies slowly.

His body is a mass of static and there is nothing but pain and pain and more pain. He’s vaguely aware of someone, somewhere, calling his name. Asahi, they’re saying, Asahi, please wake up.

Except this time, he doesn’t. This time, the pieces reconnect themselves. He is not the one in pain, nor is he the one being called out to. In his dreams, Asahi comes home to their shared home and finds Yuu on the floor, riddled with gunshot wounds and already bleeding out. In his dreams, Yuu is unconscious, and Asahi is sobbing, his voice cracking as he tries desperately to call the police.

“Yuu,” he’s begging, “Yuu, please wake up.”

In his dreams, Azumane Asahi does not make it home in time to stop his husband from fighting a robber. Azumane Yuu had fought alone and lost, and by the time Asahi had gotten back, he’d already been half-dead. Asahi hunches over him, pleading with any god that might listen.

He doesn’t know when he got up, only that he’s standing. He doesn’t know when the man appeared around the corner, only that he’s surprised by his appearance, and when they fight, Asahi does not win. He sees the table come into his line of vision.

There’s pain, and then there’s nothing.

Asahi wakes slowly from the darkness as the pieces slide together in his mind. Suddenly, everything makes sense. He hadn’t given the theory any thought before; it’d simply been the most unbelievable thing, but now he’s sure. It all makes too much sense. The name, the vanishing acts, the same outfit all the time, the strange looks Asahi would get when he would bring Yuu up with others, the missing bullet wound in his shoulder.

Yuu is already dead.

Asahi thinks the cold chill of resignation is the hardest part.

When he sits up, Yuu is sitting on the end of his bed. Asahi can see the door through his blood-stained shirt. The sight makes his heart ache anew. How cruel, he thinks, to make him fall in love with this man all over again, only to lose him once more. Had he really ever had Yuu to begin with?

Yuu looks like he had the last night Asahi had seen him as Azumane Yuu, and not Noya. His face is pale and hollow, golden eyes set into his features, a shade duller than Asahi is used to seeing them. His shirt, previously white, is riddled with bullet holes and stained with blood. Asahi is scared to even breathe for the fear of Yuu leaving once and for all.

Yuu doesn’t look at him when he speaks.

“I’m dead.” It’s not a question. Yuu knows this is a fact. “Right?”

“I’m sorry,” Asahi chokes out.

It isn’t enough. This isn’t enough. He has so much more he wants to say to Yuu. He wants to tell him how sorry he is. He wants to tell him that it should have been Asahi who’d died that day. Yuu had so much to live for, and Asahi barely knows how to live for himself. He wants to tell him how much he loves him, how they were supposed to have a whole life ahead of them. Their adventure had only just begun and it had been torn out from beneath them before they could take the first step.

Asahi chokes on his breath. It isn’t fair. It still isn’t fair.

He wants to say, please, don’t leave me again.

Yuu’s form flickers. Asahi covers his mouth to stifle the sob there. Yuu is in front of him now, gaze soft with acceptance. Even in death, he is the stronger of the two of them. Even now, his unwavering dependability makes Asahi feel safe.

“Asahi,” he says, ghostly fingers brushing past the strands of hair by Asahi’s ears, “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Asahi manages. “Why are you sorry? Yuu, I’m the one who should be apologizing. If I hadn’t gotten held up that day-”

“Then you would have died too.” Noya cuts him off.

Yuu stares him down, golden eyes piercing, and Asahi falters beneath that gaze.

“Asahi, I’m saying sorry because I promised you forever, but I have to go now. I love you so much, you stupid crybaby. I love you more than anything, and even if we were reborn, I’d find you again in ten thousand lifetimes. It’s always going to be you. You’re the kindest, bravest person I’ve ever known, and I’d do everything the same if it meant I had the chance to love you.” Asahi feels like he’s suffocating in his own words. He wants to grab Yuu and hold him close, but his hands pass right through the other man’s shoulders.

“I don’t know what to do without you,” he sobs, “Yuu, I don’t want to go without you. I don’t know how to socialize properly, and nobody else reminds me to take my meds. I can’t ground myself alone when I have an anxiety attack, and you always know what to say when I have a nightmare. I’m not brave. I let people walk over me when you aren’t there to tell them to lay off. You can’t leave because I don’t know what to do without you. I’m brave when you’re around because you make me feel like I can be.”

Yuu laughs. It’s a strangled half sob.

“Someone as cool as you shouldn’t be such a crybaby. You’re your own person, Asahi. You don’t need me or anyone else, even if you think you do. I’m not the one who makes you brave. You do that. And I need you to be extra brave for me now, okay?” His smile wobbles as he reaches out, hand hovering over Asahi’s cheek. “I need you to be brave enough to live the rest of your life, even if I’m not there to live it with you. I wish I could stay and make you as happy as you made me. I wish we could travel the world and have kids and grow old together. But I’ll always be with you.” And this time, when he reaches to touch Asahi, his palm settles over the ring strung around Asahi’s neck and stays there. The point of contact is warm, pulsing out into Asahi’s chest. He feels like he can breathe again. Asahi is so tired of being scared.

He manages a shaky laugh. “You still have my jacket.” Yuu smiles, something soft that touches the edges of his eyes. “Yeah,” he huffs, “sorry about that.” Asahi covers the hand Yuu has over his chest with his own. “Yuu,” he says, “I love you. I love you so much and I always have, and I’m sorry I never said that enough. I’m sorry that we couldn’t have the life we deserved. But I’ll keep living for you, as long as you promise to wait for me. Find me again in the next life, and the one after that, and the one after that. Please let me fall in love with you again.” A single tear slides down Yuu’s face.

“Always,” he says.

Asahi does not get his coat back, but he feels it like a pit of warmth in his chest when Yuu is gone. He sinks slowly forward, gathering the blanket up in his arms and pressing it to his face in a futile attempt to gather the last bits of Yuu’s presence from the fabric. But he’s gone, and Asahi is alone again, with nothing but the ghost of his memory and a promise. His room is empty and the pit of warmth in his chest is a sorry excuse for Yuu’s presence. He’s alone for now, but he’s going to be brave, and he’s going to find Yuu again in the next life. He may not have him now, but he’s never going to let him go again. He has that.

His fingers close slowly over the ring dangling from his neck, pressing the memories there deep into his chest where they’ll make a home.

(And this, at least.)

[gotmeringinghellsbells]

After the Storm

Fandom: Pokemon

Characters: Steven Stone, Wallace

A/N: There’s not enough Steven and Wallace tickle stuff in the world and my brain had been begging for me to do some of my boys soft. 

Summary: After the events that occurred in the Kalos region, Steven returns home to Hoenn where his boyfriend and long time best friend was ready to help care for the trip’s aftermath on the champion. 

_

Wallace had to admit, there was just something about a man with a bit of scruff that was just so…. attractive. It was a bit sloppy in his opinion and required a certain body and style to truly be able to be pulled off; but whenever Steven had become so busy to remember to shave and let his grow slightly, Wallace was all for it. Just returning from a rather large journey through Kalos that involved babysitting an angsty, headstrong fifteen-year-old and clumsy ten-year-old (not to mention trying to stop Lysandre form destroying the world…. or just pokemon because somehow he could destroy one without the other, but whatever), and he’d been rather distracted to say the least. 

As a result, his typical hygienic self-standards were rather off. He’d grown a bit of a scruff, his hair had become less tame, and he wasn’t fullying paying attention to detail of his outfits. Wallace smirked behind his hand slightly as he examined the other. Steven had also been allowing himself to fall behind on sleep, earning discoloration and swelling under his eyes and the current exhaustion he was now dealing with as he lay on top of his bed’s comforter. “Perhaps a nap would do you good,” Wallace hummed as he strolled into the familiar bedroom to unload his boyfriend’s luggage. 

The oor jet lagged man shook his head. “I’d like to get back to having a sleep schedule Wallace. If I nap now, it’s going to take forever to get back to a routine.” Wallace felt his cheeks heat up slightly when he caust Steven’s eye. The tired, dorky smirk that grew on his face as he stared at the other. Shaking his head, the water-type-gym leader unzipped the large suitcase and started to sort through it. “Well, what do you plan to do with your day if you won’t nap then; hm? I can’t imagine that almost twenty hours on a plane feels that well.” Steven laughed softly before sitting up. “It’s not like I didn’t sleep on the flight at all love,” he said stretching out slightly before leaning back against the soft pillow that sat against his bed frame.

“I’ve been on flights with you. It’s never a true slumber, Steve,” Wallace lectured, using Steven’s nickname. “Mmhmm,” Steven hummed before resting his head back against the wood of the head board. Steel eyes closed as he exhaled softly, only to snap open again as he jolted upwards, attempting to pull his legs into his chest. Wallace let out a grunt, still holding onto his boyfriend’s shoe as he was tugged forward from the reaction. “Geez Steven, I’m just tring to take your shoes off,” the taller huffed. “Ah, sorry,” the champion said sheepishly before leaning forward to undo his other shoe; as Wallace finally managed to wrestle the designer item off his boyfriend’s foot. 

“See, isn’t that better,” Wallace hummed before furrowing his brows from the Steel-type specialist’s response. Well, lack there off, anyway. He was groggily looking Wallace over, repeatedly. “Did…. did you acquire a new uniform,” Steven finally asked as he reached a hand out to feel the thin, narrow piece of cloth that attached the top of Wallace’s outfit to the bottom. “Ah, yes…. you like it?” Steven was continuing to feel the fabric as he nodded rather easily. “Feels nicer than your last one,” he mumbled before slipping four fingers under the purple crop top, earning a squeak. Wallace turned slightly, curling up the best he could as he stood. “Steve,” he squeaked. “Don’t do that.” 

“Hm? Oh.” Steven didn’t bother to apologize. He merely removed his hand from the crop top and gently started to tickle the exposed sides. Wallace threw his head back with a sequel as a result. One hand attempted to over his mouth, the other trying to pry his boyfriend’s callused hands off of him. “Ah! Stheheheve! Chahahut it out!” Steven chuckled softly as he watched his long-time best friend squirm and laugh about. “It feels nicer, but I don’t get why you decided to expose so much skin? Is it meant to be a bathing suit as well or something? Honestly, with a weakness like this, I would have thought you’d keep such vulnerable spots covered.” 

“Whahaht ahahare you - ah,” Wallace gasped for air as he finally pulled away enough to escape the tickle monster’s hands. “What… are you … t...talking about,” he panted as he rubbed away the ghostly ticklish feeling. “You know, weakness? You're a gym leader after all.” Wallace paused before quirking a brow. “Steven, dear, trainers don’t fight gym leaders hand to hand.” Steven nodded, rather confused. “Yes? I know that love.” Wallace gave a slow nod. “So…. why would I have to worry about… someone tickling me?” Steven shrugged before simply saying: “Weakness to water”. What? “Dear you should really take that nap,” Wallace sighed as he turned his attention back to the suitcase. “I’m not made of water, Steven. Just as you’re not made of steel.” 

“I know that,” the other yawned out before laying back into the bed more. “But a Tangela could easily have you at it’s mercy.” Wallace still couldn’t figure out what his beloved was trying to say. “Steve, I don’t fight the pokemon. My pokemon fight trainers’ pokemon. There’s no reason for a tamed Tangela or Tangrowth to tickle me for a badge.” There was a long silence as Wallace started placing dirty clothes in the hamper and rocks on Steven’s dresser to be sorted later. “Oh, you found more mega stones I see,” he hummed; despite feeling it to be pointless to try to talk to his zombified boyfriend. 

‘Yeah,” Steven confirmed, sounding as if he was deep in thought. Wallace placed teh suitcase aside before climbing up the bed to lay beside the shorter. “We…. don’t…. Fight pokemon? But we fight pokemon.” God, Steven was so cute when he was sleep deprived. It was amusing to say the least. “We don’t touch the opposing pokemon. Our pokemon fight them.” Steven slowly started to nod. “You need that nap,” Wallace giggled. “Come on, I’ll help you change and then you can rest that poor brain of yours.” He ruffled the steel, slightly greasy locks of hair before feeling his wrist be gently grasped. “No,” Steven yawned softly. “I’m good,” he assured. “Your good? For the last twenty minutes you’ve been convinced that we fight challengers’ pokemon. Not that our pokemon do.” Steven nodded slowly nevertheless. “Mmmhmm. I’m good.” 

With that, he slowly started to get up to look for things to do to feel productive, but he found himself being pulled back onto the firm mattress. “No. You're going to rest,” Wallace insisted as he started to adjust Steven back on the bed. “I’ll fall asleep if I keep laying here,” Steven protested weakly. “And you’ll hurt yourself if you don’t,” Wallace lectured. However, his boyfriend wasn’t having it. Steven was starting to sit up again, only to be pushed back down. Steven huffed, pouting slightly before attempting to roll the green haired male off of him. “Are you seriously trying to roll me off you,” Wallace laughed as he pulled the other with him. 

“Yes. Wallace please, I’m f-pfff! Hey,” the champion giggled as he scrunched his shoulders into his neck. Well cared for nails gently fluttered against the soft, warm neck of the shorter; moving to the soft, right ear when the neck became unavailable. “Tangela for me huh? Blaziken would have some fun with you,” Wallace teased before moving to tickle the silk, button-up shirt-clothed chest. “Ehehehehehe! Mmmmm Wallace,” Steven whined as he rolled beside the taller. Wallace giggled before moving to sit on top of the other’s waist. Nimble fingers delicately moved to untuck the soft shirt from the pant line that tucked it away. Said fingers then carefully glided under the surface on the warm, taught stomach that danced below the gentle touch in an attempt to escape the touch. 

“W-Whahahahllace,” Steven laughed, reaching with a bit more coordination and energy for the assaulting digits. “Coochie, coochie, coo,” Wallace laughed before moving to squeeze at the shooter’s hips. Steven bucked, practically squawking through his adorable snorts that only encouraged his boyfriend to tickle the poor dork even more. “Hmm…. you seem a bit more awake now. Maybe I should move down to tickle thoe aching feet of yours, hm? A tickle massage sound ideal,” the water specialist teased softly. He looked over the other so adoringly, so lovingly. He hadn’t seen Steven in months, maybe two at the most, but still… it was more than one month! He just missed his significant other; the champion of the region who couldn’t be bothered to text or call back generally. Wallace had been rather lonely the last eight weeks.

However, said loneliness was over as suddenly Wallace snapped out of his daze. He felt a hand grasp his torso before gravity come up to meet his side with the comforter below him. Blinking in shock for a moment. Turquoise eyes sheepishly glanced up to see playful, steel ones looking back at them. Steven was panting softly, smirking playfully as his eyes scanned the other. “Thanks for the wake up dear,” he panted, continuing to gently pin his partner. “Ah, of course,” Wallace replied rather sheepishly. He wiggled slightly, testing Steven’s grip on him and weight balance. “No, truly,” Steven chuckled, moving to lay Wallace out on his back some while still sitting on him. 

“You’ve been nothing but caring since you came to greet me at the airport. Helping me into the passenger seat of your car, into my house. You even unpacked my luggage for me. Now you’ve woken me up enough to be productive and I really think my first task of productivity is thanking you.” Wallace felt his stomach fill with butterflies as he gently squirmed under the other. “You truly don’t have to dear, it was nothing,” Wallace attempted to bargain. However, both new that wasn’t going to happen. “I meant what I said earlier,” Steven chuckled as he sat back on Wallace’s pelvis. He gently placed a hand on the hardly clothed stomach with a small smile. “You do look nice, but I still don’t understand why you decided to expose so much skin. I mean, your hips are even exposed.” 

Wallace let out a giggle as his boyfriend started to tweak his bare hip gently. “Stheheheve!” Wallace felt his face heat up as he gently tried to bite his bottom lip. “Wallace,” Steven said softly. He truly could careless about the skin exposure. In all honesty, it was probably for Wallace to move around quicker, feel the ocean breeze on his skin, and bring more attention to himself and his pokemon during pokemon performances. “Oh? Trying not to laugh,” Steven practically purred as he leaned forward. He ceased teh attack on the taller’s hip before gently taking Wallace’s wrists and lifting his arms over his head. “Oh no,” Wallace giggled as he started to gently try to shift his legs and wiggle his feet. “Oh yes,” Steven whispered softly, huskily, into his lover’s ear. “You're going to kill me,” Wallace whined, turning in an attempt to avoid the soft lips that were attacking his ear with warm air. 

