#THERE WAS MORE PEOPLE THAN YESTERDAY SO IT WAS REALLY DIFFICULT TO GET JAMS TO INTERACT WITH IT IN CHARACTER JAJDJAHD

[mybelovedpeepy]

For that entire itemlabel apple juice daycare stream I have learned fishcar cannot eat cookies..and motor oil is a healthy snack for fishcar apparently-

[ladyhoneydee]

Icebreakers

Zelink | Modern BotW AU | 5.5k

“It’s…Zelda, right?” he asked hesitantly. “Zelda Bos…Bosso…” He couldn’t remember her last name. He’d only heard it once before, at the summer neighborhood cookout, when the older lady two doors down warned him to steer clear of the eccentric robotics engineer who lived at the end of the cul-de-sac. At the time, Link—never a social butterfly with new people anyway—had shrugged and taken the neighbor’s advice. “Bosphoramus,” she supplied. “You’re Link Firly, yes?” “Yes,” he breathed, and shook her hand. It was warm. …He tried not to think too hard about that.

Or, Link is terrible at shoveling his driveway in the winter, and Zelda invites herself over to give him a hand. Or many hands. Guardians have a lot of limbs, after all!

Written for Day 18 of @zelinktines24, "Ice"! Read it on AO3 or under the cut!

Link jammed the ice pick down into the same lump of frozen sludge for what felt like the thousandth time and sighed.

He liked winter. The trees snow-dusted, as if the goddesses had visited with a bag of powdered sugar; the ice on the creeks and lakes thick enough that he could frolic on their frozen surfaces or even drill down to fish for a chillfin trout or hearty salmon for supper; the skiing and snowshoeing trips through the woods with an eye out for any squirrels, white pigeons, or trilling red sparrows accompanying him in the underbrush. 

The winter chores? Not so much. 

He’d put off shoveling the day before. A thick blanket of snow had come down overnight, settling on his car’s hood and the expanse of his driveway, but the way it sparkled under the late morning sunlight had been so inviting…Link couldn’t bring himself to shovel on such a beautiful day. Instead, he’d escaped to the hoarfrosted forest in the morning and spent the evening grinding through a few levels of his most recent video game purchase. He’d fallen asleep on the couch and woke up with a dry, gummy mouth, and an inexplicable feeling of weighty dread, like a grizzlemaw bear had hunkered down in his stomach. 

The dread explained itself when he glanced up from the screen of his half-dead sheikah slate and caught a bleary-eyed glance at his front walk while waiting for the kettle: yesterday’s snow had turned into today’s ice.

He had spilled his tea slipping on a patch of ice on his front step, gotten snow down his boots while clearing his car, and had to shovel around the car twice after realizing he hadn’t cleaned off its roof beforehand. And from there, it only got worse: shoveling was hard, irritating work that only got colder the longer he suffered. He had tried his best with the driveway—really!—but it was difficult to shovel in the long, efficient lines a friend had once suggested. He’d take what seemed like a decently-sized stripe, only for the snow to overflow off his shovel and muck up the lines he’d so painstakingly cleared. He’d do a teeny little stripe and look despairingly at the expanse of driveway he had remaining. He’d carry along for a nice little stretch, only for his rhythm to be messed up by his shovel stuttering over a patch of ice. 

A few passes across the driveway found the shovel standing upright in a snowbank and Link examining a particularly jagged icicle dangling from the roof. When he finally tore himself away from the icicle, his tongue stinging fiercer than a courser honey bee, he gave ice picking a try…only to find it even more tedious.

A big chop against a pesky chunk of ice would go smash. A series of quick downwards thrusts to break lines into the ice, making it easier to remove, sounded like chnkchnkchnk. Scraaaape went the metal head of his pick against the asphalt when he tried to push along pulverized ice. And skk was the worst noise of all, the skitter of his pick along the ground when he missed a direct hit. The lack of resistance made him lose his balance every time.

Smash. Smash. Scrape. Chnkchnkchnk. Grunt. Scraaape. Toss head to get hair out of face. Smash. Smash. Toss head. Consider chopping off hair with kitchen scissors. Smash-scraaape. Repeat.

Skk-chnk. “Argh!” He thrust the offending pick away, and it clattered onto a patch of ice he hadn’t yet gotten to. 

…One of the many patches of ice he hadn’t yet gotten to.

Surely anyone would agree this was hopeless. Surely his nosy neighbors wouldn’t judge him for throwing up his hands in defeat and hibernating in his warm cozy house until spring came and cleared the ice for him.

He stared blankly at the nicely-plowed road just beyond his driveway as he tied his hair back in a messy ponytail. It looked so peaceful. So reasonable. The snow a mere whisper on the salt-bleached pavement. Would his driveway look like that if he’d been responsible the day before?

Then the apocalypse began skittering up the street, and Link wasn’t so envious of it anymore.

It came with a metallic scraping against asphalt, and the rhythmic clunking of a hatch left open somewhere, and a mechanical whirring he swore he’d heard in his nightmares. It came with white and brown paneling, and a single eye lit with an unnatural blue that reflected off the snowbank and into his retinas. It came with far too many legs—he did not even want to count how many legs the thing had. And it came with a fluffy bundle, shaded in white and gold, perched atop its overturned-flowerpot-shaped head.

Please keep going. Please keep going. Please keep going. 

The thing skittered treacherously into his driveway. 

Turn around. Turn around!

It settled to a lurching, clanking halt only feet before him. 

Link took an automatic step back, his eyes darting anxiously over its shining bulk. The thing was far too large for comfort. Its central body was compact, its diameter comparable to his old beloved MasterCycle, but its—leg span? arm span?—turned the thing into a hulking monstrosity. With it so close, Link couldn’t tear his stare from that glowing eye: surely it was the center of all malevolence. 

“Hello, neighbor!”

In his nervousness, he’d forgotten all about the bundle of white and gold. Their—for now he knew it was a person—voice was clear, and seemed very self-possessed. Still, he could not raise his gaze. 

“Oh, is the eye bothering you? It doesn’t shoot lasers, I promise.” 

Link wasn’t sure if he should be reassured by this comment, or be concerned about its specificity. This inner conflict was immediately concluded when the voice followed up, very quietly, with something that he was fairly sure they hadn’t meant for them to hear: “Since I don’t have that functionality up yet…”

“H-heh, why would it bother me…” Link managed. “I’ve never seen anything look more friendly and harmless.”

“I agree!” the voice said perkily. “...wait. That was sarcasm, wasn’t it.” They sounded disappointed. 

“It’s my defense mechanism.”

“Fair enough.” Link’s ears perked up at a new noise—the slide of fabric over metal. Then the thump of boots hitting the snow. The glaring eye of the apocalypse went dark a moment later.

A hand thrust itself into his field of vision: gloved in dark brown, accented in gold, fingers outstretched confidently. At last, Link looked up. 

The gold and white bundle was indeed a person, and indeed even more gold and white than he had glimpsed from afar, with long blond hair and fair skin painted rosy by the cold. And, to his surprise, he knew her. 

“It’s…Zelda, right?” he asked hesitantly. “Zelda Bos…Bosso…” He couldn’t remember her last name. He’d only heard it once before, at the summer neighborhood cookout, when the older lady two doors down warned him to steer clear of the eccentric robotics engineer who lived at the end of the cul-de-sac. At the time, Link—never a social butterfly with new people anyway—had shrugged and taken the neighbor’s advice.

“Bosphoramus,” she supplied. “You’re Link Firly, yes?”

“Yes,” he breathed, and shook her hand. 

It was warm.

…He tried not to think too hard about that.

“You can put your pick down now, Link Firly.”

Link glanced down to see that he was, in fact, clutching his ice pick in his left hand, as if ready to fend off Zelda’s mechanical monstrosity. He flushed and let the pick drop onto the ice beside him once again.

“We met at the neighborhood barbeque, didn’t we? On the summer solstice?” 

“We did indeed,” Zelda confirmed. “You brought that delicious soup.” 

“Huh. I hadn’t thought anyone liked the soup.” It had disappointed him at the time, honestly; the recipe was his grandmother’s and a nostalgic favorite he’d been positive would be a hit, but the pot he brought back home at the end of the night was almost as full as it had been when he’d left. 

“No one likes soup.” When Link’s face fell, Zelda lost her cool for a moment, waving her hands in the air. “Ah, I mean, no one likes soup in the summer! It’s too warming, you know? And there’s just no comparison when Daruk’s brisket was right there. You have to admit that the guy knows how to roast—even if he originally learned for rocks rather than meat.”

“True enough,” he said, a little sulkily. 

“If…if it helps, your soup was the best I’ve ever tasted.” Zelda bit her lip, and Link realized she was nervous. He couldn’t help but smile reassuringly. 

“That does help, actually. I’m glad you liked it.”

Although he certainly couldn’t make out tension in her shoulders under her heavy woolen coat, Link thought he saw her relax. He breathed his own little sigh of relief.

Neither spoke for a moment. Zelda’s gaze drifted back along his mess of a driveway, and Link kicked embarrassedly at a patch of snow. Eventually, when the silence had stretched to an unbearable length—thirty whole seconds! That was way too long, right?—he took the plunge.

“So…what’s with the spider?”

Zelda’s brows creased. “Spider? What spider?” When he gestured towards the thing behind her, he could practically see the lightbulb flicker on over her head. “Ah! That would be Terrako. I call him a Guardian.”

“Does he…guard…you?” Link could just picture that portable apocalypse patrolling around Zelda’s little one-story, shooting off the aforementioned lasers at attempted robbers and neighborhood pranksters. 

“Of course not! He’d hardly have any use if that were the case.”

“Ahaha…right, of course not,” he mumbled. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved that the machine wasn’t intended for violence, or slightly disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to see something like that in action. 

“Terrako’s use is far more practical,” she continued, as if Link hadn’t spoken. “He is a guardian against bodily wear and tear.”

“Like…repetitive motion?”

“Exactly!” Zelda’s face lit up just from that slight engagement with her work, and Link had to wonder if she was this passionate at all times, or if she just didn’t get much of a chance to talk about it. Given the neighbor’s warning, he guessed it might be the latter, which was…a little sad. Zelda did seem a bit eccentric, but harmless, and certainly very interesting.

“So you and Terrako are here because…?” Link trailed off expectantly. He certainly didn’t mind conversing with her—especially now that he knew Terrako wasn’t going to eviscerate him—but he was curious why she had taken the Guardian for a walk to his house, of all places. 

“To put it bluntly—”

Well, that was a bit worrisome, if her demeanor to this point wasn’t considered blunt.

“—I noticed that yours was the only property on our street who had yet to clear their driveway, and when I observed you doing so this morning, I saw that you are quite awful at it.”

Link’s jaw dropped and hung stupidly for a moment, before he snapped it shut with teeth-clicking velocity.