Steven rolled his eyes before gently kissing the warm cheek before him. “Don’t be so dramatic.” Wallace giggled slightly as Steven briefly and gently fluttered his fingers under one of his arms. “Ah, no,” Wallace squealed as he gently started to wiggle in his boyfriend’s grasp. Steven chuckled before leaning close to his lover’s ear. “Ah,” he fake sighed, “yes. Let’s start with these sensitive hallows, hm?” Wallace tried to hide his face in his arms, his breath already starting to go haywire from just the idea of being tickled by his sweet boyfriend. Steven wasn’t always so playful, but when he was, he made sure Wallace was enjoying himself as well. “Wrestling with me, ah, my bad. Tickle wrestling with me? Did you truly think I’d let you just walk away from that? Let alone let you truly start to tickle me?”

Wallace was slowly starting to giggle, twisting and turning in his boyfriend’s hold. “I haven’t even started to tickle you yet,” Steven laughed. “Why in the world are you laughing so soon? Could it be… you want me to tickle you? That you want to laugh so freely?” Wallace started digging his heels into the mattress, just wanting the other to start already. He’d missed Steven so much, and quite frankly, if this was how he was going to get cuddles out of the other, he was willing to “suffer” at the hands of the tickle monster. Regardless, one of them was going too for that cuddle time, Wallace was going to make sure of it. Of course, he fancied the idea of him getting revenge on the more ticklish later once cuddle mode had entered it’s full relaxation status much more than Steven gently trying to tickle him here and there at random not allowing them to get to such a state. 

“Coochie, coochie, coo,” Steven teased, hovering his fingers just above the delicate, hairless skin. Wallace bucked gently, shaking his head as he tried to compose himself. Clearly, it wasn’t working so well. “I’m gonna getcha,” Steven continued. “Have to make up for lost time, right? Would you like that?” Wallace was really laughing now. “Oh Stheheheven,” he whined. “Sthahahaop theheheasing!” Steven may be the more ticklish and typically the easier to tickle, but Wallace was weak to teases. The stupider, the better of a reaction. “Oh? You want to be tickled?” Wallace was pressing his head back into the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut. “Huh? Do you want to be tickled Wallace? The famous Wallace of Sootopolis. The water specialist who’s become a champion in the world of pokemon battling and performance, wants to be tickled at the hands of his boyfriend? Is that what your telling me?” 

Wallace started wiggling his feet desperately. “Steve sthahahahop,” he squealed. “You truly are a sight to behold,” Steven started. He moved his hand from the underarms to gently flutter his fingers under the exposed chin. Wallace let out higher pitched giggles, now trying to hide the area. “Such soft, radiant skin; glowing like the cleanest diamond.” Wallace’s face was right red at this point as the compliments and lack of air were affecting him. “Er, well, I guess ruby at this point. But I suppose it looks rather unique with such beautiful hair and matching eyes.” Wallace shook his head more frantically now. He may seem like the type to love compliments, but they always made him a little flustered. With Steven, they made him weak, like an old time cartoon girl being complimented by a bad boy she had a crush on. It was embarrassing but true. “Oh just tickle me,” Wallace begged. Steven stopped for a moment, a look of entertained shock on his face. “What,” he chuckled out in disbelief. “Did… did you just ask me to tickle you?” Wallace was silent, panting softly before daring to open his eyes slightly. 

“I haven’t been this close to you in months. If I can’t get you to sit still, can you at least stop teasing me,” he huffed before giggling as fingers slipped under his exposed underarms. ‘Anything you want dear,” Steen cooed as he slowly started to dig into the sensitive hollows more; earning louder laughter. “Oh shahahahit! S-Stheheheven, eek! Nhahahahahaha! N-No, no, no, no! Ghahahaha!” Music to the champion’s ears as he worked his way down to the half clothed rib cage, playing it like a piano…. kind of. He was a little sloppy. “You said you wanted me to tickle you, so that’s what I’m doing.” Wallace’s back was arched, his arms trying to fight him to cover the area as he tried to hold on to the top of the headboard or anything to keep him from bringing them down. 

“It took a little while longer, but Steven eventually stopped, just smiling down at the mess that was his boyfriend. No matter how dolled up Wallace tried to present himself as, or how “ugly” he could be with messy hair and blood shot eyes…. he was always just beautiful to Steven. Nothing he wore made him any less attractive, not emotion, no hair style, no time of day; Wallace was always just an image of beauty to him. He was like a rare stone amongst the humans Steven had met in his twenty five year of life. Wallace slowly pulled his arms down, panting quite heavily as he tried to calm down. 

Part of him was disappointed it was over, the other, glad to relax a bit. He slowly brought a hand up to wipe at his face. “Oh Arceus,” he sighed. “Oh, I didn’t over do it, did I,” Steven asked with slight concern as he used his coat to help wipe some of the tears of mirth from the flushed face. “Ah, just a little. My underarms are just…. ah, you know,” Wallace sighed as he gently clamped his hands under his arms. He sat up looking a bit sheepish, only to be pulled into a hug. Steven nuzzled into the other’s neck as arms struggled to free themselves to hug him back. “Steven come on,” Wallace sighed as he moved away slightly from his boyfriend. 

“What,” Steven asked with a bit of a pout. “Your…. your scruff,” Wallace huffed. “It tickles.” Steven sighed, rolling his eyes. “You know, I just want to cuddle now and you just have to be so sensitive huh?” Oh, was that how he was going to play? Wallace knew Steven was messing with him, but quite frankly, it was on. “Oh? Is that so? Well, if that’s the case.” Wallace pushed the other off of him before gently taking his boyfriend’s ankles into his arms with a smirk. “Well my dear, you should have jus settled for cuddles earlier.”

[dracoqueen22]

Checking In

Universe: The Prime’s Consorts/Consortium Rated: G/K+ Description: It’s the call Wheeljack’s been waiting for, but he still doesn’t expect to hear the good news from Ratchet’s own lips. Wrist-deep in one of his many projects, Wheeljack often ignores his communication console when it beeps at him or flashes at him or makes any amount of distracting attempts to get his attention. But when the special tone Wheeljack programmed specifically for Ratchet pings at his audials, Wheeljack scrambles to answer it, sending a container of tools crashing to the floor as he lunges for the acceptance key. He winces as the clatter of scattered tools echoes around his laboratory, but it’s a distant worry because the moment his fingers brush the key, Ratchet’s face fills the screen. Relief crashes over Wheeljack even harder than the tumbled tool chest. Especially when Ratchet gives him that wry grin. “Catch you at a bad time?” “Shut up,” Wheeljack says, his indicators flashing. He claws at the desk, dragging his wheeled chair around the tool detritus to get his face better in the screen. “I’ve been worried sick about you.” Ratchet arches an orbital ridge. “Think I can’t take care of myself?” “I think that having to watch you get on a shuttle meant for the Prime’s estate took decades off my spark-life,” Wheeljack replies tartly. Of course, Ratchet would be flippant about this. Of course. “How’re you? And be honest.” “When am I not?” Ratchet snorts, but his grin shifts into something more serious. “I’m actually… okay. Better than either of us could’ve hoped.” He might even be telling the truth, Wheeljack thinks.

Ratchet looks… good. Rested and polished, and his smile feels genuine. From what Wheeljack can see in the background, he’s in a berthroom, probably not the Prime’s but one of his own. Wheeljack doubts the Prime would make all of his Consorts stay in the same room with him, no matter how vile and lecherous they are. Ten is a lot to keep in that kind of space. Also, Ratchet doesn’t have a kinky collar around his neck, or manacles on his wrists, or any marks on his armor. Of course, this Prime could be the sort who likes to make sure his Consorts are pretty and polished to hide the scars. Wheeljack squints at his best friend. “Do I need to come to Iacon and blow up the Prime? Because I’ll do it, treason bedamned.” Ratchet, of all things, laughs. And it’s a genuine laugh, not one of Ratchet’s patented “I’m not okay but Wheeljack makes things a little better” laughs. “Please don’t,” he says. “I actually like this Prime.” Wheeljack sits back in his chair, sending it rolling into a heavy wrench. “Wait. Really?” “Really,” Ratchet says. He leans to the side, plants his chin on his fist. “He might actually be one of the good ones, Jack. So far, that’s what I’ve seen anyway.” His free hand touches his chassis. “I saw a lot of his truth.” “It’s not impossible to lie through a spark merge,” Wheeljack points out. “You know that.” They don’t mention the name Pharma. They don’t have to. “I do, and only time will tell if this Prime is a good liar, but… I don’t think he is,” Ratchet says, and there’s an almost awestruck tone to his voice that really throws Wheeljack for a loop. Ratchet is grumpy and pessimistic and jaded. He’s not a mech full of awe or hope. What kind of mech is Optimus Prime to inspire this kind of change in him? And is it genuine? Ratchet’s one of the smartest, most well-defended mechs Wheeljack knows, but there are plenty of mneumosurgery specialists running around on Cybertron. Past leadership has not hesitated to apply their specific talents. “Why not?” Wheeljack asks. Ratchet settles into his chair. “It’s the way he talks to us. He’s open-minded without it being condescending. Everything about him reads as genuine.” He makes a vague gesture. “He actually asked me what it would take for me to be comfortable, and not only did he listen, he took my words to spark.” It sounds too good to be true. A Prime genuinely taking interest in the well-being of his Consorts? Treating them as more than berth-mates or well-bred buymechs? Has Wheeljack stepped into an alternate dimension? “He’s made it pretty damn clear he hates the current Consort process, too,” Ratchet continues, because apparently there are more good things to say. Wheeljack has to admit, that’s a hefty amount of evidence leaning toward Optimus Prime being a halfway decent mech. “He wants to change Cybertron, Wheeljack. He’s asked us to help.” “And you believe him?” “He asked me to be his personal medic so yeah, I think I do,” Ratchet says, his optics dimming with serious contemplation. “There’s something different about this one, Jack. I’m sure of it.” He pauses and gives Wheeljack a wry look. “He’s not the first Prime I’ve met, remember?” Wheeljack rolls his optics. “I remember.” Ratchet’s old enough to have met at least two other Primes before Optimus, and he loves to remind Wheeljack how much older he is at every opportunity. It took forever for Ratchet to stop calling him “bratling.” He still does it now and again to tweak Wheeljack’s gears. “If he does even half the things he says he’s going to do, then we can all consider ourselves lucky,” Ratchet says, and there’s an odd earnest tone to his voice. “I’ve agreed to support him, or at the very least, not stand in his way.” Wheeljack has to meet this Prime, if he’s turned surly Ratchet into a mech daring to have an inch of hope these days. He pulls up a datapad out of range of the camera and starts looking up flights from Nova Cronum to Iacon proper. If the Prime won’t let him see Ratchet, well, that’s just proof he’s not all shiny brackets like he claims to be. A good Prime wouldn’t prevent best friends from visiting each other, now would he? “Ratchet, start from the beginning,” Wheeljack says, using his best no-nonsense voice. The one he uses on his apprentices to get them to stand up and obey and yes, absolutely, definitely employ the safety precautions that are there for a reason, you morons. Yes, I’m looking at you, Brainstorm. “Tell me everything,” Wheeljack continues as he divides his attention between his best friend and the available flights. He’s got plenty of creds saved up for an impromptu vacation and besides, Perceptor’s been begging for him to check out the lab in Iacon anyway. Two Scraplets, one shot and all that. “Especially about the other consorts,” Wheeljack adds. He knows who they are thanks to the public announcement that went up, but he doesn’t know them, and if any of them are mistreating Ratchet, well, Wheeljack has a few accidentally explosive gifts to give. “Give me the gossip everyone else isn’t going to get.” Ratchet laughs and gives him such a fond look, Wheeljack preens. “Alright you nosey slagger. Hope you don’t have anywhere to be today.” Wheeljack idly kicks a scattered tool away from his chair. “My time is all yours.” He books the first flight out. ***

[miraculous-ninjabird]

Just me ranting into he void nothing to see here

I hate how much doctors and nurses seem to blow off any concerning medical issue just because someone is overweight. I’ll admit it, I weigh more than I should due to a combination of reasons both in and out of my control. But I’m still (mostly) healthy and honestly it’s not usually an issue for me health wise when other chronic concerns are not involved.

The doctors, however, seem to think that me being overweight means I don’t have any real issues I need to lose weight. Thyroid flare up?Keep your medication (won’t up the dose) and lose weight and you’ll feel better (um hello difficulty losing weight is a textbook hypothyroid symptom?) Old knee injury giving you trouble? Lose weight and it won’t bother you anymore.

But the real kicker is my Chronic and yet-to-be-diagnosed stomach issue. I go to the doctor 2weeks ago because I am having a flare up and want them to investigate more while it’s actively happening (since insane wait times mean by the time I get into specialists it’s never still actively bothering me)

She recommends to eat less junk, more fiber, take a supplement and come back in 2 weeks if I don’t feel better. She won’t refer me to a specialist (who I can’t see without the referral thanks to insurance) and won’t prescribe me any nausea medication. Also tells me to exercise more.

Flash forward to now. I have lost 11lbs in those two weeks. I am now much closer to a ‘healthy’ weight. During those 2 weeks, Some days are okay but the majority of it leaves me sick and so nauseated I can’t do or eat much. I come in again. This time I see a different doctor. I beg for nausea relief so I can eat something and again ask for a specialist.

It’s like night and day. He gives me both things I asked for and told me I should have called sooner if my symptoms were really that bad. I tell him my symptoms are the same as they were last time, and remind him that I lost 11 lbs in those 2 weeks. He checks my chart and sees I am telling the truth. Genuinely seems shocked I didn’t get what I asked for the first time.

And maybe this was just that one doctor, but this has been an ongoing issue for years.

I had a flare up once where I lost 27(!) lbs over the course of a month and was hospitalized for it, along with my other symptoms. They only reason I was admitted is because the nurse noticed my weight loss in comparison to the previous TWO times I’d been to that ER. I was there for a week. My parents had been trying to get me proper treatment for months beforehand but every doctor they took me too didn’t seem to have any serious recommendations, and I never once got that specialist referral. The 6 weeks preceding my hospital stay I hadn’t been able to get out of bed or basically eat anything.

It makes me angry. I don’t have a point to this rant I just needed to yell.

LIKE PLEASE. TAKE MY COMPLAINTS SERIOUSLY BEFORE I END UP HOSPITALIZED INSTEAD OF TELLING ME I NEED TO LOSE WEIGHT. I’m not even far enough beyond the scale of healthy for my body that my weight should even be a concern for these people.

But whatever I guess they know my body better than I do

[rankdisasster]

look what you’ve done

Billy Hargrove x fem reader

“maybe a billy one of the aftermath of the reader and his first big argument? maybe the reader gives him the silent treatment??? (locks her window so he can’t sneak in, goes to school early so he can’t drop her off) your choice if it ends fluffy with a make-up or angsty :”)) I always hate telling a writer EXACTLY what to do, but this was just an idea I had in my head ♡” requested by @delqcour

word count: 2,421

warning(s): swearing, arguing

a/n: made this incredibly dramatic and emo, wanted to give reader a valid reason for doin him the silent treatment, so he’s a giant slime ball in this one. definitely don’t fall for this irl, Billy’s emotionally abusing the SHIT outta the reader in this one. in other words, angst!!!! also girl don’t worry about telling me details for a fic, it’s helpful !

—

You knew he didn’t mean to say what he said, but that didn’t excuse his actions. He crossed a line, and by the look of self hatred smothered all over his sorry face after the words left his mouth, you know he recognized how hateful and mean he sounded and he regretted it too.

“Don’t do that. Don’t pull that shit with me, Y/N. You know exactly what you’re doing, and I know what’s going through that head of yours,” Billy hissed in your ear, taunting you by getting up in your face, even laughing like a maniac as a scare tactic. Right now Billy looked like the poster boy for toxic masculinity and the green eyed monster. He puffed his chest out, making sure you feel smaller than him, and continued his accusations that went on for miles and miles.

It was quite the reach trying to punish you for touching someone else when he didn’t even have proper proof or any trust in you at all. In fact, it just sounded like insecurity bubbling to the surface that had been begging to be unleashed throughout yours and his entire relationship. The blonde backed you further into the corner of your room, wanting to put you in your place, make you feel intimidated. And you were. It was hard emotional labor you did, protecting him from others, but most of all protecting him from himself.

He’d been around the block before, cheated and been cheated on, and he thought in this critical stage of your relationship that you would’ve fled by now. That in this particular point in time it was make or break, so he chose the easy route; break. None of the unconditional love and care you showed made any sense to him, so he was on edge just looking for evidence that it was all just bullshit, that you’d betray him and then ultimately leave him like everybody else had in his life. And when he thought he finally saw the proof, you and your brother’s best friend talking close to eachother at his locker during passing period, he gave you his bratty attitude the rest of the day then backed you into the corner under your own roof not only tell you off, but to utterly disrespect you; not to mention wrongfully accuse you.

“Was he better than me? Bigger too? Mmhm, I bet he was, wasn’t he? Sweetheart,” he practically spat in your face when he didn’t care to wipe his mouth free of saliva as he continued to lecture you. You helplessly took the emotional beating he was giving as you exerted all the energy you had into not letting the tears brimming your scared eyes fall. You shook your head over and over, not finding the words to reassure him that he’s imagining things, and that this is not about you but about him.

“Not even gonna try denying it? Yeah, I fucking knew it. Nothing but a slutbag that just used me for my co—“

“ENOUGH already, you whiny fucking pig! I cannot believe what I’m hearing right now. Can you hear yourself? The way you’re talking to me right now, what you’re really saying?” You pushed his chest forward, not hard enough to wound him but not light enough to allow him to continue freely invading your space. That finally got him to shut the fuck up. “I’m the sluttiest slut, aren’t I? I sure am, because I just can’t keep my legs closed while giving my brother’s best friend the homework he missed! Insane, right?” You raised your voice then pointed your finger at him before he shoved it away from his face.

“Don’t point your fucking finger at me, look at what you’ve done!” His screams were soon replaced with whimpers as his voice grew weak, and in time faded to soft sobs that spriralled into hysterical bawling and you watched the scene unveil until the dam officially broke. He finally let go of all the anger and it got replaced with pathetic weeping. You let him crawl in your arms as you stayed standing while he sunk to his knees, wanting you to save him from himself once again. Pick up the pieces for him. You lowered down to his level and hugged him tight, hoping his tantrum was over so you could get him to finally talk to you and then a specialist. After ten to fifteen minutes, he rubbed his eyes like a child waking up from a nap, utterly exhausted and wiped out from thinking so much and feeling so scared of being replaced by another boy in your life. The tears eventually dried down his face, the mucus also drying from his nostrils, making him sniffle a handful of times. When he looked at you, he saw your own tears trailing down your shiny cheeks and he reached up to wipe them away before whispering, sounding completely broken;

“I’m still so angry with you.”

—

After the weekend went by, you both quietly agreed that you were due for a short break. However, the both of you neglected to communicate an important part and mention just how long the break should go on for, and he clearly thought he could step all over you then come crawling back the next Monday. You had been writing your analysis on one of Shakespeare’s stories for English with your stereo playing softly to keep your thoughts quiet. That’s when a rock nicked your window, and made you withdraw yourself from your assignment before investigating what it could be. And then another one flew, hitting the closed and covered window and by now you knew this was no accident.

You scrambled to quickly turn off your stereo and lower your lights down then hesitated when locking your window. It’s not that you were scared of him, but maybe more terrified of the daunting talk you’ll have to have with Billy in the near future that you just weren’t ready for emotionally. Having your boyfriend you strongly committed to spit at you and call you a whore in your face was hard to even think of alone without feeling nauseous and wanting to cry all over again. Now he was outside trying to come up to your room.

“Y/N!”

You layed low and shut your eyes, putting a hand over your mouth to stay silent, hearing him struggle to climb up before knocking on your window several times, then just giving up and attempting to open it.

“Babe, please. I want to talk. I’m ready now, and I’m sorry. I can wait till you’re ready, too. No pressure. I said some horrible shit, but I’ll — I’ll see someone, then I’ll m-make it up to you, and we can kiss and make up like old times, yeah?”

A minute later and no response on your end, Billy knew it was a no go. It was a long shot to even think she would open her window anyway. Soon he just said his goodbyes, ending it with a soft “I love you” and you heard him jump back down and start his car below and drive off. Finally you felt like you were able to breathe, and threw yourself back into your bed while covering yourself head to toe in your comforter and turned up your music louder than it was before he came, blocking out everything as sobs wrecked through you.

—

Billy was getting shakey and worried without you, drinking way more than what he’s used to, and it’s always whenever he looked in the mirror at himself or saw something that remotely related to an inside joke he had with you, or if it reminded him of your scent, your hair, or even your body. He had done enough self deprecating sober, now he just pitied himself as he drank.

You never shut him out as long as this, and he knew it was bad this time, really fucking bad. The teenager was aware that he deserved all that’s coming to him, but he just couldn’t believe you were really gonna do it. You weren’t going to speak to him, or acknowledge anything. You were going to lock your window whenever he tried to come over, and head to school early every morning so he couldn’t drive you anymore, even take great lengths to hide from him at lunch, which was usually a time you two spent together making out in his car or just talking.

Billy didn’t bother hiding how much of a mess he was at school or anywhere else without you by his side, showing up late to class with bags under his bloodshot eyes. He knew there was an opportunity hidden in this breakup, he could better himself instead, try harder to be a better more understanding and forgiving person. He could grow, and eventually maybe even win you back. Even though he knew he’d be pushing his luck pretty far.

But he just wasn’t capable of handling any of it on his own.

Knowing that this was probably the end of Billy and Y/N, he thought of one last resort at taking to you before he said goodbye.

—

You opened your curtains to reveal yourself this time when he knocked on your room window, but kept it shut as he looked at you through the glass, seeing your face for the first time in days. He couldn’t stop himself from staring at you while you just couldn’t look at him. He waved sheepishly before blowing his hot breath on your window, then writing “hi” with his fingertip on the fog he had made. You shook your head, then wondered what he wanted this time.

“If I let you in, what happens? Are you gonna cry and yell at me again?” You ask, your voice not hiding that you were close to tears and twiddling your fingers to try keeping busy. Billy grimaced at your words, even though they were muffled through the window he still clearly made out what you asked and it wasn’t looking good, he knew that. Couldn’t swoop you off your feet this time, or make a mess and have you clean it up because he was incapable and selfish.

“Checking up on you,” Billy murmurs, scrubbing his eyes in hopes it will keep them from watering. “I need to know that you’re taking care of yourself. I know how you get when you’re upset,” he finishes lamely, and although it was true he also just missed your voice, hearing it comforted him in a way. Made him feel like it was a shield from all harm. He held his breath as he carefully observed your every move, then almost gasped aloud when you unlocked your window and shoved the sliding glass open, allowing him in. It didn’t take him longer than a beat to come in, nearly too big to fit through the damn thing and knocking over things that were in the way, cursing and rapidly picking up what had fallen from his clumsiness. Wiping his sweaty palms at his jeans, he cautiously looks to you before lowering to your level where you sit.

“Have you been eating, baby? Drinking enough water?” He gently asks, seeing you look significantly different. More tired and exasperated than he’d ever seen you, and it was because of him.

All because of what he’d done.

Billy chokes another apology before grabbing your head with both hands and embracing you in his chest, helpless in keeping his soft sobs in. You’re no better, clutching at his jacket for life. You had battled yourself for the past week, not knowing if it would be healthy for you to go back to him and let him get away with treating you the way he did, saying the things that he said. Billy hadn’t ever thought about the affect he had on people, that words hurt even if they’re said in anger and not necessarily true in the long run.

“Your folks home right now? I kinda didn’t look for any cars in the driveway. I just climbed up here when I saw your light,” he mumbled as his lips layed kisses at the top of your head before smoothing our your hair and brushing our little tangles with his fingers.

“Dinner. They’re at dinner,” you answer, not letting him go from your grasp even if he wanted to. You’ve missed loving him and despised hating him.

“Wanna go eat? You also need to get hydrated, babe. I’m really sorry. I — I know I did this to you,” he gets the hair away from your face before caressing you’re cheek.

“I’m real sensitive, Billy. I have feelings and you — you scared me. Scared the shit out of me and just — you’re such a bully, and now you want to feed me, make it all better again? Erase it?” You let out, watching him crumble and look down in shame.

“‘M not, I know I can’t take it back. I just wanna take it fucking back,” he scrubs his face and drags his nails down his cheeks, making his skin turn a light pink. You pulled his hands away from himself to stop him, then held both his hands in yours.

“How is Max doing?”

“Huh?” Billy looked up.

“Max. I asked how your sister is doing,” you repeat for him.

“Oh, um, she like won this skateboarding contest thing. Got a free board for a prize, so she’s pretty happy, the little twerp.”

“Yeah?” You smile. “Good for her.”

“Mmhm,” he hums, stroking your hand in his. “I won’t ask you to forgive and forget, but just— I want to stay in touch, please? Knowing that you’re doing okay and all that. Sweet Jesus, did you even drink any water like I asked?” You snorted at the last part of his speech before he gets up to snatch a paper cup from the restroom and fills it to the brim, handing it to you and demanding you gulp it down while he watches. You roll your eyes but do it anyway, and you can’t hide that it tastes good given you hadn’t been taking good care of yourself lately. Billy stands and fills it for you three more times without being prompted, watching you drink it all.

“Happy?” You ask. He gives you a grin and fills up the same cup you used and drinks it himself while eyeing you playfully.

“Never happier, actually.”

—

if you wanna, you could listen to “look what you’ve done” by Jet, it’s soooo good and moody and that’s where I got the vibe for this.

[kk095]

Last Ride

Here's my latest story! @defibresuslover247 gave me the idea and @eyesfixedanddilated gave me a few pointers along the way. I hope everyone enjoys!

****

Brooke was a 22 year old with a full, busty figure, dirty blonde hair, and blue eyes. She was a southern girl, born and raised in eastern Tennessee. She was always a bit of a tomboy and enjoyed outdoor activities like hunting, fishing, and riding ATV's.

The night of the incident started off normally. Brooke’s older brother Mike had received a nice tax return that year and decided to splurge a little bit by purchasing a new ATV. Since he knew his younger sister was into riding ATV's, he invited her to try it out with him.

The two siblings went out into a vacant 20 acre lot on the outskirts of town. This particular plot of land had plenty of hills and open areas, so a lot of ATV enthusiasts in the area enjoyed riding there. When the 2 of them got there, Mike parked his blue Ford F150 along a dirt path about 50 yards or so from the road. Mike got the ATV out from the small trailer attached to the back of his truck and the riding began.

For the first hour or so, the 2 siblings were having fun in the outdoors. They were zipping up and down the hills, through the dirt paths, and had a few beers along the way. But as time went on, the drinking and lack of light once the sun set took its toll. While Brooke was riding the ATV by herself, she went was riding downhill at a high rate of speed, losing track of her speed. Her chest hits the handlebars before she goes flying off the vehicle. She lands hard on the ground, striking her head and left side of her face. While tumbling down the hill, the ATV rolls violently down the hill, stomping right over Brooke’s right femur before continuing on down. Brooke screamed at the top of her lungs, feeling her right femur snap like a twig and slightly protruding through her jeans. Brooke’s wild trip down the hill came to an abrupt stop when her left arm and ribcage smashed into the side of a tree.

“Holy shit… BROOKE?!” Mike shouted from the top of the hill after watching the event unfold in horror. “Brooke?! BROOKE?! You ok?!” Mike yells as he starts to run down the hill. At the bottom of the hill, Brooke was screaming out in agonizing pain. She could see a bone fragment penetrating through her jeans on her right thigh, and her left arm was badly broken. She felt a bit dizzy, and could the stinging from open cuts and blood on the left side of her face. Her left humerus, which broke the fall into the tree at the bottom of the hill, was swollen and had some obvious deformities. Brooke tried to get up, but she obviously couldn’t. She sat on the ground squirming and crying, begging her brother to help.

When Mike got to the bottom of the hill, he was taken aback by his sister’s injuries. He stood lorna deer in headlights for a few seconds before whipping out his cell phone to call 911. The call was transcribed as the following:

911 dispatcher: 911, what is your emergency?

Mike: I need an ambulance! My sister’s hurt real bad!

911 dispatcher: Sir, please remain calm. Can you tell me the location of your emergency?

Mike: we’re on that vacant lot off of highway 501 with all the hills and paths! You gotta hurry, I think she’s hurt bad!

911 dispatcher: alright sir, police and EMS are en route. Can you tell me what happened?

Mike: She flipped off the ATV and rolled down the hill. There’s a bone sticking out of her leg!

Due to the extent of her injuries, the 911 dispatcher instructed Mike to refrain from first aid and just stay with his sister to keep her calm. Since the vacant lot was outside of town, it was going to take the ambulance at least 10-15 minutes to arrive on scene. But with the amount of pain Brooke was experiencing, those 10-15 minutes would feel like an eternity.

When EMS arrived on scene, they found Brooke screaming and crying in agony and Mike panicking, feeling semi responsible since this was all his idea. The medics instructed Mike to step away and give them space to examine Brooke.

The medics noted a few injuries immediately: open right femur fracture, left humerus fracture, facial+head lacerations, and some bumps on her head. The medics placed a c-collar since a spinal cord injury was within the realm of possibilities. The medics then removed Brooke’s socks, shoes, and snipped off her jeans so they can reset the open femur fracture. Brooke winced in pain while the 2 medics wiggled the pants off after making a few cuts with trauma shears. Next, the medics reduced the open femur fracture, which cause Brooke to scream loudly in pain for a second. Once the bone was below the skin and somewhat in its ’s normal place, the laceration from the bone protrusion was bandaged up and the area was splinted off. The next order of business was to focus on the humerus injury. There was obvious swelling and deformity, consistent with a displaced oblique fracture within the humerus. The upper left arm was also reset and splinted, causing Brooke a great deal of pain. After the arm was treated, the medics quickly bandaged up some of the head lacerations and abrasions and began setting up 2 large bore IVs. After IV access was obtained, normal saline was hung, but the medics refrained from administering pain medications since alcohol was smelled on Brooke’s breath, and there were beer cans scattered across the ground just up the hill. Brooke’s top was then cut off, sparing her black bra and matching underwear. A 5 lead ECG with a portable heart monitor was set up to obtain readings for her vital signs. On scene, Brooke’s vitals were: BP 87/49, Pulse 121, o2 saturation 94%. Brooke was placed onto a backboard and taken over to a gurney, and taken into an ambulance.

Mike begged and pleaded with EMS to ride in the ambulance with them, but they told him he couldn’t. “THAT’S MY FUCKIN SISTER! LET ME IN!” Mike shouted belligerently. One of the cops on scene offered a compromise: since he had too much to drink, they’d drive him to the hospital.

During the first part of transport, Brooke was a little short of breath, so an o2 mask with high flow oxygen was placed. The medic in the back of the ambulance lowered their stethoscope onto the girl’s chest and listened to her heart and lungs. “heart sounds good, but we’ve got diminished breath sounds on the left. Might be a tension pneumo.” The medic announced to the driver afterwards. The medic also noted that there was swelling and bruising on the side of her chest along her left ribcage, consistent with possible rib fractures or dislocation.