“Basically, I came to help you.”

Emotions whirled within Link like a winter storm. Embarrassment at being rightfully called out for his lack of skill warred with his gratitude to a neighbor who—despite doing so in a vaguely insulting manner—had gone out of her way to help him out. 

“I…don’t know what to say,” he replied honestly. “I only have the one shovel and ice pick. I guess we could trade off tasks…”

Zelda wrinkled her nose immediately. “No, no. I will not be manually shoveling your driveway.”

“Then…?”

“Terrako will do it, of course. I’ll just need a moment to program him for this task.”

“Wait, what?”

“It would be helpful if he could borrow your shovel and pick, of course, although he should be capable without the use of additional tools.”

“Borrow my—huh?”

Zelda fixed him with a contemplative stare, as if reevaluating her decision to help her confused mess of a neighbor. “Do I need to rephrase anything for you to understand me better?”

“I, ah, I mean…no.” He understood her words all right, just didn’t understand why. But he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth…or gift Guardian in the eye. “I’ll go grab my shovel, I guess!”

“Excellent!” Zelda looked both pleased and almost surprised, as if she hadn’t truly expected him to agree. The gleam in her green eyes was…well, honestly, a bit suspicious. Link’s mouth curled up into an uncertain grin in reply before he ambled over to his abandoned shovel.

When he returned, shovel and pick in hand, he found Zelda crouched down in the snow beside Terrako. A sheet of the brown-and-ivory siding of the main body gaped open, exposing the control panel within. Link peeked over Zelda’s shoulder curiously. Even with the neat, careful labeling of each wire, circuit board, chip, lever, and button that he could see, his head still spun trying to comprehend the sheer complexity of the machine. Of just this part of the machine!

“You must be a genius or something!” he blurted out. “To build a robot like this, and it actually work, and everything, I mean.” 

Zelda continued flipping switches and typing commands into the slate-sized screen embedded into the center of the control panel. “Hardly. I think anyone could accomplish such a thing if they had the proper training.”

“Really…? I mean, some people just have a head for different skills, right? Different intelligences?” 

“Perhaps,” she allowed, and gave a final, decisive press to a command in the top-right corner of the slate screen: Go. The dull indigo of the icon immediately blinked bright blue, the same shade Terrako’s eye had glowed. She shut the panel with gentle hands before turning back towards Link. “Although I think almost anyone can follow a list of directions.”

Link held out a hand, and to his surprise, she took it, allowing him to help her to her feet. “Surely it’s more than a list of directions, though?”

“I suppose there is some independent design work and troubleshooting involved,” Zelda surrendered with an amused smile. 

Link realized, suddenly, that he was still holding her hand—or was she holding his? Regardless, the worn chocolate leather of her glove rested atop his heavy-duty black ski mitten with a weight he found to be alarmingly comfortable. He felt his cheeks flush in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. 

Perhaps Zelda had noticed it too, or felt the instinctive twitch his hand had given at his realization, for she pulled her hand back to let it dangle casually at her side. His lingered in the air for a moment longer before he hurriedly retracted it as well. 

“So, ah, what happens next?” Link looked past her at Terrako. The Guardian had awoken, its form straightening up and its eye burning blue once more. He stifled a shudder.

“Now you give him your pick and shovel,” she stated baldly, as if it were obvious.

“Just—just like that?”

“Indeed. Just like that.”

Brow furrowed with consternation and a bit of disbelief, Link tentatively held out the two handles. The tools seemed tiny in comparison to the Guardian’s massive size. He almost leapt back in shock when two of its (many, many) legs jolted to life, shooting out and grasping the tools in the prehensile clamps of its feet. 

“Whoa!”

The gleam had returned to Zelda’s eyes, and this time he could see it was tempered with pride. “Good boy,” she told Terrako. 

“Can…can he understand you?” Link almost wouldn’t be surprised if the Guardian could, after what he’d just experienced. 

“Of course not,” she said dismissively. “He’s just following the directions I programmed.”

“Oh. That makes sense—”

“I just like to tell him that he’s a good boy.” She sounded like someone talking about a beloved dog, and Link fought off an amused grin. “Anyway, you should probably get out of the way now.”

He stiffened. “What?”

“You’re in the way of his sensors, and he’s programmed to complete a task. There’s a slight chance of, ah, bodily removal.”

Link had never moved so fast in his life. 

By the time Zelda joined him at his front step, she was snorting with laughter. “You should see your face! I don’t think even Terrako could run so quickly!”

“I’m just not a fan of bodily removal,” Link said, pouting despite himself. “Anyway, do you…want to come in? He won’t be done right away, will he?”

“No, by the size of your driveway…” Zelda pursed her lips in thought. “I estimate he’ll need at least fifteen minutes. Perhaps twenty-five. So…yes, I’d be glad to come in out of the cold for that time.” She grinned toothily for the first time, and Link felt his heart skip a beat. “I’d say a hot chocolate would be a fair payment for my and Terrako’s service.”

“S-sure! I’d be happy to get you one.” Link fumbled for the doorknob and swung it open wide. Warmth—blessed warmth—spilled out of the open doorway. “After you, Zelda.”

--

“So what is it that you do, Link?”

Link projected his voice a little louder than normal so that Zelda, seated at his kitchen table, could hear his words without him having to turn his gaze away from the stove. “I work at Howl.”

“Haven’t heard of it.”

“Oh, it’s an outdoor outfitter. I’m basically, heh, glorified retail.” 

Zelda hummed sympathetically. 

“It’s definitely not all bad, though! I really like outdoorsy stuff, and I get to lead people on skiing and snowshoeing expeditions about once a day.” 

“Does that mean that you have to know how to not die while using skis?” 

Link laughed. “Yeah, or at least, no one has told me yet that I have died while using them, so I’m a convincing ghost if nothing else.”

“I would probably die if I tried,” Zelda said. Intriguingly, it seemed like she was seriously contemplating the scenario and its outcome, rather than her comment being the kind of lighthearted, self-deprecating ones he heard all the time at work and from acquaintances. 

“Aw, come on, even if I was your guide?” he joked.

“Especially if you were my guide.”

Link waited for an elaboration. None was forthcoming.

He realized, suddenly, that the milk had gone over its intended mild simmer and was approaching a boil. Snatching up the handle of the saucepan to hold it up off the heat, he scrambled for the burner dial with his other hand. After a moment, he set the saucepan back down on the lowered flame, only to lift it up again when the milk surged back to its near-boil. 

Zelda must have seen the expression on his face, because he heard her giggle off to the side. “This is a rather, ah, demanding hot chocolate method.”

“Why yes, the secret ingredient is despair.”

“How experimental! Remind me why you’re not a professional chef?”

“The culinary schools just wouldn’t accept me because they knew I was advanced beyond their curricula, but alas, the fine dining institutions won’t hire me without a culinary degree. I am a victim of bureaucracy.”

Zelda wheezed with laughter, and Link risked a glance away from the milk in order to peek. The way her nose scrunched up and her eyes squinched almost completely closed when she laughed was... 

He turned back to the burner and unceremoniously dumped in his favorite dark chocolate cocoa mix, feeling heat in his cheeks that had little to do with the steam rising from the stovetop. Under his watchful eye and careful whisk, the milk and mix combined into a gloriously warm, rich, and mouthwatering brown, and he poured the contents of the saucepan into two large mugs. 

“And you?” he asked. “What do you do?”

“Robotics.” 

Link laughed at the bluntness of her answer before he realized that she wouldn’t be following up this answer with additional explanations, either. “I mean, yeah, I can tell! But do you have a degree, are you getting one…?” He took the seat opposite her at the kitchen table and slid her mug across. 

“Oh! Indeed, I just began my final semester of my Robotics PhD program at the Hateno Institute of Technology. Terrako is my thesis, as it were.” She lowered her voice, and Link instinctively leaned closer across the table. “To be honest, I began him as a personal project long before the thesis stage, but fortunately the proposal committee didn’t know that when they approved me.”

“Smart and sneaky!” Link teased. “Is Terrako ‘that terrible, noisy project she’s been working on in her garage for four years and is definitely against the law and we’ll be blessed if it doesn’t burn the entire neighborhood down one of these days’ that I’ve heard about from various members of the Homeowners Association, then?”

Zelda grimaced. “The HOA never wants anyone to have nice things. Can’t paint your front door turquoise, can’t put your trash out more than 24 hours before the collectors come, can’t build an eight foot tall fully automated and intelligent robot in your garage…” 

“They’ve nailed me for the trash thing, too. And not having proper landscaping. Why is it not acceptable to reseed the lawn with native grasses and let it grow to its proper length? I’m doing the neighborhood a service, given how pollination has improved around here.” 

“Funny, they reached out to me about improper landscaping as well. That was…” She trailed off, remembering, then scrunched up her eyebrows. “Well, I was still developing Terrako’s skill set at that time, after all,” she sniffed. “They shouldn’t have expected perfection from him.” She took a sip of her hot chocolate, and her eyes went wide. “Nayru, this is fantastic! What did you do?”

“Nothing really,” Link replied bashfully. “Real milk and doing it on the stovetop goes a long way. And I use a really good mix, straight from a small producer in Faron.”

“Please text me a link to it, because this is delicious.” Zelda took another sip and closed her eyes appreciatively.

Link blinked. “I, um…I don’t have your number.”

Eyes still closed, Zelda waved nonchalantly in the direction of her slate, which she’d set beside her on the table. “Passcode is 16643. Go ahead and add yourself to my compendium.” 

Obediently, he picked up her slate and navigated to her compendium, although he shot her a hesitant look. “You sure? I could just pull up their website in your browser for you.”

“Thank you, but no. I’ll need your contact information in order to reach out about doing this again regardless, so we might as well maximize efficiency and do it now.”

Link’s fingers froze over the screen where he’d been typing Link Firly (shovel/soup guy) into the new compendium entry. “You want to do this again?”

“Well, obviously.” 

Obviously? 

“You clearly need assistance with your driveway—”

Ouch. 

“—the task itself is perfect for training Terrako, which will dramatically improve his performance and my eventual committee review—”

Well, that was fair enough, and he would be more than happy to help—

“—and I find I quite enjoy your company, Link Firly. I would certainly not be opposed to engaging with you more often.”

Sweet Din, did she just say that?!

Link’s mind fritzed out, staticky with pleased surprise. He wondered absently if Zelda’s skill with technology could transfer to the error message in his brain.

“Assuming, that is, that you feel the same?” 

The tone of Zelda’s voice hadn’t changed—still posh and friendly and commanding all at once—but he noticed with a start that her knuckles had paled where they wrapped around her mug. Was she…nervous?

He rushed to assuage her worries. “Yes! Sorry, yes. I was just…thinking. But I would love to hang out!”

The same pleased, surprised smile she’d given him earlier when he agreed to let Terrako clear his driveway leapt to her face. His heart beat faster at the sight.