Over the following 10 minutes or so, Brooke’s condition changed a bit. Her GCS dropped to 10, and became a bit disoriented. Her systolic BP dropped into the upper 70s, and her heart rate was approaching the 130s. With this in mind, the medics became concerned about a potential head injury. The medics checked her pupils: right pupil was reactive, and the left pupil (injured size) had the early stages of dynamic oval pupil. Essentially, her left pupil had a slight oval, or almond shape. This is typically associated with eye trauma, optic nerve injuries, or brain bleeds originating from the back of the head. Since there wasn’t sufficient evidence of trauma to the eyes/optic nerve, it appeared a head injury was within the realm of possibilities. “Hey, what’s our ETA? GCS dropped to 10 and we’ve got a DOP in the left eye. She needs a head CT ASAP.” The medic in the back of the ambulance called out. “ETA 4 minutes. Hang in there…” the driver replied. The ambulance continued speeding down the road, sirens on full blast while Brooke continued to struggle in the back. She was squirming around and groaning in pain. “Miss, you gotta stay still for me, ok?” the medic said calmly, attempting to reason with brooke. Brooke began crying again while fidgeting around and kicking her healthy leg out. “Miss! You gotta stay calm!” the medic said more sternly, grabbing ahold of Brooke trying to hold her in place. Brooke quickly became inconsolable and demonstrated an altered mental status. “she’s definitely got a brain bleed or something…” the medic thought to themselves. Brooke needed to stay still due to her femur fracture, and because a spinal/neck injury hasn’t been ruled out. Since there was no getting through to Brooke, the medic decided to push a round of rocuronium. This medication is a strong muscle relaxer and paralytic agent, so it’s used as a chemical restraint when patients consume alcohol since alcohol doesn’t mix well with other agents commonly used.

Within 30 to 45 seconds, Brooke was knocked out by the medication. Since she was now unconscious, the medic decided to perform rapid sequence intubation on her for airway management. With a laryngoscope in 1 hand, the medic maneuvered a 7.0 ET tube into the girl’s airway. Once it was at the correct depth and place, the tube was secured with a blue tube holder, and an ambu bag was attached. For the remainder of the ambulance ride, Brooke remained hypotensive and tachycardic, and her GCS was still bouncing between 9 and 10.

Upon arrival at the ER, the medics gave the trauma team a brief rundown of Brooke’s condition as they wheeled her into an available trauma bay. Once in the room, Brooke was transferred onto the table and examination began. She was immediately started on blood transfusions- 1 unit A+ and 1 unit O- with 250 units of rhogam, 1 unit of platelets, and 1 unit of FFP. Multiple specialists were paged for consults, including: orthopedics, neurosurgery, and trauma surgery. While waiting on the specialist to arrive for their respective consultations, initial examination began. A FAST scan was performed first. The chest portion of the exam showed trace pericardial effusion, minor to moderate abdominal bruising but nothing potentially lethal, and the pelvic section came back clean. Multiple x-rays were then ordered: the x-ray of the arm confirmed displaced oblique humerus fracture, which would likely require surgical reduction with rods and pins. The chest x-ray showed 2 broken ribs and 1 dislocated rib on the left side of the thorax, along with bruising and swelling in the intercostal area. The chest x-ray also revealed a left sided tension pneumothorax with pleural effusion, which appeared to be caused from air escaping into the chest cavity, which pinched and pressed up against the lining of the lung. The next x-ray was of the femur fracture. The fracture was quite extensive, which required surgical reduction and many months of physical therapy in order to heal properly. The x-ray of Brooke’s head showed no evidence of a c-spine fracture, but there were some contusions on the skull and there didn’t appear to be any fractures; a head CT was still necessary to get a better understanding of her head injuries.

In the meantime, the trauma team decided to do what they could for her. The first order of business was to deal with the tension pneumothorax on the left side. The treatment for this was placing a chest tube in order to evacuate any air or blood. The procedure started after the area in between her ribs was sterilized. A 1 inch incision was made in the skin, followed by an additional one to cut through any fat and underlying tissue. Once a decent opening was created, a 36fr chest tube was placed into the incision area, and navigated deep into the pleural space. There was a small amount of blood drained from the tube, but a substantial amount of air exited the tube, allowing proper lung expansion once again.

Another concern arose in the coming minutes. The lower half of Brooke’s left leg was a bit discolored and cold. Her dorsalis pedis pulse was weak, so compartment syndrome was a legitimate issue here.

When orthopedics arrived, they wanted to set up pressure monitoring in the thigh to see if compartment syndrome was indeed taking place. But the orthopedic surgeon and neurosurgeon were in a bit of a disagreement. “if we don’t monitor her leg, she could lose it!” the orthopedic surgeon said. “well if we don’t get a head CT, she could die! I’d rather her lose her leg than her life!” the neurosurgeon replied smugly. The trauma surgeon offered a compromise: a fasciotomy in the emergency department. Typically, this is a procedure reserved for the operating room, but this was an emergent situation that required a quick decision. Everyone quickly got on board and the procedure was started in a moment’s notice.

Betadine was squirted on the right thigh and the bandage was removed from the splinted compound fracture. A scalpel was used to make 2 deep, long incisions in the thigh. Once the skin was incised, the underlying fat and tissue was cut out so proper bloodflow and blood drainage could take place. Her right calf and right foot immediately became a more normal complexion, and the dorsalis pedis pulse was stronger than it was just a minute or two ago. The freshly opened area was then irrigated with saline and prophylactic antibiotics to decrease the chance of infection, and the wound was somewhat closed with the shoelace suturing technique.

After the fasciotomy, Brooke’s blood pressure began to take a rapid nosedive. Vasopressors were pushed in an attempt to increase BP to a more stable level, and more blood products were hung. While trying to maintain BP, the young woman began to have a tonic-clonic seizure on the ER table. Brooke jerked and flopped erratically, biting down on the ET tube and grunting every few seconds. Her toes clenched up, wrinkling the soles of her size 8.5 feet. To combat the seizure, the trauma team acted quickly by injecting 1 dose of lorazepam intravenously in order to stop the convulsions. It was my like the tv shows where the medicine take immediate effect. In reality, it takes about 45 seconds for the meds to kick in. In those 45 seconds or so, Brooke’s twitchy, spasmodic movements slowed down incrementally until she finally settled down and stopped seizing.

After the seizure was controlled, Brooke was covered up and transported to radiology for a head CT. The GCS drop, altered mental status, DOP, and seizure were all associated with a brain bleed. Once in the CT scanner room, Brooke was transferred into the table and hooked up to a portable ventilator since nobody could be in the room with her during the scan. Prior to the scan, she was given another dose of vasopressors to keep her blood pressure semi stable since she was hypotensive. Pupil reactivity was checked before the scan as well- left pupil was sluggish and still oval shaped, and the right pupil was constricted.

The head CT took about 8 minute to complete. The results of the scan were interpreted quickly: there was a subdural hematoma in the left temporal lobe. The size of the bleed was definitely noteworthy, so the neurosurgeon wanted to drill a burr hole to alleviate the pressure in the cranium and then monitor Brooke with an intracranial pressure monitor to see if an additional surgery would be warranted.

Once the plan was made, Brooke was once again whisked away and back to the trauma bay for a quick burr hole and ICP monitor insertion. The procedure quickly commenced upon return to the ER. A portion of Brooke’s hair was shaved off on the left side and the pasty white skin was sterilized with a small amount of betadine. The neurosurgeon took a surgical drill and drilled 2 holes. The first one was made in the left temporal area to alleviate pressure and create immediate blood drainage. Thick, gooey blood oozed out of the small, circular hole in her skull after it was drilled. The coagulated blood was suctioned out, allowing proper release of the fresh blood from the active bleed. The 2nd hole was drilled in the left parietal area. The purpose of this 2nd hole was for insertion of an ICP monitor and to allow room for additional draining in the event the bleed worsened. After hole #2 was drilled, the ICP monitor was inserted and set up by the neurosurgeon, and a few small drainage tubes were inserted to help drain additional blood in an attempt to restore normal pressure within the skull. The next step of Brooke’s treatment was to take her to the OR for surgical reduction of both her femur fracture and humerus fracture.

Up in the OR, Brooke was hooked up 5o a ventilator and prepped for surgery. The anesthesiologist had some concerns about her blood pressure before surgery, so it was advised that trauma surgery would sit in on the surgery, and have neurosurgery on standby. With her BP still low, a repeat echocardiogram showed that the trace pericardial effusion had worsened in the past little while. Before the surgery started, the trauma surgeon performed an infrasternal pericardiocentesis. The quick procedure drained a decent amount of blood and slightly improved Brooke’s vitals, buying the surgical team enough time to work on the orthopedic injuries.

The orthopedic surgeon began with the humerus fracture. The original plan was to hold the bone in place with some plates and screws, but once the doctor got in there, they noticed damage to the proximal head of the humerus. When there’s damage to that portion of the bone, they have to replace it with a titanium joint that’s held in place with screws. Essentially, it’s like a hip replacement in your arm. It’s not a common situation, but it happens every so often, and the surgical team was prepared for that curveball. Part 2 of the orthopedic surgery was the femur repair. A long, thin metal rod was inserted into the femur after the medullary cavity of the bone was essentially scooped out. With the rod in place, the fractured portions of the bone were lined up and then held in place with small plates with titanium screws. Overall, the orthopedic portion of Brooke’s treatment went well, but since she was hemodynamically unstable and required monitoring for a head injury, she was sent off to the ICU for monitoring.

Brooke’s first few hours in the ICU were uneventful, but changes started to occur overnight. Around 3am, her blood pressure began to drop once again, along with an alternating QRS complex on the EKG. The ICU nurses decided to page a rapid response since the changes were concerning. When the trauma surgeon arrived, they pushed a round of vasopressors and hung 1 unit of FFP since there may be some residual bleeding and damage. The doctor’s next order was a repeat echocardiogram to monitor the progression of the pericardial effusion. The echo showed that Brooke was experiencing cardiac tamponade, so once again, an infrasternal pericardiocentesis was the way to go. The needle aspirated a combination of both clotted blood and fresh blood, but cardiovascular function slightly improved after the procedure. Brooke’s pupils were checked afterwards; they were sluggish but reactive, and the dynamic oval pupil was slowly going away. The ICP monitor was showing normalizing pressure in the skull, so it appeared the head injury was on a slow and steady course towards healing. The main concern was the chest injury at that point.

Approximately an hour later, Brooke began to struggle once again. Her blood pressure was still low and her chest tube output decreased. Upon further investigation, it was discovered that there was a blood clot lodged inside of her chest tube. Treatment for this is disconnecting the drainage portion of the chest tube and suctioning the lumen of the tube out until normal output returns. But when the tube drainage is disconnected in trauma patients (because a larger chest tube is required), you run the risk of re-aggravating the tension pneumothorax, so this has to be done rather quickly so excess air doesn’t get into the tube or the patient’s chest cavity.

With the trauma surgeon supervising, the drainage portion of the chest tube was disconnected. A suction tube was placed into the chest tube and the chunk of clotted blood about the size of a pea was slurped out, allowing normal flow and drainage to occur once again. But even after the chest tube was reconnected, Brooke’s blood pressure was still low. A 3rd echocardiogram was ordered, showing a sizable tamponade in the lateral portion of the pericardium. With this continuing to occur, and getting worse, the trauma surgeon decided to page cardiothoracic surgery and immediately take Brooke up to the OR for an exploratory thoracotomy and pericardial window.

While wheeling Brooke out of the ICU, her blood pressure suddenly became dangerously low. “shit, she’s gonna code. We need to get her up there ASAP!” the trauma surgeon blurted out with urgency. The ICU team wheeled Brooke through the corridors at full speed and into an available elevator. No more than a second after the elevator doors shut, Brooke became pulseless. The heart monitors showed pulseless electrical activity, so ACLS protocol promptly began. One nurse began pumping away at Brooke’s bare chest. The 22 year old's chest sunk deeply from the strength of each individual compression. Her chubby body and large, natural breast jiggled around a bit while another nurse injected epinephrine and atropine into one of the IV sites.

A nurse got on top of the gurney and began straddling the young woman, delivering strong, repetitive compressions. A few moments later, the elevator doors swung open and Brooke was wheeled out and into the main hallway of the OR floor. “whoa, what happened?” one of the nurses at the main nurses station asked, surprised to see an active code out in the open.

The team continued wheeling Brooke through the hall, compressions ongoing. Once in the correct operating room, the code was paused for a moment in order to transfer the woman onto the OR table. The monitors chirped loudly while Brooke’s limp body was transferred onto the table. Once on the table, CPR was restarted by one of the surgical nurses. “oh boy… what a mess. We’re gonna have to open her up ASAP. Get me a thoracotomy tray…” the head surgeon called out as they walked into the room. Since the heart monitors still showed PEA, CPR just went on. Redness and bruising started to form on the center of her chest in between both breasts due to all the hard compressions she was receiving. There was a popping sound that occurred during each individual compression since a few of her ribs became fractured or dislocated. The nurse that delivered compressions could feel Brooke’s cold, clammy skin through her gloves while everyone else in the room was scurrying around and barking orders at each other in what seemed like a moment of organized chaos.

While the surgical techs set up a thoracotomy tray, an OR nurse pushed the next round of intravenous meds since Brooke just crossed the 4 minute mark of the code. The meds didn’t have an immediate effect, but were able to convert Brooke to v-fib after approximately 45 seconds or so. With defib pads already attached to Brooke’s bare chest, they were charged to 200j and a shock was delivered. Brooke’s limp body jolted abruptly on the table in response to the quick dose of electricity. Since no change occurred, CPR resumed for several seconds until the defibrillator pads were recharged.

Seconds later, everyone backed away from the table and a 300j shock was delivered. Brooke’s back arched, forcing her chest up in the air, making her breasts bounce around. Shock #2 failed to convert Brooke from v-fib, so the surgeon took over and made the executive decision to open her chest via a left anterolateral thoracotomy.

Betadine was splashed across the left side of Brooke’s chest in a moment’s notice. With CPR ongoing just inches away, an incision was made in the 5th intercostal space. The cut began just to the left of Brooke’s sternum and extended laterally. The incision continued under her left breast, and ultimately came to a stop a few inches away from her left armpit. The next step was to separate and cut through the underlying tissue in order to create an opening for the rib spreader. This took about 15 or 20 seconds since it was done at a hurried pace. With that out of the way, the finochietto rib spreader was placed in the gaping cut, and the actual opening of the chest began. A cracking sound was heard regularly while the knobs were turned, forcing the 22 year old’s ribs apart.

The OR team was greeted by a rush of blood from the chest cavity upon cracking the chest. Suction was applied to the area and a 2nd chest tube was inserted for additional drainage. With the excess blood out of the way, a pericardiotomy was performed. A quick cut was made into the lining of the heart, which leaked a combination of fresh blood and coagulated blood. The incision in the pericardium was extended to deliver the heart more effectively, and a few small drains were placed into the incised portion of the pericardium for continuous tamponade drainage.

After these critical first few steps, external compressions were swapped out for internal massage. One of the doctors wrapped their hands around Brooke’s heart. They pushed hard and fast in an upwards motion with both their thumbs on the left ventricle in order to force blood through the aorta and out to the body. The doctor could feel Brooke’s heart twitching in their hands as they desperately attempted to reverse the dire situation.

V-fib still persisted after a cycle of internal compressions and another dose of meds, so the internal paddles were called for. The large, spoon shaped paddles were charged to 20j and placed directly against the desperate, spasming organ. After everyone backed away, the first internal shock was delivered. A dull, wet thump was heard, followed by her torso twitching a bit. Her heart fluttered for a second from the direct jolt of electricity, but it quickly returned to its erratic spasming from before. Internal compressions were resumed while a vascular clamp was placed on the descending aorta near the diaphragm. The purpose of this is to temporarily redirect bloodflow back to the heart, brain, and lungs since those organs are most essential. After the large vessel was clamped, the internal paddles were prepped once again, and placed around each side of the young woman’s heart. Shock #2 was a but stronger at 30 joules, causing more noticeable reaction. Brooke’s torso flopped slightly and her toes curled up, wrinkling the soles of her size 7.5 feet. This shock failed to correct the deadly arrhythmia, so resuscitation efforts went on. A cycle of internal massage was performed while the internal paddles were recharged to 40j. After the paddles were good to go, the third internal shock was delivered. The same dull thump as before filled the room for a moment while Brooke’s battered body twitched on the table. The monitors began chirping again, continuing to show v-fib.