“Zelda, I think you’re really—”

SCCRREEEECHKKNKNHNHNNHHH!!

Link just about jumped out of his skin. The horrendous scraping of metal on cement had come from outside—from his driveway. Alarmed, he turned to Zelda, and found her eyes just as wide as his own. 

Abruptly, she sprang to her feet. “Terrako!”

Link stood up quickly, but she was a blur, impossible to keep pace with as she dashed to the door with the speed and grace of a mountain doe. “Wait, you forgot your—”

The door slammed. 

“Coat,” he finished weakly. He stared down at the white and gold bundle in his outstretched arms, then at Zelda’s nearly-empty mug of hot chocolate. 

And smiled.

--

When he made it outside, still clutching Zelda’s coat, he found that the driveway had undergone an utter transformation. Every inch was clear of snow, and even the most stubborn patches of ice had been chopped and swept cleanly off into the yard on either side. There was also a mildly deep gouge marring its exact center, right where the worst patch of ice had once been. The ice pick and shovel laid discarded in the yard.

He blinked. First at the gravelly wound in his driveway, and then at Zelda, although all he could see of her were her knee-high boots sticking out from beneath Terrako’s lifeless form. The white shearling and caramel leather stood out against the spotless grey pavement. 

“Everything okay over here?” He approached the Guardian cautiously, ducking beneath an errant leg frozen in midair. Sure, Terrako was off right now, but if he had the power to do that to his driveway…

“Certainly.” Zelda’s muffled voice echoed from beneath Terrako’s chassis. One boot began to waggle in a way Link automatically registered as anxiety.

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?”

A metallic sigh. “Well, I can’t say I’m not disappointed.” Zelda began to shimmy her way back out from under Terrako, and he watched her black leggings, turquoise thermal shirt, tangled golden hair, and finally her face slowly inch into view. “There’s nothing wrong with his physical mechanisms, fortunately. It seems that I left one of his ventilation hatches open, and the cold air made his internal fluids heat up dramatically to compensate, which of course led to the wires near them overheating as well.”

“Of course,” Link echoed. “And that made him malfunction…?”

“Indeed.” She tapped a bare, cold-reddened finger against the opposite palm along with her words. “The high internal temperatures resulted in errors in the thermal, visual, and tactile sensors in his feet and body.” Two fingers. “They reported incorrect readings, therefore, to the central operational mechanism.” Three fingers. “Acting in occurrence with the false readings, the command center, which had been programmed to clear all ice using force proportional to its thickness, gave the command to scrape very hard.” She gave Link a tight, chagrined smile. “And thus your driveway became his victim.”

“Wow, I can’t believe you figured all that out so quickly.” His gaze settled again on her rosy fingers, and immediately he thrust out the white and gold bundle. “Ah, here. Looks like you might need this.”

“Oh!” Her expression softened into something more genuine. “Thank you very much.” She had her coat on in short order, buttoning up the center and the collar piece with fingers that were nimble despite the cold, and securely tying the brown leather belt around her waist. 

He watched until she had pulled both chocolate leather gloves over her hands, and then, satisfied, continued. “It’s okay, also! I don’t mind that he messed up my driveway—it’s just asphalt.”

Zelda blinked for a moment, her eyebrows pushing together like kissing caterpillars. Then green eyes lit up with recognition—followed, strangely, with an almost bashful pouting of her lips that made Link want to—

Nothing. He wanted to nothing. 

Yet, anyway. 

“Erm,” she said eloquently. “I wasn’t. Actually. Thinking about your driveway when I said I was disappointed. I was. Um. Irritated at what this meant for Terrako’s performance records.”

She was taller than him. How was she able to look up through her eyelashes like that when she was taller than him? That was downright unfair. 

“Oh.” It was all he could think to say, distracted as he was by dark feathery ferns framing emerald pools. 

“I certainly do apologize for the damage done to your driveway!” she burst out, clearly misinterpreting the cause of his wordlessness. “It was unintentional, but I am the party at fault, and I will take responsibility for my actions.” 

“It’s alright,” he replied. “The rut isn’t that deep. Won’t mess with Epona any.”

“Epona?”

“Um. My car.”

She grinned. “No wonder you didn’t bat an eye at my naming Terrako. We would seem to be two peas in a pod, Link Firly.”

“I’m shocked that you used a nature metaphor rather than a mechanical one,” he replied, surprised by his own boldness. “Not two screws in a…” He didn’t know any machine words. Dammit. “Gear?”

Her laugh rang out over the snow. “Two loose screws, maybe.” Her expression sobered. “I certainly could have been more attentive. That ventilation hatch was open when I arrived regardless of my focus, but honestly—” The pout returned full force. “—I was too distracted by you to do my full checks!”

“M-me?”

“Yes, you! With that scraggly ponytail and smile and that thing you do when you’re embarrassed and you scratch the back of your head—yes, that! No one with such helpless puppy energy should be that cute!”

Link’s hand froze in his hair. “You think I’m cute?”

“Obviously,” Zelda sniffed. “Much like Terrako, I do have visual sensors that are quite adept at taking readings.”

Link tried not to think about the potential of her thermal and tactile sensors taking readings as well. It was a valiant battle. He lost.

Zelda looked at him, and he looked back, meeting her gaze dead-on. There was the slightest of flushes blooming in her cheeks and the tips of her ears, but her face was set with determination and self-assurance. Darkness streaked the right side of her jaw.

“You have a little…” He reached out, at once ginger and intrepid, his hand moving towards her slowly enough that she could see it coming and move out of his way or stop him if she didn’t want him to touch her. Her eyes widened ever so slightly, but she stayed utterly still as his fingers grazed, pressed, traced firmly up her jaw. They lingered for a breathless moment right beneath where her jaw ended and ear began. Then, slowly, he pulled away.

Only the slightest smear of black remained on her cheek, with most of the gummy substance safely collected on his fingers. He flashed them towards Zelda for her to see.

“Ah, grease. Mechanic’s contouring.” Despite her nonchalant words, Zelda’s voice was light and wispy, like dandelion puffs blowing in the wind. Her hand rose to her jawline and hovered there.

He could’ve told her she was smart and confident and beautiful, and that he liked her bluntness and her preoccupation with her robot and also just her. But there was something else he could say to her that, if his hunch about her personality was correct, would do a far better job of conveying his feelings.

“Don’t worry, Zelda.” He smiled. Her name on his tongue was lemon zest and the whole sweetness of honey. “There will be plenty more snow and ice this winter for Terrako to improve his performance on. Plus, you’ll be able to teach him how to repair asphalt come spring, for portfolio diversity.”

Zelda’s eyes glowed, and he knew he’d gotten it right. “I’ll see you next time it snows, then.”

“Or before that.” He flushed despite himself.

“Or before that.” Her smiling eyes held his for a moment that shimmered like freshly-fallen snow under the light of the sun, before she turned to Terrako and the gaping control hatch on his side. Those expert fingers danced once more across the keypad and screen, and the robot straightened, its singular blue eye flashing back on to full power.

Link didn’t think he’d ever get used to that…but he was certainly willing to try.

“You know, now that I think about it,” he said, the tiniest lilting hint of teasing entering his voice, “I thought I’d heard something like a hatch clanking around when you came up the street.”

Zelda paused halfway up Terrako’s side, hanging from well-camouflaged ladder rungs he never would have noticed were he not so close and so attentive to the woman climbing them. “You ruffian! You should have told me!”

He stuck his tongue out. “Hey, I’m just a simple retail guy, what do I know about big fancy robots and the noises they make?”

“About robots? Not much, I imagine.” Zelda settled in upon Terrako’s head, and beamed down at him. “But you’re going to.”

The apocalypse with its waving white and gold bundle scuttled back down the street towards the cul-de-sac it called home, and Link watched it go, heart pounding in his throat for a completely new reason. 

How strange and lovely it was to hope for its swift return.

[ed-recovery-affirmations]

Hey, so I have a situation going on (TW for extensive discussion of ED):

So I'm in recovery but sometimes I still relapse, especially during the fall and winter months, idk why but those are just the worst for me in terms of ED. My roommate and acquaintance knows that I've been battling ED for most of my life and before I moved in with her and other flatmates, I told everyone that I am in recovery and that I need them not to comment on my food (be it choices that seem disordered but are actually improvements to my previous situation, or idk my portion sizes for example).

Despite that, this roommate, who is currently going through an eating disorder and is in therapy for it, keeps commenting on my food. She keeps judging how much I eat, keeps asking me questions about why I eat what I eat (eg. Sometimes there are days when I just won't eat something I haven't made. I just can't. And she'll just keep asking why. It's not malicious but she doesn't take the hint when I say "well you know...due to the problems" and essentially forces me to just outright say that I can't eat it because I don't have control over it and the ingredients, which is both a frankly embarrassing thing to say and most of the time she doesn't really get it either), and sometimes says things like "Idk how you eat like that and aren't fat lol" (which usually occurs when I have like...a slice of bread with jam or something, which is, mind you, also usually my only food of the day because I am too busy for my own good, and because my meds cause me not to have an appetite).

Worse than that, she vents about her ED problems to me constantly. I get that maybe she needs someone outside of therapy to talk about it with, but it makes me really close to relapsing every time. She'll come home and start saying things like "I weighed myself yesterday and lost another X kg" and "A guy ranted to me about how he wanted to lose weight, like duh he should be happy, he might need it for when he's like me, who hasn't eaten in 3 days." and "I've been so bad today but it's probably a good thing because the 4 days before that I didn't eat at all."

I don't know how to gently reaffirm my boundaries and tell her that it's affecting me really badly when she says such things to me. I don't want to be too firm or mean, and I understand that she's going through bad stuff, but I'm not in a place where I could listen to it without it fucking me up badly.

Honestly, I think you've given your roommate the benefit of the doubt for too long. She doesn't "forget" she's triggering you. She's subtly doing it on purpose. She doesn't "not pick up on" your hints about why you're uncomfortable. She's enjoying making you uncomfortable. I usually do not advise people to think in such a paranoid fashion, but I truly believe the writing is on the wall here. As someone who has given others the benefit of the doubt for too long and gotten hurt for it, I feel obligated to say this.

Anon, those of us who have eating disorders are often unwell in other ways. We often have trauma and difficult relationships and other issues. And we're often competitive in our eating disorders, which is a real risk. Many of us try to show off being the "sickest" or make it a game, sometimes. And you are ABSOLUTELY allowed to be too firm and "too mean" in defending your health. Her going through stuff does NOT justify her putting you through stuff, and that's a lesson all of us who have mental illness need to learn - both in regard to what we put up with, and what we may make others put up with.

So listen. A successful boundary is not a statement of "you can't do X." Attempting to control the behavior of others is useless. Instead, think of a boundary (and speak your boundaries) in terms of "if you do X, I will do Y to protect myself." And do be prepared to follow through on that consequence. As one of my favorite TikTok therapists once said, "a boundary without consequences for violating it isn't a boundary, it's more of a fancy request."

If you're stuck in the lease and don't have the option of moving away from this girl, here's what you can do to get by for now. Make a list of all the things she has done to trigger your ED, and make a list of responses that will be protective for you. Then, have a kind but firm talk with her about how she constantly triggers your ED and how you will be taking the following measures to take care of your mental health. Let her know you're not trying to be hurtful but for your protection, these are non-negotiable. Things like "If you continue to make comments about what is on my plate, I will take my plate and leave the room." or "If you continue to vent to me about your eating disorder, I will hang out with you less."

She may try to act the victim. Do not be swayed by this. No matter how she feels about this talk, nothing is worth sacrificing your mental health, and it is her own responsibility to learn to take care of her own mental health WITHOUT hurting others, as we all must learn to do. Tell her that you want for her to have someone to talk to about this, but that someone cannot be you. She has done this multiple times. This isn't a mistake at this point, and honestly, you're not doing her a favor by letting her go without learning how to hold herself accountable for respecting the boundaries of others. But more importantly, you're not doing yourself any favors by teaching yourself that it's okay to let others hurt you because they're having a hard time. Your hard times matter too, anon.

Best of luck in the roommate stuff and in making it through the winter.

[miekasa]

any dad!levi hcs for father’s day today🥺🤲🏽

Absolutely!! I’ll do this I guess using the kids I have for him in my parent au? If you’ve read that, you know about Holden, but there are two more so prepare to meet them :’) happy father’s day to Levi <33

To begin with, you guys would plan to have your kids (to the best of your abilities; you were intentionally trying to have kids at a time when you both knew you were ready for them. 

Although accidents to do happen, and Levi would welcome an unplanned child all the same; that being said, if you’re both want a family, you would have discussed it beforehand (which is to a degree, is a lot about mental preparation for himself). 

In his perfect world, he’d have two daughters. They’d be equal parts him and you, and they’d be quiet and curious and lovely and life would be good. He’d spend his days with you and his two tiny daughters, raising his little family and doing all he could for his favorite girls. 

So, naturally, he does get two daughters, but also a son in between; and the latter two kids are far from easy in their own unique ways lmfao 

You might have already met Holden, and she’s the oldest in my dad Levi au, and the most like him. Levi’s dark hair, his grey eyes, his overall unimpressed visage, his knack for cleanliness and organization—down to the way she holds her sippy cups, she’s damn near Levi’s doppleganger. 

Holden is somewhere between 3.5-4 years old before you have your second kid, and in that time is when Levi confirms he thinks he was cut out to be a certified Girl Dad. 

Both Levi and Holden take quality father-daughter time very seriously. It’s impossible to change plans once they’re set: “Daddy, you promised we would go to the famer’s market on Sunday. You pinky promised.” And Levi wouldn’t dare break a pinky promise, so he makes time for it. 

Levi doesn’t play favorites with his kids, but there is something special about Holden as his first born. He’s constantly in awe of just how much she resembles him. Four years into raising her and it’s still hard to wrap his head around. 

Much to his chagrin, Hange and Eren are Holden’s favorite adults. Maybe Levi understands the admiration for Hange, but Eren... come on, Holden, you’re breaking his heart at that point. 

It’s almost out of character for your daughter to be so openly affectionate about someone outside of your immediate family, but she really loves having Eren as a babysitter; and you know she’s playing favorites, because she remains neutral on Armin, even though he and Eren always babysit as a duo. 

She doesn’t have a favorite grandparent, but Kenny spoils her the most. Levi tells him he shouldn’t, but when has Kenny ever listened to Levi. The man isn’t a fan of kids, but he thinks yours and Levi’s are pretty cool, and Holden is about the coolest 4 year old he could ever meet. 

When she was learning to walk, Levi’s favorite thing was holding her little hand and guiding her around. Even now, when she can stand perfectly fine on her own two feet, Levi loves it when she reaches for his hand; Holden is a pretty independent kid, even at 4 years old, so Levi never takes affection from her for granted. 

They’re best friends and Holden goes everywhere with him. Their favorite father-daughter activity is going to the grocery store, and Levi lets Holden point to and assess her favorite fruits and veggies while she sits happily in the shopping cart. 

Sometimes there are other parents struggling with a kid throwing a temper tantrum. Levi simply clicks his teeth, while Holden shakes her little head. “That’s pretty embarassing, daddy,” she says, looking at the poor parent with an unamused glare that rivals Levi’s. He nods and pushes the cart past the scene, “Tell me about it, kid.” 

Your second kid is a boy, and he looks more like you than Levi, but manages to have Levi’s signature hair color and pout when things aren’t going his way.

He comes as a shock to both you and Levi, because after your ultrasound, you were told you were having another girl. Turns out, they’d accidentally mixed up your files, and you were having a boy instead, which you do not find out until your mid-term check up a few months later. Cue Levi buffering like an old computer. 

Kiaan is welcomed all the same, even tho Levi is still in disbelief; he was mentally preparing to have another daughter on his hands. He puts more pressure on himself with his son; not that he wasn’t trying his best to be a parent to Holden, but any insecurities he might have about being a good come out when your son is born, because Levi has no “man of the house” example to follow from. 

You reassure him that your son will turn out to be just fine, and raising him the way you raised Holden, and would have raised another daughter is perfectly acceptable. Of course Levi rises to the occasion after the initial shock; he’s determined to be the dad to his son that he never had. 

Where Holden is more reserved, Kiaan likes to talk and babble about anything whenever and wherever he can, to whoever is around. It’s not uncommon for you or Levi to find your son completely entertained by telling a story out loud to himself while playing with his toys.

Loves to rope Levi into making his toys interact and have “conversations” with each other, and Kiaan genuinely thinks his dad is hilarious, even if he doesn’t completely understand what he’s saying. It always makes Levi smile to hear Kiaan try and copy the bass and tone of his voice when he’s mocking him. 

Kiaan loves messing with his dad, and Levi’s all talk, so of course he lets him. He’ll be on a Zoom meeting for work, and Kiaan will be sat in his lap, running little toy cars across the desk in front of him, or tugging on Levi’s hair, and Levi just lets him. It makes quite the cute sight, and Hange has definitely taken a few screen recordings. 

That being said, your son is more of a mama’s boy than anything. Kiaan loves messing with Levi, but if you’re in the room, there’s a 95% chance he’ll be on your lap or at your side shadowing whatever you’re doing. 

Kiaan is a universal copycat tho, so whatever you, Levi, or Holden say or do, he tries for himself. This makes him especially susceptible to repeating Levi’s foul language and bad habits than Holden. (“Kiaan, you can’t sleep on the chair, it’s not good for your back.” “But daddy sleeps on the chairs sometimes!” “...Alright kid, you got me there.”) 

He’s a very loving kid with his words, too, always thanking people and proclaiming his love, so he doesn’t exactly have a “favorite” adult or babysitter, but he does get particularly excited when Erwin or Farlan come around. He feels especially tall when Erwin lets him sit on his shoulders, and Farlan always entertains his story-telling. 

He’s a sucker for his grandma though, and gives Kuchel a million kisses whenever she comes around. Does not let go over her for the entire time she’s over at your house, and will sit on her lap throughout dinner. 

The most affectionate child, so where Holden only likes holding hands, Kiaan loves cuddling with you and Levi, and likes to be held whenever possible. Levi spoils him a little too much, and more often than not, if you’re walking outside for more than two hours, Kiaan will end up on Levi’s shoulders or in your arms. 

Your last kid is another girl, and, yeah she’s just a baby no older than a few months, but Levi can’t help but think she’s especially tiny, and he can’t help but to look at her and hold her whenever possible. Your baby girl also leaves Levi a little dumbstruck because she manages to look like a combination of you and his mother. 

As she grows, it becomes apparent that you’ve got another daddy’s girl on your hands. Doesn’t matter if you’re literally breast feeding her, Aria will throw a tantrum if she’s separated from Levi for more than an hour. 

The good news is, her sleep cycle is as irregular as Levi’s, so he’s got someone to keep him company when everyone else has gone to bed for the evening. Unfortunately, this also means Aria naps a lot during the day, which leaves Levi a little bored since Holden is old enough to be in school full-time, and Kiaan is gone for at least a portion of the day. 

So, he would never tell you, but sometimes he wakes Aria up from her naps just a little bit early to spend more time with her (and cure his boredom). Having an infant trying to grab at his hair with her ravioli sized baby fists while he tries to cook lunch certainly makes the task more difficult, but it also adds welcomed color to his day.

You and Levi have to hold Aria constantly when she’s awake or else she’ll cry (although, if you leave her in the arms of her siblings, she does settle down, too); that, or she’ll find her tiny baby hands somewhere they shouldn’t be. Like dipped in a jar of strawberry jam. Or peanut butter. Or both. 

Levi talks to his kids like he would any other adult, so it’s not uncommon to find him brewing tea with a baby strapped to his chest, narrating the steps to good tea-making out loud to her for her to hear. He swears she can understand him, and he attributes Holden and Kiaan’s growing vocabularies, and the early ages at which they started speaking to this. 

Aria will be in her little chest strap thing while Levi’s cooking dinner, and he’ll look down at her like, “Alright, we’re gonna julienne your carrots today. Yesterday we cubed them, but you’ve got grabby hands, so this will give you more room to work with.”

Kiaan loves holding Aria and honestly just being around her, and you and Levi think it’s adorable how he loves to play with her, and how he knows to be gentle with her. He shares a room with her, and loves sharing his bedtime story times, so you or Levi will read them to sleep together. 

Holden isn’t crazy about babies, but she’s a good older sister, and Aria seems to be obsessed with her. She crawls and scoots towards her if given the opportunity, and Holden will always look to you or Levi before attempting to hold or lift her up, as if asking permission. She’ll pat Aria’s head to get her to stop crying, or let her play with her hands. 

Levi thinks one of the best parts about being a dad is seeing the different dynamics and relationships between your kids. Holden isn’t most physically or verbally affectionate, but she’s still compassionate, and Kiaan looks up to her; and Kiaan is the perfect middle ground, knowing when it’s appropriate to bother (affectionate) Holden, and when to give her space, and curiously hovers around his baby sister, too. 

[tsukikento]

Empathetic Chapter 14

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Summary: After your mom, the number 1 hero in America, gets offered a teaching position at U.A., you two pack up your things and head to Musutafu, Japan to start a new life. Pressure for you in America was at an all-time high, and now you’re in Japan, where almost no one knows you, or your family’s past.

This tale starts on your first day of class where your new teacher decides the best way for you to fit in is to fight against the strongest person in your class: Bakugou Katsuki.