The same cycle of internal compressions, shocking and meds continued again…and again…and again, but the OR team just couldn’t get their young patient’s heart to restart. Despite a 26 minute code, Brooke passed away in the OR, with her time of death being called at 5:02am. The monitors were switched off and the ambu bag was detached. Additional equipment such as the EKG electrodes and IVs were removed in the eerily silent OR. Brooke’s naked, battered body laid on the table. Her heart sat motionless in plain sight during the basic postmortem preparations. Eventually, the chest tubes were removed, the ICP monitor was taken out, and the chest was closed up. A cover was placed over Brooke’s body, and a toe tag was placed before sending her off to the hospital morgue, bringing a sad ending to the case.

[pokemon-tickles]

For my request, can you write a tickle fic where Hala tickles Kukui please? You can write it however you see fit, but I'd like it if Hala put more emphasis on Kukui's chest and barefeet please. What do you think?

(I think it can be done, sorry for the delay!)

“Return, Crabominable!”

The snow crab pokemon returned to its pokeball obediently, as Hala began to pack up to leave.

“Hala! Wait, I have a favor to ask!”

Said Kahuna turned to face the incoming voice, noticing Kukui holding what appeared to be a list of some kind.

“I need your help. You’re a fighting type specialist, so I need you to use some of your moves on me! I want to test their strength!”

Hala chuckled. “Well, let’s see the list you brought me then.” Upon taking the list, Hala was drawn to one move in particular that Kukui still needed. Not a fighting-type move, but the old Kahuna was an expert in this field.

Tickle.

He chuckled, pocketing the list for now.

“So, Kukui, I think I can help you with one of these moves today. But I’m going to need you to be restrained.”

Kukui’s eyes widened a bit, but he didn’t question Hala, knowing that he would never hurt him. “Sure.”

After some prep-work, Kukui’s wrists were tied behind him around a pole of bamboo, and he sat in a wooden seat, his lab coat draped on the back of said seat. He tested the restraints, finding that it was a lot more sturdy than he had initially given it credit for. He gulped.

Hala’s voice snapped him out of his daze. “Seems like all is ready then. Let’s see how much you can take. Simply say ‘Absorb’ and I’ll stop.”

Kukui nodded, ready for whatever fighting-type move awaited him.

“Say, Professor… Are you ticklish?”

Oh no. This is not what he had in mind. This might be bad.

“N-Not really... “

“Now, Kukui, you know I don’t appreciate it when people lie to me.”

Hala dug his fingers into Kukui’s sides, watching as he immediately bucked, barking out a sharp laugh. This was going to be fun.

“I’ll give you a chance to make it up to me, Professor. I want you to tell me where else you’re ticklish.”

“M-My chehehehest!”

“Hah, very good.”

Hala gave Kukui a small break as he reached into his bag, pulling out a Toucannon feather that he had found earlier. 

“Oh nohoho…” Kukui giggled, already knowing how badly those things tickled.

Hala smiled at the nervous man, moving the feather softly over his bare chest. 

“Ehehehe-!” Kukui chuckled, squirming a bit, but otherwise not moving. Hala spent some more time in the area before he was struck with an idea. A truly evil idea. Hala pulled out a brush, watching Kukui visibly blush at the thought.

“Nonononono-!”

“I don’t hear a safeword.”

Hala moved the brush closer to Kukui’s chest, giving him one last chance to back out. When he didn’t hear anything, he struck. 

“AHAHahahaha!”

Kukui began thrashing wildly, to no avail. He couldn’t escape the brush, each bristle gently digging into his sensitive chest. 

As badly as the sensations tickled, and as much laughter that was pouring out of the poor professor, he could still handle it! Until Hala looked down at his feet. Kukui must have made a panicked squeak, as Hala began using the brush there instead.

Kukui went wild with laughter, begging and pleading through his laughter, unable to take how sensitive his own two feet were. 

“Plehehehease Hala! Toohoohoo much! Ahahaha- AH!”

Hala added in the Toucannon feather from earlier, twirling it between his toes.

The Pokemon Professor wheezed, gulping in air when he could, the dual sensations driving him mad. Kukui realized it was a mistake to have the move ‘tickle’ on that list when handing it to the resident tickle monster of Iki Town. He had always heard from Hau how fierce Hala was when it came to tickling, but he could never imagine it being as intense as this.

Meanwhile, Hala was in awe of the professor. Kukui was still holding strong, his stomach and chest heaving with laughter, a goofy smile plastered across his face. But it was time to end it. Hala knew exactly what would send the Professor overboard.

“5…”

Hala started counting. What could he be planning? Kukui’s laughter grew up in pitch as he began to fill with ticklish glee at the thought.

“4…”

The brush returned to his chest as the feathers continued their work on his feet.

“3…”

Hala began to scooch closer.

“2…”

He moved his face right next to Kukui’s stomach, and immediately he knew what was about to happen. “DOHOHON’T YOU DARE!”

“1…”

PFFFFT! Hala pressed his lips to the Professor’s belly and blew as hard as he could, sending the him into hysterics. Hala blew two more before he heard his queue.

“ABSORB!”

Hala stopped entirely, watching as Kukui greedily sucked in air, coughing slightly.

“I’m sorry, was it too much?”

Kukui chuckled, feeling phantom tingles all over his body. 

“No, I’m fine… Just… Whoo! Hau wasn’t kidding when he called you the tickle monster, huh?”

Hala threw his head back and laughed, beginning to untie the exhausted move expert.

“I suppose not. Now you should go home and get some rest, and drink a lot of water. I’m sure you’re all tickled out now.”

Kukui nodded, picking up his coat and slinging it over his shoulder.

“Thanks for the help, Hala. Keep in touch.”

Hala looked at the list once more, crossing out ‘tickle’ before putting it in his pocket. Kukui would be back, he was sure, but at least he got to see him laugh.

[huntsman-ash]

RWBY V8 Livethought Stream: Episode 1

And as I have done for the last couple of seasons, here is my live thoughts as I watch the episode. Spoilers below, of course, for RWBY Volume 8, Episode 1: Divide.

First shot we get is of Cinder cleaning a floor. Dammit, and I was hoping she was secretly a whore in Mistral. Ehh.

Convinent that the Grimm Whale has LANDING PADS on its side. Quite a few of them actually. Do Grimm launch from them like VTOL attack craft?

Neo and Cinder are flying a new as of yet un-named vehicle. Im going to call this one the Remora cause it kinda looks like one.

Im getting massive Leviathan vibes from this whale. Wont lie. Mixed with a bit of Hive influence from Destiny.

Neos look of confusion and fear is at the same time both amusing and adorable. Also, she has no shirt over her bellybutton, which I find slightly amusing.

Salems throne has some kind of link to somethign else in the Whale, there’s no other reason for it to have that glowing power bank on the back. Also it seems to be made of bone, as is most of the rest of the interior. So...presumably, Salem shaped this entire thing like a bonesinger.

Salem still got the titties out uniform AND I STILL HATE THAT HER VOICE IS JEN TAYLOR!

Salems got Grimm bone arm bracers. Interesting..

LAMP

Neo is literally saving this entire episode for me with her silent adorable sass.

And Tyrian with the ABSOLUTE FIRE. Also hey hes back, guess he got up here somehow.

Note on the throne Room; all the doors we see are connected to Salem’s throne via those glowing lines, which seem to curve and go elsewhere. I think this is the Whale’s nerve center. And it looks like its on the back if the huge bone in the reare near the teeth is its spine.

And Neos like “hey wait I didnt sign up for this”

Correction; its not a door, its a MOUTH. Wall mouth.

ANNNNDD new designs for everyone on the evil team. HAVEL BE BEAR BRO. TOTAL GAY ENERGY. It looks like he tore the sleeves of a nice dress shirt and just BELTED it in place. And Merc looks like a fucking GOPNICK, HA! What the fuck does he have hanging from his right leg though. 

Yeah, knew it. She touches the throne and the whale responds. Its her command seat, literally.

And Salem putting that bitch IN HER PLACE. You do it queen.

And now to the bottom of the hole under Atlas. THIS. THIS IS WHAT I ALWAYS IMAGINED MANTLE TO LOOK LIKE. VINDIFUCINGCATION AFTER FUCKING 6 YEARS!

Old dudes and faunus. Interesting. OLD DUDE FAUNUS WITH LIKE GIANT FUCKING MOLE CLAWS, DAMN.

Fuckin scramble the moment RWBY shows up. Man that was fast, I was hoping Oscar would be lost for a bit longer.

I still cannot believe how THIN the wall defending Atlas is. ITS LIKE TWO FEET THICK AT THE MOST! A METAL BARRIER WITH CONCRETE SUPPORTS! WHAT THE FUCK ATLAS

And Mantle proper slowly decends into what I have always seen it as. Good.

And May takes out a drone with her weapon like a chad. Nice. I guess Atlas doesnt keep track of their drones...wouldnt shock me

Ahhh resistance headquarters inside an old bar. The Huntress’s moving personnel...nice.

Oscars like “no dont touch me” and then “oh wait, titties, oh yeah...” Poor confused farmboi

OH MY GOD. VODKA IS CANON IN RWBY! HOLY SHIT YES!

Huh. Who’s the eyepatch chick with the cute faunus on the wall there. Interesting.

May Marigold; no nonsense. Good

“Largets Grimm Horde ever seen”. Okay, sure. Doesnt seem that big to me honestly.

Interesting. Ammunition cases on Remnant are nearly identical to ours, down to the large rectangular lockingn flap on one end.

Hmm. Casualties, judging by the watch and dropped material. No surprise. The weak get eaten in this world.

Also hey, faunus Futaba

Oh wonderful, no free-launch for the stadium. BECAUSE WHY THE FUCK NOT RIGHT?

Also, Stilltskin on the wall there. Some kind of whiskey

Main Atlesian Military Compound. Prepping myself for a MASSIVE dissapointment...

“Operations room”. Well, I guess it fits, but I would ASSUME its more accurately called a command and control center, or possibly command information center, depending. We’ll see soon enough.

Salems out in open war? Good. Time to break out the fuckin heavies people.

NGL this whole scene feels really oddly hamfisted. Its...strange. Doesnt feel like its flowing naturally.

Noras got a point but like, bruh, its Remnant. No ones got fucking militiares. You sat on your fucking hands for 80 Y EARS AND THIS IS HOW IT SHAKES OUT FOR YOU

And there’s a difference between division emotionally and splitting up to handle two objectives. Ruby, please stop being a civilian for 20 seconds and THINK

Cute, Penny’s gone full maiden depressed. First thoughts; self sacrifice.  Good idea. But make it more brutal, Penny. Make it a frontal assault that will make that bitch BEG for the end she cannot have. You have lasers, you have maiden powers, hit that whore with an alpha strike that will make Nicolas Kerensky wince!

Goooood. Pennys going for Atlas. CUT THEM TO RIBBONS POLENDIA!

Two teams, two days. Two seperate stories and things get messy.

IRONWOOD LITERALLY CALLS PENNY ON THE PHONE ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS.

Remnant is doomed. Lol, jumped a head a little bit buddy? Get out for a little bit mate. See some of the other kingdoms, check how they’re doing.

Atlas has defenses? Sure they do. Something tells me we’re not seeing that...

And guilttrip. Wooooooo not impressed.

Awww Marrow sadboi.

Actually the aces all look sand OH BECAUSE ITS CLOVER. WHY IS HE THERE? ARE THEY-OH DONT YOU FUCKING DARE RT. DONT YOU FUCKING DARE BRING HIM BACK.  FUCK YOU IF YOU DO. HE SERVED HIS FUCKING PURPOSE AND NOW HES DEAD, LEAVE HIM FUCKING BE!

ALSO HES FUCKING DUMB AND USELESS AND WE NEED HARE TO LEAD THE ACES NOW OKAY? We need someone willing to draw blood, not a showboat

Hare’s commentary is mine. Angry snort indeed.

Winters there too, looks like shes still beat to shit. Annnd there’s Ironwoods new arm.

Adorable specialist is adorable. Huh. Wonder if I can use her for something.

Medical brace for Winter...odd. Did she suffer burns or something? A stimm sleeve like in Gears?

Blah blah giant Grimm force blah blah okay yeah whatever

Atlas has hardlight shields. Okay, good. But we know how useful those are against proper attacks...You got anything else? Missiles? AA batteries? SOMETHING?

Seriously its a giant flying army, fill the fucking sky you morons!

Oh look its the two useless members of Atlas’s council.

YEAH! FUCK YEAH! THATS WHAT I WANNA SEE! GET HIS ASS IRONWOOD! FUCK YEAH! NOW SHOOT THE OTHER BITCH TOO! MAKE IT CLEAR THEYVE SERVED THEIR PURPOSE!

That POSTURE. THE CASUALNESS! THE PROPER FIRING STANCE! UGH ITS SO GOOD!

Wish we coulda seen the dude get smashed though. Damn ratings. I wanna know what a bullet does to a person in this universe.

Hare’s face here was the perfect ending to the situation. Confusion, wonder...acceptance. Exactly.

Same with Winter actually.

Huh. Wonder who Salems talking to.

And now for the new opening...

Everythings going to shit, shocker. Nic ecallbacks to other stuff. Oh great does Salem have WINGS now?

This last part reminds me of the trailer for Halo Wars 2

Wonder if the shadow under Crescent Rose at the end means anything.

Annnndddd thats it for this episode! See you all next week!

[itsclydebitches]

RWBY Recaps: “Pomp and Circumstance”

Welcome back, welcome back. I managed to miss last week’s title/summary leak, which for any other show would have been a blessing. With RWBY though I find myself not minding---even hoping for---spoilers, just so I won’t be quite so blindsided by things when I actually watch them. It’s a topsy-turvy world.

We’ll get to that in a bit though. For now, we open on the new Amity Arena immediately flying over the Schnee dust mine. I’m talking the group has barely made it back out into the sun before Ironwood’s men are arriving and setting up base. That’s some real eagerness to get the ball rolling. Funny how Ironwood’s entire plan is doomed to failure and eight of the people helping him to complete it haven’t mentioned that yet...

We get a shot of the Ace Ops triumphantly emerging with Qrow and RWBYJNR positively geeking out over how fantastic their take-down of the geist was. It was admittedly a great battle. The best scene I think we’ve had in a while. Sadly, that charm didn’t carry over into this episode. 

As the gang gushes over how fantastic they were Clover explains that it all comes down to the makeup of their team. They were specifically chosen to compliment one another and make up for any liabilities they might bring. Forethought like this brings back the age-old question of whether Ozpin’s own teams are as random as they appear. Does he really leave it to chance, who you first run into and what relic you happen to pick? Or was he subtly pulling the strings in order to ensure that complimentary teammates ended up together? Even if they don’t realize they’re complimentary at first. Ruby and Weiss are a perfect example of that. 

It’s a question we may never have answered. Especially as the Ozpin hate just keeps piling on and on. Before that though we’re given a ton of humor. Nora, continuing her role as comic relief, slides up to Elm and asks if she needs a new best friend. Their team name could be

I’d watch it.

More pressingly though, talk of team compositions and pairing up leads to a comment from Harriet that we need to unpack. Bear with me for a moment though because there’s something else I want to tackle first. It’ll connect back in a moment. Basically, I want to address my frustration last recap that Oscar was left behind with no explanation and the assertion by others that this was a ‘show don’t tell’ moment. It wasn’t. Providing your audience with no reasoning behind a decision is not the same thing as providing a visual explanation as opposed to a verbal one. On some level the choice to leave Oscar behind functions like an argument and I see this a lot in paper writing:

Student: This ad is really sexist

Me: And...? Why?

Student: I mean it’s obvious? All the women are wearing skimpy clothes and that one guy calls her a ‘bitch.’

Me: Perhaps obvious to you, but we can’t rely on the reader picking up on the same details and interpreting them in the same way. So you need to include that as evidence. In addition, you need to consider potential counter claims. What if I said some women choose to wear skimpy clothing because they feel empowered by it and that my friends often call me a ‘bitch’ as a silly endearment? How do we undermine those arguments in the context of your ad so you can more solidly prove that it’s still sexist? 