Warnings/Genre: This piece will feature some angst and reference to an abusive parent, if you are ever worried about other tw’s feel free to send me an ask and I will let you know. There will also be fluff, slight angst, pining, and slowburn.

A/N: I’m glad I was able to get another chapter out before school starts for me. Anyways, please let me know what you guys think! I love hearing your thoughts and feelings on the story!

(masterlist)

You woke up on Sunday with a small pit in your stomach.

It only grew bigger as the day continued.

However, it started small. Just a little bit of nerves for your training sessions today. Except, you did not have much time to think about these anxieties because you woke up to an email from Kobayashi.

You went in yesterday to try on the costume, it fits quite well. You loved the style he was able to encapsulate as well as the functionality it allowed. Once he pinned it in a few places and adjust some things, he bid you farewell.

He said his intern, who was a student at U.A., would make the adjustments that day and be able to give it to you for one more look over in the morning. Additionally, this student would be the person you would be contacting if you ever needed any adjustments.

The email, which also had this student in it, detailed where you two would meet up to do any final adjustments if there was anything after the adjustments made yesterday.

The meeting time was set for 10:00 in the morning and it was currently 7:00, giving you ample time to go on a quick run, shower, and eat something.

Although your morning run was usually an opportunity for you to relax, you ended up feeling more nervous than anything. It was during this run that you were able to finally think about your fight against Bakugou.

You were sure in your abilities and skill with your quirk, enough so that you knew you would be safe. However, you also knew that Bakugou has been waiting for weeks for this rematch. If he won, he would surely gloat. If he lost, he would look like an angry Pomeranian as he demanded another fight.

Additionally, this anger would surely pour-over and affect the fight in a way that could be unsafe.

You felt the pit in your stomach grow just a bit more as you turned up your music and increased your running speed in an attempt to calm down.

By the time you finished running and took a shower, you barely had an appetite. The nerves in your stomach were making the idea of a meal seem disgusting and vile. Despite this, you knew you needed to eat something and forced yourself to drink a protein shake and a piece of toast with jam.

Hopefully not having an empty stomach will help my nerves, you thought as you munched on the toast.

Once the clock inched close enough to 10:00, you made your way to the support team’s school building.

Even though it was the weekend, the building was loud and bustling. Students were running through the halls and rooms with metal in their hands. Cautiously, walked through the building to find a specific room where your new costume designer would be.

Once there, you noticed only one other person in the room.

“Iwasaki Kou-san?” You asked while taking in their outfit and style. Their hair was straight, with some strands falling in front of their face. The rest was pulled back into a white hair tie. The dark color of his hair had hints of blue throughout when hit by the light correctly. With that in mind, it was difficult to identify the hair as one solid shade. However, the most noticeable things about him were his deep eyes and thick eyebrows that made him stand out despite no one else being there.

He was nowhere near as fit as the heroes you surrounded yourself with. However, the black t-shirt he had on shaped his form in a quite flattering way.

You stopped your eyes from wandering lower and you instead looked at his surroundings. He was currently tinkering with something, but you weren’t quite sure what it was. On a mannequin behind him was your hero costume, laying limply across the much too small body.

“Yeah,” He casually replied, the smile forming on his lips was kind, inviting, and yet held a mysteriousness that you couldn’t decipher. “Are you Y/L/N-san?” His voice was soft.

You gulped down and nodded, stepping further into the room.

“Perfect,” He took off the thick gloves that covered your hands and wiped the soot off them with a white cloth he kept tucked into his pants. He then held out his now clean hand to shake your own.

You gently took his own, his calloused hands sending shivers up your spine.

Why do I feel so calm and yet so nervous? You questioned as you forced yourself to smile.

“Shall we get started?” He asked.

“Sure!” You excitedly agreed.

Iwasaki immediately moved to the mannequin and unzipped your uniform. Gently, he handed you the fabric. “You can go into that room there to change,” He explained, pointing to a door on the other side of the classroom. “I’ll pull out all the extra items while you change.

You entered the small room to see that it looked quite like a typical changing room. A small ledge to sit on or hold items, a body-length mirror, and a few hooks to hold items.

The tight bodysuit was a deep blue that looked almost black. Sort of like Kou’s hair, you thought as you pulled it on. Throughout the suit were detailed of neon yellow. As Kobayashi explained to you before, the details were the only stylist and were a way to incorporate your family’s colors without being too cheesy. The arms of the suit stopped just after your shoulder to allow for mobility. The legs, additionally, stopped quickly. You had a small metal waist set that could hold swords and expand to protect vital organs. Your pants stopped midthigh.

You remember specifically telling Kobayashi-san that you wanted skin exposed so you could use your quirk when people touch you, without having a hard to manage skirt.

Once you zipped up your suit, you made your way back into the main classroom.

Iwasaki smiled at you once he saw you.

He was currently surrounded by a variety of dark blues and neon yellows that stood out at all your support items.

He handed you the boots to your suit first.

“I tinkered with the boots a bit, but you shouldn’t notice much difference,” Iwasaki explained. “I was just trying to make them lighter.”

You nodded and you took your time to attach them. The boots stopped under your calf, but straps ran up your leg to attach to a knee cap.

“I’m sure Kobayashi-sensei told you, but the straps are to help prevent injuries from any awkward movements or excessive running. The boots and straps will help you to run faster, but it won’t be by too much so you can get used to the boost. If you want, you can also attach weights to them while you train so that you move faster in the field with the weights off.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Oh and the blade feature on your other boots is the same with these.”

You silently nodded, much too focused on putting everything on correctly.

You then attached the compact shoulder pads to your costume.

You the attached metal cuffs to your wrist that you also assembled to help prevent injuries on your hands or arms. It would also help add weight and power to any punches you would have to throw.

Last but certainly not least were your ear and eye protectors.

Kobayashi brilliantly designed your ear attachments with three different functions. When needed, you could use the ear attachments like your earbuds and prevent you from hearing thoughts. The second function was to increase your hearing distance. Although he was unable to increase your hearing distance for thoughts, he was able to help even out the differences. Now you could hear people from as far as 100 ft without needing to take out the earbuds that help prevent you from hearing thoughts. You were also able to zero in on certain sounds if needed. The final function was a simple Bluetooth addition in case you needed to communicate with other heroes on the field.

“Your ear attachments are cool, but I’m really excited to make them better for you,” Kou smiled calmly and brightly at you. “I want to make them perfect because half of your quirk is so based around your ears.”

Appreciatively, you smiled at the boy. “That’s very nice, thank you.”

Iwasaki sheepishly waved you off, “It’s my pleasure! I became a support student for a reason. If I’m able to figure anything out, I might even make it my final analysis and creation project.”

“Are you a third-year?” You asked.

“Yeah,” The boy blushed lightly and scratched at the back of his head, “I am.”

You simply nodded before attaching the shield to your earpiece that protected your eyes.

You then moved over to look at yourself in the full-body mirror.

I look amazing.

“You like it?” Iwasaki asked, interrupting yourself from going on an analytical tangent for each piece of the costume.

“I love it,” You explained, smiling brightly at yourself.

“I’m glad,” He paused briefly. “I saw your original sketches and I was worried you would hate it. Kobayashi-sensei didn’t tell me how much you two collaborated together, so I didn’t know.

You nodded as you looked at the dark black dots on your left shoulder pad. It wasn’t too noticeable from far away, but you could see it up close against the dark blue.

“Yeah,” You started, “He basically lectured me in a face call and told me I needed to think more about my quirk and what would be best for me, rather than what I thought was cool.” You thought over your next words carefully, “I’m still glad a have a place for my swords. And I have my own black shoulder strap for my biggest sword.”

“Thanks,” Kou said, “I actually thought of the metal sword holder and shield expansion feature.”

“Really?” You inquired.

“Yeah,” He ensured, a smile brightening up his face. “But you should also show me the shoulder strap. Maybe I can make it better or make a new one that will help with weight and comfort.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“You seem to keep forgetting this is literally my job,” He laughed. It sounded beautiful. “My third year is all about helping students and only asking my professors or intern leader for help when I need it.”

You nodded in understanding before adding. “Maybe I will. I’ll make sure to email you about it.”

“Of course,” Kou agreed. “And do you have any other adjustments you want now?”

“No, not really,” You explained, a bright smile plastered across your face.

“Then I guess you are all set if you want to change back,” Iwasaki spoke while slipping on his gloves again.

“Perfect, I’ll be right back then.” You grabbed your suitcase and went back into the small changing room to take off all your support items and costume. When done, you stepped back out, bid Kou a farewell, and left.

You walked back to the dorm with your suitcase, a little bit happier than you expected. The costume fit perfectly at this point, and you were excited to move forward with OOO in all other possible upgrades you could make. Although it wasn’t what you initially envisioned and sketched out when you first met Kobayashi, all the changes he made, with your approval, made the costume much better and more modern.

You reminisced about your first meeting with the designer, where he asked you what kind of hero you wanted to be, a sentiment that OOO was clearly upholding.

After discovery and debate, the new costume that was drawn up fit you much better than you could expect.

It wasn’t until you got back to the dorm that the pit in your stomach reared its ugly head.

The first thing you saw when you opened the large door was a sleepy Bakugou, clearly just woken up.

He was yawning, a small cup of coffee in his hands, and his hair seemed to be more of a mess than usual.

Once he opened his eyes again, he immediately found your own eyes. Although the living room and dining table were crowded with about five other people, he immediately made his way to you.

“You got your hero costume?” He asked. There wasn’t any malicious tinge to his voice, but the gruff sound of his natural voice mixed with the deepness from just waking up made your stomach queasy.

You had half a mind to just run into the bathroom and make yourself puke. However, you swallowed your nerves and nodded, hoping you didn’t look like too much of a fool.

“Maybe we should wear our costumes for our training today,” He smirked at your before eyeing your suitcase that had the number 21 printed on it. “I have a few support items I would love to try out on you.”

The idea sent a shiver up your spine, something that wouldn’t normally happen. Bakugou makes me way too nervous, you thought as you debated over what to make next. In hope of lightening up to conversation a little bit, you asked, “Oh, did Iwasaki make new support items for you too?”

“Iwasaki?” Bakugou spat back, obviously offended. “Not only would I never let that weirdo touch my equipment, but I’m also offended you didn’t realize I made them myself.”

“Iwasaki isn’t weird,” You countered, practically laughing. “He was so nice!”

Bakugou scoffed and looked away from you. “Whatever, I would just rather tinker with my own shit than have him do it. He seems too perfect, that smile of his is so weird.”

Despite still being nervous about the fight, you found yourself laughing at Bakugou’s explanation. “Too perfect?” You spoke in-between laughs. “You really can be funny sometimes, Bakugou—”

You stopped yourself from using an honorific. Not sure if he would prefer a more formal ‘san’ or a friendlier ‘kun’.

Although he clearly noticed your pause and debate on which one to use, he simply glossed over it and replied with an “I am not funny! I am being serious!” The blond groaned in frustration before adding. “You know what? Let’s wear our costumes, and we will actually see how well Iwa-shitty did.”

“Iwasaki barely did anything to my costume,” You reasoned, “He only adjusted a few things, the work is still mostly Kobayashi-san’s.”

“Whatever,” He gruffly replied, “Just bring your damn suitcase so we can change in the lockers beforehand.”

“Whatever your say, Bakugou,” You replied, quietly laughing to yourself at his small and childish fit.

The blond walked away from you without another word, leaving you by yourself with some free time.

The first thing you did was make your way to the kitchen to prepare yourself something to eat. Since it was approaching lunchtime anyway, Iida and Uraraka we currently preparing themselves some food.

“No internship today?” You asked them, remembering seeing each of them go out to internships before.

“Nope!” Uraraka gingerly explained, “We aren’t allowed to have internships on Saturday and Sunday because they want us to have enough time for school.”

“Today is our day off,” Iida added as you watched him mix something in a small, Styrofoam container.

When you got closer, a rank and vile smelled filled your nose. You immediately knew it was coming from the container and backed up while covering your nose.

You had no intention to insult their food preferences, especially because you weren’t from here, but Uraraka immediately noticed your reaction and laughed.

“You’ve never seen natto?” She asked.

You shook your head, not wanting to speak in fear that you would get a bigger sniff of the food.

Iida looked back to see your face. “Sorry,” He spoke.

“No! Don’t worry!” You replied, wanting to be as nice as you could.

Uraraka laughed again. “Natto is fermented soybeans. It might smell weird and the texture is slimy, but it tastes so good in rice, especially with mustard and fish sauce.”

You nodded while peaking over to get a look at the slimy brown beans.

“Do you want to try it?” Iida asked you, turning so you could see his portion of rice and beans.

“Umm,” You mumbled, not sure what to say. You didn’t want to take his food, and you definitely didn’t know if you would like it.

“You should,” Uraraka encouraged. “We can give you just a bit to taste.” She pulled out a bowl from the cabinet and scooped a little of her portion into the bowl. “Even if you don’t like it, you’ll have to get used to it. It’s a cheap, easy, and healthy meal so everyone here eats it often.”

Hesitantly, you grabbed the small bowl and chopsticks she offered you.

“Don’t smell it, “Iida began “Just eat it.”

Listening to Iida, you stopped yourself from smelling the bowl and shoved it into your mouth. Despite 80% of the dish being rice only, the flavor of the natto was most prevalent. You chewed quickly, not sure if it was the type of dish to savor.

You closed your eyes, swallowed the bite, and looked back to your two classmates.

“It looked like you hated it,” Uraraka laughed while munching on her own bowl.

“No,” You countered, “It’s okay. I’m just not used to it.” You got the rest of the rice and bean in-between your chopsticks and finished your bowl. “Thank you for letting my try.”

“No problem,” Iida and Uraraka replied together before they took their leave from the kitchen to seat at the large dining table.

You then scoured the fridge and cupboards for a suitable lunch and settled on fried rice leftovers from dinner the night before. You heated up a bowl and took it upstairs to eat.

Time passed slowly as you worked on homework and had videos playing in the background. Eventually, then the clock read 10 to 3:00pm, you got up from your seat and changed into comfortable workout clothes. You grabbed your suitcase, a large water container, and two different swords before making your way downstairs.

When you got to the front door, Bakugou was already waiting, dressed in comfortable workout clothes. His own suitcase was in his hand as well as two large looking grenades and water.

You didn’t bother even asking what the grenades were for as Bakugou simply waited for you to slip on other shoes.

You followed Bakugou out the door silently. “We’ll start with stretches and then change into our costumes,” Bakugou explained. “I rented out a fourth of the cityscape so we will have plenty of room to move around.”

“Okay,” You replied, “Although I might need some time to warm up with my hero costume because it just got finished today.”

“It can’t be that different, can it?” Bakugou inquired.

“It’s completely different, “You explained. “My older hero uniform was so ugly; it didn’t help my quirk at all and just matched with my family’s theme.”

“Your family has a theme?” He questioned while barking out a laugh. “That’s so cringy.”

“Yeah,” You mumbled, “But it is important to my mom and common in the United States.”

Bakugou simply hummed in response and he brought you to a small field. It was right next to the building that held changing rooms, making it ideal for your short warm-up.

“Do you want to warm up together?” You asked him.

“It’s up to you,” Bakugou replied before setting down his things and beginning his warm-up. It mainly consisted of basic stretches every person typically does.

Following his lead, you dropped your belongings to the side and moved to take off your earbuds.

“You’re taking them off now,” Bakugou asked.

You turned to see him looking at you and replied, “Yeah, is that a problem?”

“Uhh,” Bakugou fumbled, “No, I guess not.”

Ignoring his weird comment, you simply put away the earbuds. I’ll just hear any weird thoughts he has anyway.

What first filled your mind, however, was Bakugou thinking:

Don’t think weird thoughts, don’t think weird thoughts.

You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing at his thoughts which immediately drew his attention.

“What?” He spat out.

“Nothing,” You replied after your laughter died down. I don’t need to tell him about how weird he is being, you told yourself and you began your own stretch routine.

You also needed to warm up your quirk, something you did by focusing on different thoughts around you. Because Bakugou was so close to you, his thoughts we most noticeable. However, it was important to see how far you could take your quirk, so you focused as best your could on different thoughts from people different distances away.

Eventually, when your body felt nice and stretched, you wanted to move on to a jog. After letting Bakugou know, you jogged a few laps around the field while he sprinted to build up a sweat.

Once ready, you made your way into the changing rooms with all your belongings. Bakugou followed shortly behind you.

The second you put it on, you could feel the differences in your hero costume. You felt lighter despite having more on. You took a small lap around the locker room to test your speed. You then tested your earpieces that covered your ears completely. Once satisfied, you attached a dagger to the metal plate around your waist. You brought your largest and heaviest sword today. First, to test out how it works with your costume so you could bring it to Kou with any needed adjustments, and two, to intimidate Bakugou.

No one in your class yet had seen your work with knives, daggers, and swords, making it a surprising advantage if need be. You took another moment to stretch in your hero uniform before exiting the room and meeting back up with Bakugou who was facing away from you and stretching.

Immediately, your eyes found him and stared at his hero costume. It was mainly black, with touches of orange and green. From the first view, it was scary. However, you noticed intricate pieces that made it seem detailed and well thought out. However, what was most interesting to you was how it fit on him.

You would hit yourself if you weren’t so distracted ogling his free arms. They looked much bigger than you had ever seen on him. And yet, they also seemed like the perfect size. He must do a lot of weightlifting, you thought as your eyes then traveled to his waist. It was covered in black cloth, making it impossible to see his abs, but his thin waist was enough to see.

He looks so hot, your thoughts. You were unable to place every piece of his hero costume that made him this attractive, but his arms and waist were the main ones. You gulped down the lump in your throat as you watched him bend over to touch his toes

“Holy shit,” You accidentally spoke aloud.

Immediately, the blond shot up and turned to look at you. “What did you s—?” He began to question before stopping halfway through.

Holy shit, his thoughts similarly echoed yours.

You looked down, very aware that your cheeks were flaring a deep red. Although it definitely boosted your ego to hear him react to your costume like that, it sent waves of anxiety through you. He knows I can hear his thoughts. Why isn’t he stopping himself, you questioned as he thoughtfully admired the way your leg straps hugged your bare thighs.

“Are you ready?” You asked, breaking the thick silence, and hoping to distract him.

You weren’t sure how to feel. On one hand, it felt amazing to hear his thoughts. It was clear he found you attractive. However, that did not mean he liked you as more than a friend, classmate, or whatever he actually thought. You nervously shuffled from one foot to the other and Bakugou shook his head.

You fucking creep, he thought.

“Yeah,” He mumbled. His voice was raspy, and he immediately grabbed his water from the ground and chugged a good portion. He then picked up all his items and you silently followed him to the cityscape.

Both of you were stuck in your own thoughts. You debated whether or not this situation was a good thing or a bad thing. I’ll definitely have to talk to Ashido and Hagakure later. And Bakugou was currently wondering over if you heard him.

What are those things are her ears? Can she hear me with them? Maybe she can’t… I could ask her what they are. No, that’s too obvious!

“So,” You eventually began after Bakugou signed in on a sheet of paper that hung at the entrance of the cityscape. “Are you wanting to do a ruled match? Or are you wanting to do a bad guy versus good guy things?” You were trying to break the awkward silence, hoping that fighting would distract you both from the nerves you were feeling.

“A match,” He simply replied. His voice wavered more than it typically would, however, it evened out more and more as he continued to talk. “It will end when the other person admits defeat or is too injured to play.”

“Oof, that sounds intense,” You jokingly replied. You needed to give this match your all. Bakugou was a competitor and should be treated as a stepping stone for you to improve your quirk usage. Hopefully, Bakugou's thoughts and actions were slow enough for you to interpret and prevent them. That would be the key factor in who won today.

Bakugou laughed in response. The typical bark of a laugh that you had become too quickly acquainted to. “Yeah, well you better be ready.”

You two took your time making it to your designated area and choosing a spot to store your suitcases and waters. Once done, Bakugou put on the grenades he had been carrying onto his forearms.

“What do those do?” You innocently asked.

“I’m not telling you, they’re a surprise for later.”

Similarly, to how Bakugou would, you scoffed at his reply. “That was so cringy,” You added.

In response, Bakugou rolled his eyes and let out a simple, “Whatever.”

You genuinely smiled while you watch him finish securing the large grenades to his forearms.

I wonder what his first attacks will be, you thought. Those grenades can’t be his first attack. It must be something that builds up energy. Smirking, you thought of a way to make his motives clear.

“What’s your first attack against me going to be?” You asked him.

The blond whipped his head around and looked at you with squinted eyes. “Like I would ever tell you.” Don’t think about how you plan to worsen her hearing, you heard him think.

You tried your best not to react to him revealing his thoughts and simply frowned. “I guess it was worth a try.”

Bakugou didn’t bother replying and simply faced you. “Ready?” He asked as he cracked his knuckles and neck.

You simply shrugged, trying your best to look casual. I need to get away from him before he can explode out my eardrums. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” You nonchalantly responded.

You waited for a beat, just enough time to move before Bakugou. Luckily, the straps on your legs helped greatly to increase your speed. It made you feel lighter and helped smooth out your movements enough to save a decent amount of time. You were out of Bakugou’s eyesight in a flash, leaving him baffled. She’s faster than I remember. By the time he recovered enough to chase after you, you had turn multiple corners and climbed up a fire escape attached to one of the skyscrapers.