Student: Hmm

vs. 

Yang: We didn’t bring Oscar with us

Me: And...? Why?

Yang: I mean it’s obvious? He’s not ready for this fight yet.

Me: Perhaps obvious to you, but you can’t just bank on the viewer coming to that same conclusion. You also need to consider potential counter arguments. What if I pointed out that Oscar fought just as well as you during the premiere battle and that there’s now a history of you excluding him from every event you possibly can? How do you then undermine those points to prove that a) he really isn’t ready yet and b) that you actually left him behind because of his skill and not because you’re all still pissed at Ozpin?

Yang: Hmm

That was not a ‘show don’t tell’ moment. That was no tell combined with no show. A ‘show don’t tell’ would have been Yang going, “I don’t feel so bad now that we left Oscar behind” and then cutting to Oscar training with Ironwood, showing us that he needs to improve his skills as opposed to Yang just telling us, ‘He’s not ready yet.’ But we got neither. 

I bring this up a full episode later because here, in “Pomp and Circumstance” we’re given another shining example of precisely how bad RT’s ‘show don’t tell’ skills are. The Ace Ops. What are we shown? A group that is incredibly close with one another. They’re capable of anticipating each other’s moves and are able to follow directions with little to no prompting. They’re constantly joking, teasing, goofing off in a way that implies real intimacy. Clover proclaims, “What would you do without me?” demonstrating a familiarity that allows him to exude both confidence and playfulness. They’re close enough that he needn’t maintain the persona of their boss; close enough that he can play the part of their hero without anyone taking offense. In short, they act precisely like Team RWBYJNR.

Now, what are we told by Harriet?

“We’re not friends... that’s the job. We don’t confuse the two.”

Excuse me?

There has been nothing---NOTHING---in the last two episodes to imply that this team functions solely as a work group. Based on what we’ve been shown the idea that they’re not friends is laughable. What the audience sees and what the audience is told by a character do not match up. Kind of like how we’re told throughout the entirety of Volume Six that the group is heroic when we’re shown them repeating the actions of the villains. Kind of like how Qrow tells us that Ruby is different from Ozpin even as we’re shown her making the exact same choices. Here, we’re told that the Ace Ops aren’t friends yet shown that they clearly are and this disconnect functions solely as a means of---again---highlighting how special RWBYJNR supposedly is. Because we get a long shot of how devastated that mindset makes them

and then Ruby immediately rejecting the idea that you need to maintain a purely professional relationship in order to be a good team, begging the girls to go out sightseeing with her. Later Weiss proclaims to her father that they’re not merely friends, they’re family. As nice as the sentiment is, this is just another example of how RT is trying to paint RWBYJNR, RWBY in particular, as intrinsically better than all the other fighters around them. The takeaway is that the Ace Ops might be powerful, but without friendship they’ll never be as strong as our heroes... except the Ace Ops are clearly friends. Harriet’s cold and judgmental tone---You consider yourself friends with them?---makes no sense here. This would be an entirely different situation if we were actually shown an Ace Ops team that acted indifferent towards one another and if, later on, that professionalism and lack of knowledge about each other’s temperament, skills, etc. led to a problem. Ruby comes in with a, “See? I never would have made that mistake with my team because I’ve gotten to know them both on and off the battlefield. Being friends is an asset.” But we don’t get that, so all we’re left with is a message of, ‘RWBYJNR is super special even though they’re doing nothing different from the Atlas specialists. But trust us, they’re intrinsically better.’

That message got old, oh, two volumes ago.

In addition, can we please talk about the messy pacing? The group doesn’t want to go sightseeing with Ruby because they’re exhausted. Weiss and Yang act like their traveling and near death experiences happened last night, and later Qrow’s “the finally getting to Atlas part” comment reads as recent too, but as I mentioned in the previous recap, Pietro’s comment tells us that at least a few days have passed. Realistically a few weeks. So which is it? Has enough time passed to justify Pietro creating seven distinct upgrades and apologizing for having their weapons “so long”? Or has so little time passed to justify the group talking about their trip like they still haven’t had the chance to sleep after Penny’s tour? Yes, this stuff actually matters when you’ve got a laundry list of internal conflicts and the audience wants to know how much time the group has had to grapple with them. Has it only been a few days since the Ozpin drama, or a few weeks? Did Yang and Blake murder a guy the other day or last month? We’re simply not told. 

While consistency unravels Ironwood tells Clover that he needs the Ace Ops “on the ground” being “subtle” in their investigations... so maybe don’t bring Marrow. This moment, right down to the humor, is pretty identical to Blake deciding to leave Yang behind when she went to dismantle the CTV tower. Because “Stealth’s not really your... um...” Thing. If only the writing acknowledged these failings in a non-comedy context and encouraged the characters to learn from their mistakes. Marrow might have to listen to his boss and Yang will do anything Blake asks of her, but the rest of the time? ‘You’re really bad at missions that require subtly’ is just going to piss the group off. Even though it’s true.

As the Ace Ops take off Ironwood calls over the team leaders. Which is a bit of a weird choice considering he’s not asking Jaune and Ruby to keep secrets from their teams or anything. They’re literally just going to turn around and relay that info immediately  to YWBNR. So why not just tell them all at once? Chalk it up to not wanting to animate nine characters. Basically though we learn at least part of Tyrian’s motivations here. He’s been killing off prominent figures who oppose Ironwood, including Forest, trying to make it look like Ironwood himself is killing to keep them quiet. And it’s working. More points to Ironwood for throwing out, “I’m not really concerned about my public image” when Qrow accuses him of only caring about publicity. If Ironwood is secretly a horrible dictator who really doesn’t care about his people... he’s doing a very good job of hiding it. 

He’s also super chill about Jaune talking back to him about the embargo, a sharp contrast to Jacques’ “How dare you speak to me that way!” when Weiss takes a similar tone. Like the party way back in Volume Four, Ironwood is presented as the clear hero to Jacques’ villain. He lets subordinates point out difficulties and potential mistakes he’s makings. Instead of just, you know, abusing them. 

So yeah, Jacques is a thing. He shows up pissed that Ironwood commandeered his abandoned mine, but also he’s happy because he thinks Ironwood has screwed himself now. Jacques is gunning for a seat on the council and he hopes the military taking possession of private property, not matter how grimm-infested, will help. He accuses Ironwood of roping Weiss into all this, Weiss reasserts that it was her own decision to help, and we get a lovely moment of the team supporting her. 

I’d just like to point out though, this is all proof that Weiss would have been just fine if they’d sent her to Atlas. The fandom was up in arms over that suggestion, making wild claims about how Jacques would kidnap her or something, but this scene canonically undermines all of that. Turns out Jacques didn’t have spies everywhere, waiting to scoop Weiss up the moment she landed. However long the group has been hanging out in Atlas, he had no idea she was here until she was standing right in front of him (and even then it took him a long minute to realize...) Turns out Jacques can’t just do whatever he pleases with another human being just because he’s her father. In Ironwood’s presence, which Weiss would have ended up in if she’d flown with Cordovin’s blessing, Jacques can’t touch her. Hell, he can’t do anything even if Weiss was alone.  If Weiss is willing to dump racists in the trash with her semblance I think she’s gained enough confidence to do the same to Jacques if he dares try to hit her again. The moment the fandom went, ‘They clearly HAVE to steal military property/disable a CTV tower and risk this tenuous peace because poor Weiss would be done for if they just sent her to Atlas with an armed guard and a transformed Qrow and possibly Maria in a suitcase’ I was just, ‘... What?’ That was never a good justification and this scene just reinforces that.

The one (metaphorical) blow that Jacques manages to land is by telling Weiss how distraught her mother was when she left. I wonder if there’s any truth in that or if it’s pure manipulation. 

As he leaves Winter flies in, clearly avoiding her father. Weiss gets partway through calling her out on that before Penny lands in their midst. 

From here the episode really unravels. With the surprise half ruined, Ironwood takes the group up into the arena and presents them with their huntsmen licenses. Now, full disclosure. I said I wanted this back in the premiere. In fact, my exact words were,

“I don’t think the show would ever go for my suggestion of another school arc so they could finish their training, but at the very least we should provide some sort of loop-hole for these characters. Have Ironwood provide special licenses based on their heroics at the Fall of Beacon and their work since. Because right now we have a world that’s continually emphasizing being a huntsmen as a job, something you earn the right to call yourself, yet 95% of our group doesn’t have that right in the eyes of their society.”

And I still stand by that. In as much as I’m acknowledging that so long as the writing refuses to treat the group like the students they are, taking away that status is the next best thing. However, that was written before the story decided to re-emphasize precisely how not huntsmen-like the group is. Everyone remember that? It was a week ago, wherein the group was characterized like kids playing dress up, following the adults around, acknowledging that it feels like they’re real huntresses even though they’re not, and then they witnessed a fight that put their skills and maturity to shame. A part of me honestly is glad we’re not dealing with this as a moral issue anymore. The other part of me is going, “Really? You set up how the group is still a bunch of students and then turn around and give them licenses an episode later? Can we at least be consistent?”

It’s fine though. It’s done. Yay. They all have licenses. Even though they technically didn’t do the work required to obtain them. And they’re also still at least a year, probably two years, too young to have them. Considering that schools are a four year program. It’s fine. 

The group doesn’t even seem happy to have them though. In fact, they trivialize the moment. That word exactly: “It almost feels trivial now.” I don’t think RT intends for the characterization to come across this way but man does the group sound arrogant. Wow. We’ve been given a huge amount of power and privilege when we technically haven’t earned it, have actually done quite a lot lately that should have resulted in punishments over rewards, this is entirely out of the blue, something we’ve all wanted for most of our lives... so thanks, I guess? We’re feeling kind of iffy. Ruby at least makes some sort of comment about how Ironwood doesn’t need to do this, which just lets him re-assert that they all totally deserve it. Besides, he needs all the help he can get. Remember, we’re about to tell everyone about Salem!

Obviously no one pipes up during this speech. There aren’t even shared guilty looks. They’re just... letting their lie become a part of their ascent into full-fledged huntsmen. Oh boy.

Overall this party just feels depressing as hell to me. Yes, let’s celebrate in an empty, creepy arena that’s a traumatic space for literally everyone here. Made worse by the fact that no one acknowledges this. Once again Penny functions purely as comic relief. I thought that finally, finally we would get a conversation between her and Ruby. Hey, Penny! We’re taking selfies and eating cake in the very place where you were horrifically murdered! Maybe we should talk about that? 

Nope.

Instead we get a train wreck of a conversation between Qrow and Ruby. She brings up the fact that they’re all keeping secrets... and Qrow laughs.

The hypocrisy is really astounding here. Ozpin keeps a secret and gets punched into a tree, along with Oscar. Ruby keeps a secret and Qrow looks like he wants to ruffle her hair. She asks him if she’s just like Ozpin and he responds with, “Oz only trusted himself with the whole truth. You’re trusting others, just making sure they prove themselves first. I think that’s a pretty big difference.”

Okay. That’s one hell of a messy statement, but let’s take it at face value for a moment. So tell me, Ruby. Precisely what does Ironwood have to do to “prove himself” to you? How long do you feel you need to wait? One more mission? A dozen? A few weeks? Months? ...Years? There’s no surefire way for someone to prove that they’re trustworthy and if, after that person has already shared their own secret plan with you and continually treats you as an equal---please help me in this fight, feel free to talk back to me, here’s licenses so you’re legally a part of this team---you’re still iffy about their motivations... what more can they do? You might just keep waiting and waiting for some sort of sign, putting things off because telling them is so risky and you just want to be sure. You might even reach a point where you’ve known Ironwood for ages and you still haven’t told him because, well, you haven’t gotten that proof you were looking for yet. Especially if you were, say, in a time of peace where telling him only feels like a cruelty. Especially when you’ve been betrayed so many times before and are always fighting against those memories. Your little, ‘I’m just waiting until I know I can trust him’ could theoretically go on for decades because we can never absolutely know a person. Lionheart is proof of that. Ironwood might one day look to you and say, “How can you not trust me yet?” and you might respond with, “What have you done to prove to me, without a doubt, that I should?”

I’m reusing this: 

Ruby is in precisely the same position Ozpin was with his inner circle. Including Qrow. If Ruby is unsure that a military-minded, incredibly stressed man should have this information now, despite how trustworthy he might seem, why would Ozpin have been sure of that a year earlier? Ironwood was the same military-minded, stressed, seemingly trustful guy. If Ruby felt like she couldn’t rely on Qrow mere weeks (or even days) ago because he kept refusing to stay in contact (something that was established way back at Beacon. That’s not new) and falling into drunk, pessimistic stupors, why would Ozpin feel like he could rely on him in other ways? Especially when those “other ways,” telling them about Salem’s immortality, would lead to absolutely nothing good. Seriously. Has the group suddenly come up with a plan to defeat her, proving that Ozpin was wrong not to bring more creative minds into the fray? No. Has the group fallen apart for a long stretch and has only now made noises about moving forward for the sake of moving forward, something they’d already agreed to do as huntsmen fighting immortal grimm? Yes. All telling them about Salem did was make them more depressed and stressed, the two things that draw literal monsters to their door. That’s it. Their goals and motivations are precisely the same as when they started: keep fighting. Ironwood, on the other hand, has to know about Salem because his plan hinges on her mortality. Ozpin risked nothing by keeping this secret from the group. He arguably saved them a lot of grief. Ruby, on the other hand, risks countless lives and chaos across Remnant because she’s letting Ironwood inch closer and closer to telling the whole world, all in an effort to muster up an army that will accomplish nothing. 

Ruby is Ozpin in this scenario, but her secrets carry more weight than his ever did. This isn’t a group of teens feeling morally outraged that their leader told a lie; how dare you not tell us everything when we’re risking our lives... even though we’re always risking our lives and would continue to risk our lives whether you told us or not!  This is an incredibly powerful general about to change the shape of the entire world if he doesn’t learn the truth. The stakes are nowhere near comparable. Combine that with the fact that Ruby and her friends just finished taking the high road. That’s the kicker here. That Ruby doesn’t just admit, ‘Yeah... I’m like Oz. Because he was right. You do sometimes need to keep secrets and it is hard to trust people.’ No, no, no, they have to keep demonizing him. Ruby needs reassurance that she’s nothing like that evil secret keeper... even though we can all see she 100% is. She’s arguably worse now that she wants to play the victim to Ozpin’s secret keeping while simultaneously doing the exact same thing to Ironwood. She’s arguably worse since her secrets risks far more lives than Ozpin’s ever did. Where’s the fandom’s outrage over Ruby’s manipulation? Who’s punching her? When they bring up Summer, Ruby needs to characterize her death as “another Oz secret” wherein, like the fandom, she assumes he holds responsibility before there’s any proof of that. Even when Qrow admits that Ozpin has no more idea how Summer died than he and Tai do, he rescinds it! “But who knows what he may have hidden from us over the years.” Excuse me, but you all need to stop gearing up to assign blame without evidence, especially when you all are currently committing the exact same sins Ozpin did. We’ve been doing this since Volume 5:

Yang: I just learned that my uncle is the one who kept his semblance and bird transformations secret from me, but I’m going to blame Ozpin for it and demand “no more” lies. Even though up until now he’s never lied to us.

Qrow: I just admitted that your mother’s death is her own secret, but I’m going to subtly blame Ozpin for it anyway and remind you, as well as the audience, that he could be keeping an untold number of secrets from us. Truly a horrific thing when we, too, are keeping a bunch of secrets.

It’s also just a complete OOC moment that Qrow would be laughing about Ruby keeping secrets and hugging her as he tells her to press on while likewise maintaining his suspicion of Ozpin. Because Qrow’s whole beef with Ozpin is that he’s supposedly “wasted” his life while serving him. Everything he does is worthless because of Salem’s immortality. So if he’s now (randomly?) on team, ‘Do things because they’re right even if we can’t win in the end’... why is he still upset? If he can admit now that all this work---building new CTV towers and taking up everyday missions---is still super important, then why isn’t he thanking Ozpin? ‘Oh wow. I realize now how worthwhile this work is, regardless of whether Salem can be defeated. I guess I do owe you that gratitude for allowing me to do it all in the first place.’ Is no one ever going to acknowledge that Ozpin was right? About their work and about the need to keep secrets? You all are literally adopting his views, his mindset, and his choices. But nope. Nothing. It’s just an illogical mix of ‘Everything we believe is what Ozpin taught us’ with ‘But oh yeah screw that guy.’