Bakugou launched himself into the sky to move faster He was clearly looking to attack quickly instead of surprise you. You used the sharp and retractable blades attached to your shoes to smash a window, timing the shattering glass sounds to the sound of his explosions.

You moved into the building, hoping he would be unable to see the shattered glass with him moving so quickly. Inside the building, you drew your dagger, just in case he found you. I’ll throw it at him if need be, you thought and you began moving higher and higher up the floors.

As Bakugou soared through the sky, he found himself analyzing the ground more than anything else. After searching a decent distance, he realized something must be off. She can’t be on the ground if I can see her from here, you hear him think. He then landed on one of the taller buildings and looked around.

I didn’t see any climbing materials on her costume unless those straps are detachable? Bakugou thought over each piece of your costume, noting whether or not they could be used to climb up buildings. He began jumping from building to building, looking for a signal.

And that’s when he saw it.

Shattered glass on the grated ground of a fire escape, teetering from side to side as if recently moved and threatening to fall a floor below.

Excitedly, Bakugou pounced on the building and peered into the room. She isn’t on this floor anymore, he noted while debating to go down or up. I’ll find you soon, he thought as he searched below first. It took him approximately 10 seconds to realize you didn’t move lower down the building. He quickly moved higher and higher, searching through the windows on each floor in hopes of seeing a flash of dark blue and yellow.

She must be on the staircase, he thought after being unable to find you. That’s the only place without windows, he reasoned before debating whether to move into the staircase himself or go to the roof where he presumed you were going to be.

His thoughts were clear to you and did not affect your plan in the slightest. With ease, you made your way to the roof. You didn’t want to tire yourself out too much. You opened the clunky door only to be hit with a gust of wind. This school must be rich to be able to simulate gusts of wind, you thought as you spotted the large fans that were scattered across the walls of this cityscape.

You perched yourself on the metal box that was warm enough to help against the wind.

Now it is just a waiting game, you thought as you simply listened to Bakugou’s thoughts.

Eventually, and predictably, he showed up through the same door you came into. You had positioned yourself behind where he would show up so he initially didn’t see you.

Quietly, you looked around the small building and watched as he peered across the sky.

There’s no way she could have gotten off from here unless she climbed down.

You put away your dagger and de-sheathed your large sword. It was chunky and sharp with a wide and heavy handle to keep it sturdy. Before Bakugou could turn or hear you, you pushed forward and kicked the blond with the bottom of your heavy boot.

He stumbled but did not fall to the floor. You held up your sword, using it to extend your arm. As soon as Bakugou turned to look at you, his neck was greeted by the sharp sword only inches away. He didn’t move for a moment, but quickly recovered and sent a blast your way. Now within a small distance, he sent off multiple small explosions. Not only did you cower to get away from his explosion, but the small explosions made it difficult to hear his thoughts.

You pushed forward despite your nerves to the boy and used the flat edge of your sword to hit him. Not sharp enough to harm him, but still a force to be reckoned with. Additionally, the thin sharp edge that was intended for use may seep in enough from the pressure to give him a small cut.

He shot back instantly, and a small amount of blood dripped from his arm. He was breathing heavily, as were you. Although he was not attacking in this moment, he still set off explosions to impede upon your quirk. You didn’t know Bakugou’s fighting style well, but you knew enough. From what you were able to pick up, you knew he intended to go for hand-to-hand combat.

Idiot, you thought while widening your stance and bending at the kneed to prepare yourself. The 50-foot distance between the two of you closed quickly as he pounced on you. Smoothly, you were able to dodge and keep a good distance with your sword and sharp blades on your shoes.

“You really should listen to my mom’s defensive lectures,” You commented. “Playing an offensive role will only get you so far.” You mocked him, watching his eyebrows turn down in anger and his thoughts rush with the idea of just fucking hit her.

You moved out of the way for each of his attacks, only feeling the heat of an explosion or the brush of his fingertips.

When the time was right, you held your sword with only one hand and pushed forward to grab onto his arm. You twisted it before he could react to make sure he could not send an explosion your way. Currently, you were positioned so your right hand held onto his left forearm. His body was twisted so his back was to your right shoulder. The blond twisted his head to look at you and continued to send off explosions to hopefully distract you.

With every explosion, you felt a pulse through his veins, and you held tightly. He groaned in pain at the action, making you realize that his wrist was a weak spot for him. “Oh, so do you have these protect your forearms and wrists?” You asked, gesturing to the large grenades.

His emotions and thoughts made his arms clear. Not just that, you idiot.

“I am not an idiot,” You replied, feigning offense.

Bakugou scoffed in reply and you laughed back at him.

“I’m winning right now, you know?” You spat back, “I wouldn’t scoff at me when I could end this battle right here.”

“Oh yeah?” Bakugou encouraged, “How?”

“Like this…sleep.” You immediately put him to sleep, something he wasn’t expected. You could tell from his thoughts that he wasn’t thinking much about this part of your quirk. Once asleep, you thought over what to do next.

You dragged his heavy body to the edge of the building, wondering if he would wake up in time to save himself if you threw him off.

I don’t think I should risk it, you thought.

Sighing, you pulled him away from the roof, pushed him farther into sleep and let go. You sat down on the ledge and waited a few minutes for the blond to wake up. You pat yourself on the back for getting him to sleep for so long and casually waited for the time to end.

It took a total of 15 minutes for the blond to finally beginning rising. Another minute for him to realize where he was. He looked up at you with a quizzical face.

“If this wasn’t training and you were a real villain, I would have thrown you off this building,” You explained. “I think I win.”

“Like hell you do,” Bakugou groggily replied while getting up. He moved into a fighting stance and you stayed put. “Are you going to get up?” He yelled at you.

You hummed, debating what to do next. “I don’t feel like it,” You replied, knowing full well how much it would irritate him.

“Then I’ll send you off the roof with an explosion,” He spat back.

“No,” You calmly replied, “I don’t think you will.”

“And why is that?” He asked.

You smirked at the boy. “Because,” You began while letting go of the ledge with your hands and leaning back, “Of this.” Once you finished those words, your body fell back and off the building. You positioned your body as safely as you could.

Obviously, this was a dangerous tactic. It was something you would never do in the field. However, you needed to have fun every now and then and Bakugou was so easy to tease. You knew he had a fast enough reaction time to get you. That was proved correct when you saw his body shoot off the side of the building.

Explosion after explosion was set off until you felt a strong arm wrap around your waist.

You looked down and saw you were about 10 feet to the ground. Bakugou reached out and grabbed onto a fire escape. “Jump down,” Bakugou spoke, his voice low.

His arm slipped away from you as you prepared yourself to fall to the ground. Your shoes, which could absorb shock, helped to make the jump easy and comfortable. Bakugou followed you, dropping a few feet away.

You stood silently as the blond stared at you before practically running up to you.

“What is wrong with you?” He demanded while holding onto your arms and shaking you.

Because of the large gloves on his hands, you weren’t able to feel his emotions. However, you were fairly certain he was worried.

You felt bad.

You felt really bad.

His eyes held more worry than you had seen from him and his thoughts had been rushing so much during these past thirty seconds that it gave you a headache. You were sure he had one too.

“I’m sorry,” You bashfully replied. “I wanted to shock you.”

“Yeah, well you did that perfectly,” He replied. He groaned while looking over your body, wanting to see if you got hurt.

“I’m not hurt,” You mumbled, pulling away from him because of how nervous his staring made you feel.

He reluctantly let go of you and let you step away.

“I didn’t mean to worry you so much,” You commented, stopping there because you weren’t sure whether or not to say sorry. That might be too far, you thought.

Bakugou stiffened immediately. It was clear those words made him nervous.

Worry? You heard him think. Fuck, I am worried. I shouldn’t be worried. I shouldn’t be worried. But I am.

Bakugou scoffed, “I have to worry for stupid idiots like you.” Why am I so worried about her? I wouldn’t be this worried about anyone else.

You simply nodded, not wanting to remind him that you could hear his thoughts. “So,” You began after a short pause, “Are we done for today?”

“After the heart attack you gave me today?” He rhetorically questioned, “Yeah, we are done for today.”

Once again, you nodded and followed Bakugou as he began walking to where you left your bags.

“Next time,” He began as your items came into sight, “Let’s just rent out part of the gym and work on hand-to-hand combat. That way,” He turned to look at you, “You can’t pull any dumb tricks.” He paused for a moment, “Also so you don’t fucking cut me with your sword again.”

“Oh!” You exclaimed, moving closer to the blond to look at his cut. “I forgot!”

Once you got to your item, you opened your suitcase and pulled out rubbing alcohol, a couple of band aids, and a Japanese brand for Neosporin.

“Here,” You began, showing the small first aid kit, “Let me clean it.”

Bakugou reluctantly sat down and allowed you to scoot close to him. You rinsed your hands off by pouring some of your water onto them before grabbing a cotton ball and also putting water onto it. You used the wet cotton ball to clean the blood around the cut, some of it was already dry. You then took another cotton ball and put a small amount of alcohol onto it.

Carefully, you ran the cotton ball over the small cut on his arm. Bakugou took a sharp breath in because of the stinging but stayed still as you cleaned it. You pulled it away and looked up at the blond. Your hands had been holding your arm still, allowing you to feel just how nervous he was.

Unfortunately, because of your quirk, you felt the exact same feelings as him. You tried your best to resist any obvious reactions and let go of his arm, so you were no longer being bombarded with nervousness.

When you looked up at him, you saw pink on his cheeks, and you weren’t sure if it was from the training or the anxiety he felt as you took care of him. Additionally, you were fairly certain you also had a blush because of your empathetic abilities. He looked into your eyes for a moment before you tore your own away and went to grab the ointment.

Cautiously, you spread a small amount onto the cut. You then took a few band-aids and spread them across his arms to cover the wound.

“Thanks,” Bakugou quietly spoke once you finished and started putting away the items.

“No problem,” You simply replied before grabbing your water and taking a swig.

Silently, the two of you grabbed your things and made your way to the lockers. The school provided showers in the locker room and well as all the necessary toiletries to help prevent kids from easily stinking up their dorms. Considering your run today and all the hard work you did, you decided a shower before going back to the dorms would be best.

“You don’t have to wait up for me,” You spoke as you two arrived at the lockers. “I’m going to shower.”

Bakugou hummed in response and entered his respective room. You casually and efficiently changed, washed your body, and put on your workout clothes again. They weren’t smelly from only stretching so it wasn’t bad to wear them.

You pushed your dry hair back, put in your earbuds, and grabbed all your things to make your way out of the locker room.

When you exited, you immediately saw Bakugou, who was leaning against a rail on his phone. His items were placed next to him and his left hand was shoved into the pocket of his sweatpants.

“Took you long enough,” He mumbled while looking at you. “You didn’t even wash your hair, what took you forever?”

“I told you not to wait for me,” You replied, “It is your fault for waiting.”