The only reason Qrow is all buddy-buddy with Ruby’s secret keeping is because he’s in on the secret. Objectively speaking, if Qrow had a right to know about Salem’s immortality than so does Ironwood. They were both inner circle members. They both served Ozpin for (presumably) the same amount of time. With the exception of maybe hearing about the brother gods---and even then Qrow didn’t take that story literally---they seemed to have the same level of clearance. Ironwood has done just as much to “prove” his loyalty as Qrow ever did, but he doesn’t want to admit that telling someone this kind of horrific info is just plain hard. So Qrow, like the entirety of RWBYJNR, makes it about their own status as heroes, adopting a ‘we’re totally different’ mindset. I get to know about Salem’s immortality. Ironwood though? No, no, we’re justified in keeping it from him. People just aren’t allowed to keep things from us.

It started off with Yang’s ‘How dare you keep secrets only I’m allowed to do that’ nonsense and has now spread to the entire group. We had an entire volume of people verbally and physically assaulting Ozpin in the name of his lies. Now Ruby does the exact same thing and gets hugs and praise for it. I spoke too soon last episode. The hypocrisy is unreal.

I honestly didn’t think RWBY was still capable of frustrating me to this extent, but here we are.

Oh, and so long as we’re riding this frustration train... where is Oscar? 

He was not acknowledged once in this episode, let alone invited to the party. You know, the one that he could have really easily been flown in for now that the danger is gone. The one that Winter, Penny, Marrow, Elm and Vine all make an appearance at, but not the guy they’ve been traveling with and who is way more invested in his ‘friends’ getting their licenses than some random Ace Ops members. From here on out I’m officially calling BS on anyone who tries to justify the group/the writing excluding Oscar. There was no reason not to invite him to a planned celebration specifically designed to give this team, a team he’s a part of, a bit of downtime. Sorry you didn’t get an armor upgrade, or get to go on the mission, or get to attend the after party. Everyone just kind of forgot you exist or couldn’t be bothered to explain why you’re missing. RWBY really just doesn’t like him or Ozpin and boy, does it show. 

The remaining plot is minimal. The group pulls up a mission board and Jaune gets roped into escorting school children, a mission with absolutely “no danger” in it. So if we actually get to see him completing this, you know they’ll be danger. As they continue choosing their first jobs as huntsmen we return to Jacques, brooding in his office. Whitley makes a brief appearance to announce that Watts has barged his way into the manor. We learn that everyone apparently thinks Watts is dead---that helps explain why they’re still using his code. A dead guy  isn’t much of a threat---and Watts tells Jacques that he can help him regain his lost wealth, get a seat on the council, and screw over Ironwood. Through the pretty silly line of “Have your cake and eat it too.” I like that expression, but it’s hard to make it sound sufficiently threatening...

And that’s where we end! A rough ride this week, folks. Can’t complain about the break...

Until next time. 

Minor Things of Note

Watts’ comment about how Whitley is the spitting image of Jacques makes me think of cloning. Like, I don’t think the writing would actually go there, but it’s a potentially cool option. Evil billionaire with access to fantasy technology has two rebellious daughters before finally just cloning himself a ‘son’...

Where is Maria? What is she doing? Can we please stop abandoning important characters and then having the cast acting like they ceased to exist?

[almondharry]

you look so good : one

you look so good [5.6k]

“You must think you’re so hilarious, don’t you?”

A charming smile crept on his face slowly. “It is why you married me, isn’t it?”

“I am beginning to rethink that decision. Not one of my finest moments.”

“You’re thirty years too late for that, love.”

There was a pause, then a loud scoff. Her jaw hung open in disbelief. The napkin that laid on her lap was flung towards his chest with a soft thump. “We’ve been married for 32 years, you wanker! Don’t tell me you forgot!”

Alexander and his Algebraic K Theory

September 2, 2019

It was a slow night. There was not a single car found between the thick yellow lines freshly painted in the lot. A flickering lamp post finally gave out. The moths previously circling it floated to the next one. Besides the elderly couple arguing over a crossword puzzle in their booth, there were crickets in the diner.

The checkered floors were swept and each table was found crumbless. With a broom in hand, she would pretend that she was a chess piece being moved strategically. Genevieve sat behind the counter with her chin in her palm, textbooks in front of her, and a highlighter in hand. With the cap caught between her teeth, Genevieve dragged the yellow ink over the numbers she found important. The mint green coloured plastic stool did little to relieve the ache at the bottom of her spine. Occasionally she would hum in tune with the soft melodies the local radio decided to play– the songs were interrupted by cracks after every three songs, a pattern she had observed. She preferred night shifts over day ones. When the diner was close to deserted, it gave her the perfect opportunity to crack open her books and get started on her coursework that she was weeks behind on.

Flo’s Diner was a well known spot for people to grab their fix of greasy comfort food. It was sandwiched between a laundromat and a music shop. Red leather booths lined the perimeter and mismatched frames of posters and photographs hung on the walls. There was even a twenty year old menu, slightly browning and curving in at the corners, behind protected glass. 

“Excuse me! Dear!” 

Genevieve abandoned her work, her fingers expertly gripped the neck of a steel teapot before carrying it over to the booth the voice came from.

“More tea?” she offered with the raised pot.

“Oh no, darling, I just called you over so you can tell Eugene that cholesterol is the word he is looking for in the across.” The man sitting across from her had grey hair that was combed neatly to one side. He wore a deeply indented frown on his face. He grumbled something under his breath as he kept his eyes glued to the newspaper in front of him. “I tried telling him, but he has suddenly decided to ignore my existence. Couldn’t watch him struggle like that. It’s painful, really.”

“Well.” Eugene squinted his eyes behind his glasses to read the name tag on the left pocket. “Genevieve, maybe you can help me to find a four letter word that is a synonym for annoying.” Eugene crumpled his face in thought, his eyes brightened a moment later. “Nevermind I’ve got it! It’s W-I-F-E.”

A chuckle scratched the back of Genevieve’s throat. She tried to distract herself by tipping the pot to refill their cups with pursed lips, but it tumbled out and Eugene grinned. This only prompted his wife to cross her arms and narrow her eyes at him across the table. 

“You must think you’re so hilarious, don’t you?”

A charming smile crept on his face slowly. “It is why you married me, isn’t it?” 

“I am beginning to rethink that decision. Not one of my finest moments.”

“You’re thirty years too late for that, love.”

There was a pause, then a loud scoff. Her jaw hung open in disbelief. The napkin that laid on her lap was flung towards his chest with a soft thump. “We’ve been married for 32 years, you wanker! Don’t tell me you forgot!”

His face stretched into a wide smile, the corner of his eyes crinkling upwards. “Of course I knew, Maggie. Just keeping you on your toes.” His left eye dropped in a quick wink. “Genevieve, can we have the bill, please?”

“I’m on it.” She nodded and headed towards the register to print out their receipt. Genevieve exchanged their dirty plates with a credit card machine, not forgetting to include a few chocolates that are kept in a jar by the register. On her way back, she heard Maggie smack Eugene's hand away from the sweets. 

“No chocolates for you.”

“One won’t knock me dead,” Eugene counters with a huff. 

“Tell that to your diabetes specialist next time, won’t you? I’m sure he’d love to hear all about that.”

By the time Genevieve returned from the kitchen, Eugene and Maggie had gotten up. He was helping Maggie with her walker by the front door. They would be bundled in scarves and hats in no time. 

“Have a great night!” Genevieve called out with a smile and a wave. Similar goodbyes were echoed back, and Genevieve went back to their booth.

The clanking of the bell–much like one that would be strapped around a cow’s neck– above the door signified that she was the only one left in the diner other than Walter, who was prepping in the kitchen for breakfast meals. Walter was quiet as a mouse, making a noise only when absolutely necessary, so it was her and her books for the rest of the night.

Genevieve cleared the table of the machine and she swept up the small crumbs left behind with a dishrag. She folded the discarded crossword and the flimsy paper crumpled under her hold. She rearranged the condiments into their set spot. As she fiddled with the jam holders, the bell above the door chimed once again. 

Without turning towards the door, she called out, “Forget something?” She scanned the table for keys, wallets, anything of importance. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for customers to rush back in for their valuables a minute or two after leaving the diner—but Genevieve didn’t see anything left behind. 

Her brows furrowed when no one responded, and she turned around to discover Maggie and Eugene were long gone.

The lanky figure that stood across from her was disgustingly familiar. His jeans had rips at the knees and his boots were on the brink of falling apart. The wind outside had coloured his cheeks and thrown his hair in a way that veiled his eyes. It was shorter now, more blunt than she recalled. The longest strand–that once would hit his chin–sat at the tip of his nose. 

Genevieve was the first to grasp a handle on the situation, as he was too busy struggling to remove a folded book from the pocket of his denim jacket to notice the scene.

He hadn’t seen her yet.

She still had time to get away.

The impulse thought was to plan an exit. There was a back door on the other side of the restaurant. Too far. She could grab a seat at any booth and stay out of sight. Or– the kitchen door was only a couple of steps away. If she acted fast enough, maybe even ducked her head down, she would go unnoticed. She could beg Walter to take his order and hide in the back until he got up and left.

In the midst of her plotting her exit, her body betrayed her. Her feet felt like heavy frozen blocks, cemented to the tiles beneath. Somehow her throat became wrapped with spiky barbed wire. Her hands were damp and fingers pruned as if she had just wiped them with a rag after drying wet dishes. 

A hand swept his hair back to clear his sight, and Genevieve wanted to become as invisible as the crumbs lodged between the tiny cracks of the tables.

His lips parted and his eyes blinked quickly, the urgency reminding her of flapping butterfly wings. He swallowed a lump in his throat as his green eyes widened, becoming more awake and alert. 

Genevieve was very familiar with his eyes, a shade of green like the plush moss that stuck to tree barks and abandoned stones. The corners of his eyes flicked up when he focused them in on her. There was no denying how beautiful he was. With his strong jaw and sharply contoured face, he turned heads immediately, he was something to be awed at. A sprinkling of colour dotted the high points of his face, meaning he had recently gotten some sun. But Genevieve paid close attention to his soft features, unable to tear her eyes from the slope of his neck and the dips of his bitten lips.

He was a bit too much at times. His presence could overwhelm and suffocate you. His shy smirks and beaming smiles and obnoxious laughter. He took up space and his beauty was borderline interrupting. Uninvited. 

Despite it all, Genevieve despised how good he looked. 

There are countless things in the world that sting. A sharp needle to a finger, a flat iron on high heat and of course, and, the worst of them all, Harry Styles walking in at Flo’s Diner. 

“Genny?” Harry breathed out, his bottom lip curved into a perfectly cut slice of peach, and Genevieve almost winces in pain. 

His voice is like sugar being melted over a pot set on high heat—sweet, caramelized, and could burn you if you let it. 

There were sleepless nights where Genevieve had given a thought to this situation. What would happen if Harry stood in front of her? The scenarios she had concocted in her brain closely resembled hell freezing over. She was sure time would stop and the Earth would split open. But when she looked down at the floor, there were no cracks. It stayed intact. The needles on the clock continued to turn without a pause. 

Harry Styles stood in front of Genevieve, and she felt nothing. 

“It's been too long.” 

When Harry took two steps closer and positioned his arms for what Genevieve knew too well to be a warm hug, she quickly retreated towards the pile of laminated menus. 

Struggling to make her stale smile as welcoming as possible, she looked him in the eye. “Booth or table?”

Genevieve swallowed pennies as the silence prolonged, while Harry’s brows were curled in confusion from the formality. His arms held their place for a moment too long—awkward, expecting—but dropped them at the clanking of the bells above the door. Her chest visabily deflated, as if she was pricked with a sharp sewing needle, and her lips parted to sigh a breath of relief now that she and Harry were no longer alone. Somehow having others around steadied Genevieve’s heart rate. 

A group of three came staggering in the diner with loud laughter and limbs intertwined from holding each other up. Their cheeks flushed and they wore matching grins. 

“Harry! You didn’t even wait for us, tosser!”

“He went so fast! Did you see him? I did—” hiccup “—not.”

“It must be the long legs. How do you not get dizzy?”

Genevieve blinked back to Harry. His eyes were the clearest of the bunch, the supposed designated driver of the night. She tried to manage what one can only call a subpar attempt at a smile. It was plastic and stretched her face in a way that hurt. “I’ll get you a booth.” She nodded.

Harry noticed it didn’t reach her eyes. If this was a different time, he would’ve made it painstakingly obvious to her that she wasn’t fooling anyone. Instead, he let her turn away.

“At least his bum looked super cute.” A voice, Genevieve presumed to belong to Harry’s friend, giggled. “Have you been doing squats or some shit, because you were flat as a board!”

“Now that’s progress!”

“Must be those nasty green drinks.”

“Oi!” Harry interrupted their banter. “That’s enough from you lot.” The mischievous laughter subdued to amused snickers as the group struggled with their coats by the rack. 

Genevieve busied herself with placing the menus on the table of the empty booth. The first one of the bunch to reach the booth was a pint sized girl. Her face was covered with orange freckles and her chopped hair sat below her chin. Her steps were a bit muddled in her short walk to the table, but she managed just fine to her seat. A strong scent of American Spirits followed her like a cloud heavy with rain. With heavy limbs, she plopped down and her face instantly laid on the cool surface. She let out a dreamy sigh and closed her eyes.

Harry took a seat across from the sleeping girl in the booth, and Genevieve scampered towards the kitchen. She went with the intention to let Walter know that orders will be coming up soon, even though she knew he didn’t need the heads up.

Harry used his index finger to poke at the flesh of the girl across him, but her arm didn’t move at all. This action was repeated twice and the same result was given. “Angie’s down, guys,” Harry called out to the rest of the group. 

This caused the two vacant seats in the booth to be filled.

“Fuck, not again.”

“I’m not carrying her this time, I did twice before.”

“Zayn, she puked on me last time. I reckon you can carry her once more.” 

“Oh sod off, Liza. She gets cranky and pulls out my hair, no bleeding way.”

“What if we just…” Liza leaned forward on her elbows that were supported by the table. She dropped her voice a couple octaves lower. Her eyes blinked from Harry’s sober ones to Zayn’s clouded. “Left her here? It would stop her from pulling this again.”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and finger, his head shaking at their drunkenness. The fact that this was an actual topic of conversation and it was actually happening was insane, but nothing out of fashion. 

Zayn tilted his chin, as if the possibility was a film tape reeling in his head.

“I am still very much conscious, thanks for your concern.” On cue, Angie raised her head up from her quick snooze. Her hair was tied in knots and a line of saliva connected her back to the table. “I love knowing I can depend on my lovely friends to look after me. What’s next? Leaving me an abandoned alley? Leaving me locked out? Oh wait, you lot have done that already! Cheers!”

“Oh stop exaggerating, Angie.” Liza rolled her eyes. The paper napkin was scrunched up and dragged over Angie’s mouth as she grimaced. “You are no angel here, you had your fair share of responsibility in that.”

“Let’s talk about how you guys wouldn’t be having this conversation if you left me with that fit bloke at—”

“Jesus, Angie,” Zayn groaned. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. “We’ve talked about you using your shit coping mechanism to get over—”

The temperature in the room dropped by a few degrees. Icicles hung in the air. “If you utter her name, you are dead to me.”

Zayn sighed deeply at the hardened glare the messy girl shot his way. “Just saying you can do much better, yeah?” His words were soft, tender, and just what Angie needed to hear for the night.

“Yeah, Z.” Angie sighed, her shoulders dropping. She shifted in her seat and laid her head on the wall. “It’s just hard at first.”

Liza and Harry sat beside each other with their menus in hand. 

“I say do whatever to get over that bitch, really. Sleep with whoever you want. I’m pretty sure that waitress was cute, get her number,” Liza suggested with a loose shrug of her shoulders. Harry’s knee jerked up and collided with the underside of the table. This caused the salt and pepper shakers to almost tip over.

Zayn shot a funny look, his brows drew together. “You alright, H?”

“Great, should we order now? I’m starved,” Harry prompted. “I have an early morning, so I need some food in me.”

When met with collective nods, Liza signalled Genevieve, who had just come out from behind the swinging kitchen doors. Genevieve plucked out a pen and a pad of paper that was stored in the front pocket of her apron. Each step she took towards their group made her want to take two back.

Liza was first up to order. She went for the scrambled eggs and avocado toast. Zayn ordered his black coffee and eggy bread. Genevieve tried to make eye contact with Angie, but she was still browsing the menu. She wanted to prolong avoiding a specific awaited conversation for as long as possible.

“I’ll have the number two special, but no eggs,” Harry spoke up. 

“‘Course, will that be all?”

“I’ll get a tea.”

“How do you take it?” The question was simple, but to Harry it manifested a slap to the face. Genevieve knew well how he took his tea. He had taken it the same way for years on end. But the thing about people is that they change and grow apart. Harry’s lips parted slightly and the downward tilt to his brows deepened as he looked at Genevieve with a dumbfounded look that said really? 

“Harry, mate, you done?” Zayn said, looking from Harry to Genevieve. 

Harry cleared his throat quickly. 

“Milk, two sugars.” 

“Yeah.” Genevieve gave a nod and looked away. 

Harry ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back. His shoulders dropped as he sighed. “Thanks, Genny,” said Harry. A drunken giggle followed right afterwards from the girl seated across from him. Angie cupped one side of her face as she stared at Harry with a dopey grin. “What’s so funny?”

“Even I’m not drunk enough to read her name tag wrong, you numpty.” Angie found the white tag pinned on the left of Genevieve’s chest and all eyes squinted to read the somewhat broken letters. “It’s Genevieve. That’s pretty.”

Genevieve cleared her throat. “Um, Gen is just fine.”

“Alright, Gen, can I please have some banana pancakes with extra syrup?” Angie asked. Genevieve nodded and scratched her pen against the miniature pad of paper. After she had written down all the orders, she began passing the pen between her fingers. “What else do you recommend here?”

“The eggs and bacon are really popular, I always go for the traditional English.”

“You see, I’m not really the traditional type, you know?”  

This prompted Liza to terribly disguise her bubbling chuckle behind her pursed lips. The shifting pen in Genevieve’s hand halted. It also caused Harry’s boot to meet Angie’s shin. 

“Bloody hell, Harry.” Angie scowled as she jumped further back into the plush cushion of the booth. “Are your legs fucking spazzing tonight? Do we need to take you to an A&E?” 

“That’ll be all,” he interrupted. After he saw Genevieve’s back disappear into the kitchen, he narrowed his eyes at his scowling friend. “You’re ridiculous, Angie.”

“Loosen up, H. I was so close to getting her number, but I reckon you need it more. Why are you always so wound up?” Angie spat. “Live a little. You didn’t even have one drink tonight.”

“I have work tomorrow morning and I’d rather not show up half intoxicated.” Harry shot her a knowing look to which she responded by rolling her eyes.

“Alright, that was one time, okay!” 

“One too many.” Harry smirked. “You know she tipped over a whole shelf of books on herself.”

“Did not.”

“Bloody hilarious.” Harry shook his head and smiled widely. 

There was loud chatter, drunken mumbles, and bickering. Angie was complaining about an overdue assignment, Zayn had just came off the waitlist for his stats courses, Liza’s thumbs were typing away at her cell phone screen, and Harry was trying not to look at the swinging doors one too many times.

When Liza’s phone met the table and she leaned forward towards Harry, he sunk in his seat. He had been caught.

“You have the look,” Liza whispered, brown eyes narrowing at his green ones.

“Do I?”

“Hmm.” Liza was observant. She picked and prodded and critiqued until she would dig deep enough to find her pot of gold. She liked knowing things about people and places, she wasn’t afraid to get personal and into uncomfortable territory.

Harry found her nosiness particularly amusing when other people were under her investigation lamp. Especially when Zayn would bring girls home and they would be scampering in the morning. When the light was aimed at him, however, he froze, and sweat formed above his brow. “You’re jittery, your eyes are bouncing off the walls, and you’re calling girls by different names. Wanna tell me what it is now?”

“Just hungry is all, Liz.”

“Sure. I’ll just find out when I do.”

Angie and Zayn were preoccupied with their little side conversation to pay them any attention. Zayn had mentioned he had her professor before, so he knew the marking structure. Angie was bribing him into finishing her assignment.

“I’m not hiding anything.” Harry shrugged.

“I believe you.” Liz nodded, her back resting on the cushioned fabric. “For now, at least.”

Angie groaned dramatically, drawing everyone’s attention to her. “It's all numbers, Z, you know I can’t count above fifty. Whose brilliant idea was it to stick a maths course in an arts degree, anyway? What genius thought that the people who—”

“Angie—”

“Do me this one, and I’ll owe you.”

Zayn didn’t have a chance to answer since plates of warm food hit the table. Cheers from the group erupted. The heavenly smell was enough to quiet down any discussion. 

Instead of Genevieve delivering the food, it was an older man with buzzed hair. He smiled, his eyes crinkling, and asked if there was anything else they needed. He filled their drinks and let them devour the greasy comfort. 

“So good,” Liz moaned. Angie nodded and mumbled an incoherent agreement. 

The three were too busy shoving forkfuls of food into their mouths to notice the missing waitress. Harry chewed his food slowly. Maybe it was a misunderstanding on his end. Did he really expect to hit play on something that had been paused for so long and watch things go back to his parameters of normal?

Change was unavoidable, and it was evident even in the small things. He noticed she preferred to leave her hair down now, instead of her previous pony tails. She wanted to be called Gen. Her eyes, once full of fight, were now barren, almost bleak. Harry wondered what else had changed as his fork scratched his plate. Did she really forget how he takes his tea? Or did she not want him around? He frowned at the thought. 

Harry knew that Genevieve didn’t owe him warmth and comfort, besides, he got enough of that from the friends surrounding him. What Harry needed was to look in her eyes and not see vacancy. 

***

October 25, 2019

“Jesus.” Liam shook his head when he spotted Genevieve by the tree across the street. Its roots ran deep, the width of the trunk was more than the length of her arms. There were framed pictures, a few candles and wilted flowers laid against it. 

They both had matching stacks of photocopied paper. Each one identical.

Flatmate wanted. 3212 Ashford Street, Apt number 12. One bedroom. Parking available. On campus location. Utilities included. Call below for more details. 

“I know I told you to put the fliers in prime locations, but I reckon above a student memorial isn’t the best of places. That’s poor marketing,” Liam whispered harshly as he jogged over.  

Genevieve rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut your gob.” 

Liam and Genevieve both knew she wasn’t here to stick a thumbtack onto the tree. 

She squinted her eyes and crouched forward to get a better look at the framed picture. Gravel crunched loudly under the soles of her boots as her knees sunk into the dirt. The girl in the pictures was around her age. She was pale with short, dark brown hair and front bangs. The backdrop was a classic blue, the ones used for high school graduation photos. She had a thin smile and her eyes crinkled in the corners. Her name was written with neat swirly letters: Jenny Wu. There were notes about her being a loving sister, a daughter and a dedicated church volunteer.

“When was this?” Genevieve inquired, looking down at the handmade cards that had the weight of stones to keep from flying away. 

She looked up at Liam. Behind him dark clouds were floating in. The wind had picked up and dimmed some of the flames. Genevieve pulled at her jumper to trap heat. 

Liam scratched the back of his neck. “Almost two weeks? Maybe three.”

“Shit.” Genevieve breathed out.

“Drunk driver hit her when she was on her way home. Can you believe that? Some people can be so fucking reckless.” Liam scoffed as he crouched down beside her. He fixed some of the tiny frames that had toppled over. “She died on the scene before the ambulance arrived so they couldn’t do much, but the bloody tosser made it to the ICU.”

“That must be so hard for the family.” Genevieve reached in her pocket to pick out her cigarette lighter after spotting a few unlit candles. Her thumb helped to ignite a spark and she cupped the glass jars with her palm. She repeated this until there were a couple steady dancing flames.

“I saw them on the telly. The mother said something about forgiveness and not letting her grief turn into hatred of him.” Liam shifted to lean on the trunk, his arms folded as he looked down at her. “Like, that sounds like a terrific thing to actually do, but I can’t imagine myself especially in that situation. I would be up in flames.”

There was a moment when Genevieve saw snippets of what she assumed to be Jenny’s life. In her head, Jenny was a brazen girl with a sharp wit. She was studying politics and international relations and juggled a part-time job as a cashier. She was the head of the debate team and won their last championship. She had a younger brother who got on her every last nerve. She was learning to play the piano. 

She liked to think each person had a well crafted formula to model their life. Each one unique and distinct from the other. Everyone was working towards balancing their equations. Some were lengthy and angry looking and some were simple and short. Essentially what mattered was that they always tended to work out.

Genevieve knew first hand that solving one of these formulas was like maneuvering a spider’s web. It could get messy, tangly and dizzy. Often times there were just too many unknown variables and sticky irrationals that needed to be ironed out. And on rare occasions, webs would seem to stretch out across empty fields.

“Yeah, me neither.” Genevieve stood up quickly. Her palms patted at her knee caps. “Let’s go? We still have a few.” She waved the stack of A4 papers.

Genevieve was halfway down the street when she realized there weren’t matching steps following her. She turned around and saw the curve of Liam’s back still slumped by the tree.  

“C’mon, let's get you a flatmate! Sitting on your arse won’t make rent any cheaper!”

Liam sighed but got up with a low grunt. 

Genevieve smiled. “Last one to the car gets dinner!”

***

“Oi!” Liam hissed. “You’re a bloody cheat!”

Genevieve looked over her shoulder and raised a brow. “How so?”

The sidewalk was a narrow strip with small potholes that held bowls of rainwater. Liam lagged behind, muttering under his breath. The glowing neon open sign of Peter’s was only a short distance away. Genevieve inhaled a breath and the aroma of gooey cheese and tomato sauce danced about. She glanced above just as the streetlights were beginning to flicker on.

“You were already ten steps ahead from me. Practically two away from the car.”

She grinned. “All I am hearing are excuses.”

“You’re making me buy you a pizza after knowing I can’t make rent and you cheated.”

“It would be the polite thing to do after your friend spent relentless hours across campus for your service.”

“It was hardly twenty minutes.”

Genevieve scoffed. “I still haven’t heard a thank you.”

Liam rolled his eyes at her dramatics. “You’ll get it when I find a decent flat mate.”

They were in front of the heavy door. Liam had picked up some speed and was closer to the door. His hand pulled at the handle, and a bell above sounded loudly. A comforting heatwave greeted them. 

“After you.” Liam points his chin towards the inside. The shop was nothing fancy, it was owned by a family and had promising specials. Genevieve eyed the awaiting door. She blinked from his grasp to his eyes with brows shot up. “It’s just a door,” Liam chuckled. “You can hold it when we leave.”

As she placed their order of half cheese and half pineapple, Liam slipped out his phone. His thumb hurriedly typing over the keys. He craned his neck towards the door.

“Alright?” Genevieve raised a brow.

“Yeah, I have a friend from the radio coming by to drop a USB key for tonight’s show. Is that okay?”

Liam had gotten a new gig. Two students had got together to launch a student lead radio show on campus. Liam’s curiosity started a couple months earlier and the fliers across campus advertised they were looking to take on more people. 

“‘Course! How is that coming along so far? You liking it?”

“Absolutely loving it, it’s fucking sick. Sometimes I think no one is actually listening, but then I get a call or a request to replay a certain track or talk more about a topic. It’s fun, keeps me on my toes.” He grinned, his teeth on display. “You should drop by, see the workings. It’s much more thrilling when you’re actually on air.” 

“If my arse is ever up at 2 a.m on a Wednesday, Thursday or Monday, you’ll have my company.”

“We both know you, of all people, are,” Liam emphasized. Genevieve was notorious for her review and course work schedule that didn’t seem to have a beginning or an end. It lead to sleepless nights and cramped shoulders. “Doors are always open. It’s a dodgy basement, quite small, but there’s a couch that has your name on it. Smells like piss, so come at your own risk.”

“Creepy basements and pissed on couches, you’re really selling this to me, huh?” Genevieve raised a brow with a crooked smile. The door opened with a quiet jingling of the bells, bringing in a gust of cold air and a set of heavy doc marten boots. 

“Promise it isn’t as bad as it sounds—” 

“Don’t listen to him, its absolute shit with next to nothing funding.” A hand slaps the back of Liam’s back. “But beggars can’t be choosers, so we’re working with what we have. I’m Liza, by the way.”

She had full, tightly coiled curls that sat on her shoulders. They bounced as she looked from Liam to Genevieve. Her eyes were perfectly almond and a colour of honey that was only seen in magazines. 

“I’m Gen.” She offered her a smile.

Liza’s lips puckered in thought for a moment, her index finger lightly tapping them.  “Gen, Gen, sounds awfully familiar.” 

“I’ve talked about her before in passing. She’s the one studying Maths.”

“Brave one, you are,” Liza hums, a sympathetic glaze washed her features. “Isn’t it one of the toughest courses? That’s all I’ve heard at least.”

“It’s not too bad.” Genevieve shrugged. “I’m keeping afloat.”

“Have you got the USB?” Liam implored. 

Liza’s fingers dipped into the front pocket of her skinny jeans, presenting a stick the size of her thumb. “Oh, you’ll also be needing the keys to the panel, just make sure the grid is okay. I know the computer is freezing, Zayn will pop in to take a look at it.”

Genevieve had stepped aside quickly when her order was placed on the counter, leaving Liam and Liza to their conversation. There was a lot of nodding and a couple chuckles. She came back shortly with a medium sized white box. 

“What are you two doing Thursday night?” Liza prompted with hopeful eyes. “I know it might be short notice, but I’m playing with my band at this pub. Both of you are expected.”

“You got the gig? That’s insane!” Liam gasped, his smile bearing teeth. 

“We did!” Liza chuckled at his excitement. “It’s nothing fancy, and it’s one of our firsts, but gotta make it count. Bring your mates. The more the better.” The beeping of a car horn from outside, impatient and loud, made Liza shut her eyes tightly. “Fucking Angie has the patience of a two year old.” 

“We will be there.” Liam nods, and Genevieve smiled. 

“Cheers–” Another set of honks followed. “Fucking hell! I’ve got to run, text me if you’ve got any questions with that.” She pointed at the USB key in Liam’s hand while taking backward steps towards the door. 

“Will do!” Liam waved dismissively. 

She was gone as fast as she came. The doors swing shut, leaving Liam and Genevieve with another gust of cold air. She turned to Liam with a small smile. “She’s nice, I like her.”

“Yeah? She—” Before Liam could finish his thought, the door swung open again, this time with a bit more urgency. Heads snapped to the ringing of the bells. It was Liza, her eyes wide and a knowing gleam shining bright. An animated light bulb hovered over her head.

A loud snap. “Gen! From the Diner!” 

“That’s me.” Genevieve shook her head with a laugh tumbling out from her lips. With another wave goodbye, she was gone.

“—Great.” Liam finished.

***

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Let me know what u think!

thank you eriza @booksncoffee for the banner! bc the only thing i know is microsoft paint.

Thank you so much to my wonderful betas @adoremp3 @haaaaaaarrry @at-least-im-1 Ayesha and Hamna! If you want to beta, shoot me a message!

Tag list: @infinitiae @sortaanonymous @sydneysuit @wonderonrepeat @confusedkiwifan @mylifeisatoilet @awomanindeniall @guccikingstyles @verorax @blue-eyes-freckles-and-a-smile @Hollydays if you want to be added on the tag list there is a link to it on the story page here!