Bakugou scoffed and grabbed his things. “Whatever,” He mumbled before beginning to walk back to the dorms. “I wanted to talk to you about dinner tomorrow,” He explained, “And I didn’t want to text your later.”

“Wow,” You replied in a dry voice, “You sure do know how to make someone feel special.”

“Shut up idiot,” He spat back. You could once again see pink on his cheeks but chose to ignore it. “Anyways,” He began again, “Meet me in the kitchen at four. Sero will be there at five. I want to see how well you can cook.”

“What are we making?” You asked.

“Rice with umeboshi, miso soup, salad, some other shit,” Bakugou replied. “It’s a lot. I know in America that dishes aren’t broken up as much so I will show you everything tomorrow.”

You nodded, “Thanks. I appreciate you trying to help teach me.”

“Yeah, well I will kick you out just as fast if you suck,” He replied.

You looked to Bakugou and saw the teasing smirk on his face. You laughed at his comment which was soon followed by a few snickers from the blond himself.

By the time you and Bakugou arrived home, the conversation died down. Silently, the two of you filled up your waters and walked upstairs to your respective rooms.

“See ya,” Bakugou lazily spoke before heading into his own room and leaving you to yourself.

[dadsbongos]

Insert Coin - Chapter 3.d / Series Masterlist

“It could be awkward for the others to see me leaving your cottage,” Hajime spoke in the silence after Monokuma’s morning announcement, “The last thing we want is for someone to make… assumptions about us.”

“Just don’t let it come off awkward,” (Y/n) giggled as she pulled on her shoes, “It’s easy!”

“I don’t see how ‘just don't’ is a valid way of avoiding awkwardness…”

“Nobody can make fun of you if they don’t know what you’re doing wrong,” the girl stood, hand on the doorknob of her cottage, “In other words, if you’re confident, people won’t poke holes in what you’re doing! I’ve seen people walk into movies without getting tickets because they were just super confident. Look like you know what you’re doing and people will leave you alone,” she pulled the door open, letting Hajime out first, “Except Hiyoko.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Hajime hesitated as he walked off, but his posture suggested an allusion of bullheadedness unmatched by even Kazuichi. And, just as he’d desired, nobody approached him with teasing remarks or questions as he went to his own cottage to change. He could’ve done so while (Y/n) was changing in the bathroom, but apparently, her furniture was especially distracting - locking him in place on her bed.

Upon entering the dining hall, (Y/n) was struck into stunned silence. Her eyes widening in shock at the scene before her - Akane was wailing over the possible upcoming death of Nekomaru, Ibuki was mindlessly nodding along to any rude thing Hiyoko said, and Nagito… Nagito wasn’t even there.

Approaching Sonia, (Y/n) quirked a brow as she gestured to the group, “You know what their deal is?”

Shaking her head, the princess crossed his arms as she stared over her peers sadly, “Mikan said they feel warm, well, besides the obvious… ailments.”

“(Y/n)...” a loud groan came from behind the pair, both turning to see a paler-than-usual, sweaty, miserable Nagito stumbling over to them, “You look so disgusting today! So irrevocably horrific I can’t stand it, I hate that I have to see you! My day was perfect until I saw you!”

“Nagito, what the hell?” Hajime spat from the doorway, brows furrowed at the luck's rudeness, “She’s been nothing but nice to you this entire time- "

“What if he’s sick too?”

“Huh?”

“I feel fine!”

“Look at Akane and Ibuki,” (Y/n) pat her friend’s shoulder, she was ever so grateful for Hajime stepping in even though it probably wasn’t necessary, “they’re acting totally different from usual. It probably wouldn’t be much of a stretch to say Nagito was affected as well,” she placed a hand over the sickly boy’s forehead, “He’s warm too. He was warm yesterday.”

“No, I wasn’t!” Nagito’s breath grew ragged, sweating profusely in (Y/n)’s grasp, “I’m perfectly fine! Don’t touch me! I’d rather die than let you touch me!”

His eyes widened before rolling back, spittle flying from his mouth as he fell back - landing on the dining hall floor with a harsh ‘thud’. Rushing down to his side, (Y/n) took up the convulsing boy’s head and cradled it, looking to the Ultimate Nurse for guidance when loud giggling interrupted the group.

Monokuma held his little conniving paws in front of his mouth, clearly finding enjoyment out of the group’s hazy confusion, “Oh, dear! It seems that some of your friends have caught the Despair Disease!” at the group’s continued confusion, he huffed, forcing on a charisma of television’s finest host, “Surprise! It's your next motive! Ibuki has the Gullible Disease, Akane has the Coward Disease, and Nagito has the Liar Disease!" he gave a last few giggles and a warning of it being contagious before disappearing.

“Hajime, lift Nagito with me,” (Y/n) instructed, taking up the unconscious boy’s body as carefully as she could while speaking to the group, “Mikan, there’s a hospital on the third island, right?”

"R-r-right, we could c-care for them th-there," Mikan nodded.

As the group headed out, some straying farther away than others in fear of catching the Despair Disease, (Y/n) thought back to the things Nagito had said to her. It was silly, especially in a scenario such as theirs - but she couldn’t help but be transfixed on what he meant behind his lies.

~~

Once everyone had been settled in the hospital and the communication device was being worked on by Kazuichi, (Y/n) found herself in a difficult situation. Jammed between two friends she cared for deeply.

“Hajime, you can’t be serious right now. He has the Liar’s Disease.”

“(Y/n)’s exactly wrong. She’s too stupid to figure it out.”

“He said he wanted me gone.”

“Hajime,” she muttered, taking the bridge of her nose between forefinger and thumb, “What do you think Liar’s Disease means?”

“It still hurt,” Hajime crossed his arms before turning towards the door, “I’m going to find Mikan…”

“Ask her to do another check-up on Nagito when she has the chance, please? He’s doing worse than the others and I’m not sure why,” (Y/n) had an inkling, but she shouldn’t spill secrets so openly.

A mere nod and Hajime was walking out, Nagito smiling as he spoke, “You’ve been such a nuisance this entire time. I need a better caretaker.”

It took a brief mental translation before (Y/n)’s heart was warming, “Oh, how sweet, I’m glad to be of service.”

“I really do hate your face, it’s hideous.”

“Never thought I’d take that as a compliment but there’s a first for everything, right?”

Upon Mikan’s entrance to the room she glanced between the patient and caretaker, her fingers racking together as she stepped towards Nagito’s IV, “H-how has he b-been doing?”

“Not well, he’s been talking about being extremely hot and keeps saying he feels great.”

“I…” Nagito’s eyes fluttered, coughing as he spoke, “I feel… amazing… my vision is perfectly clear too, how incredible… so hot…”

“There’s spare blankets in the storage room, correct? I can grab some,” (Y/n) rose from her seat as Mikan gingerly took the boy’s temperature.

Hospitals sickened her deeply. The scent of sterilization and the shiny linoleum floors sent shivers down her spine at something so macabre. Lying in the beds where others have died didn’t exactly sound like good motivation for healing. This hospital was barely different - grime in the grouts and dirt collecting on surfaces not touched in however long the building had been here. Not that it helped.

If anything, it was only more bizarre and discombobulating fashioned as an abandoned hospital than a lively one. And she tried to avoid the disturbing scene playing behind plexiglass beside her in the hall best she could.

Fuyuhiko and (Y/n) arrived at the storage room synchronistically, giving each other a stare before shaking themselves out of their respective trances and entering the small, dimly lit room.

The blond spared a glance to the peacekeeper, “How’s uh- " he grimaced, hating the man attached to the name he was about to spew, “How’s Nagito?”

“Not well,” (Y/n) took out two folded blankets before handing one to Fuyuhiko, “Mikan’s checking up on him right now. He’s been looking worse than the others, I’ve noticed - it’s a little worrying. What about Akane?”

Fuyuhiko’s face fell at the reminder of his patient, “Louder than what I’m used to from her,” he held up the blanket in his grasp, “She’s soaked through two of these fuckin’ things already.”

“Oh, that’s unfortunate,” (Y/n) muttered sympathetically, patting Fuyuhiko’s back, “Good luck with all that, eh? I’ll be with Nagito if you need any help,” her chest ached at the blond’s new eyepatch, “Make sure you take of yourself, alright?”

Flustered, Fuyuhiko looked away from the girl, “I’ll be fine.”

“Glad to hear it, but, if you ever need help - we’re all here for you.”

“I didn’t come to sing kumbaya in the storage closet,” the short boy snarked before stalking off.

“Fair,” (Y/n) sighed, largely to herself, before following his example and heading back to Nagito’s room.

By the time she’d arrived, Nagito was already fast asleep with Mikan nervously watching over him - switching between his body and his vitals. The poor nurse jumping when (Y/n)’s voice suddenly peeked out in the silence - asking if she was clear to lay the blanket over their patient.

“Ah!” Mikan calmed down once she saw who it was, a hand coming up and over her chest, “(Y/n)! Y-you sca-scared me…”

“Sorry,” the girl chuckled, hoping to release the awkward tension, “Am I though? Good to put down the blanket? I don’t wanna screw with anything.”

“You-you’ll be good… just be c-careful of his l-left arm…” Mikan pointed to the IVs attached to Nagito.

Nodding, the peacekeeper carefully laid the blanket over the shivering boy’s body, tucking it where she deemed necessary. Pity plundered her poor pattering heart at the distressed furrow in his brows. She sat at one of the stools around the Ultimate Luck’s bedside, taking his right hand and brushing her thumb over the bony knuckles.

She didn’t think Despair Disease would work so heavily with his cancer and dementia. It was worse than his luck cycle, it was God pointing and laughing at a young man who had been delivered pain merely for existing.

“He sh-should be fine for n-now,” Mikan nodded to herself, still checking Nagito's vitals, “He’ll be out fo-for a while… if an-anything like th-that happens, let me know!” even her exclamations sounded so timid in her soft voice.

“In seconds,” (Y/n) confirmed, still focused on the ill boy trapped in his hospital bed, just before the nurse left she called to her, “Hey, Mikan? Thank you. It’s admirable how quickly you stepped up to do this, I’m sure the others feel the same too.”

“It’s n-nothing, really…” Mikan smiled softly to herself despite the dismissal, a light blush festering over her cheeks, “B-but thank you!”

[queen-of-my-goofball-army]

Why YOU should give Rush a chance

Okay, so right off the bat, this is not going to be like my other posts on my blog. This is not a post about some show that has captivated my interest or anything at all related to animation. If that's not your cup of Dot rambling coffee, than I would highly recommend you take your L right now and come back for your regularly scheduled programming in a few days.

Are they gone? Okay cool! For those of you that stuck around past my forewarning let me tell you about my newest special interest to join my now growing music love affair with 80's and 90's Rock n Roll. For those of you that don't know, I'm guessing that most of you do not know what Rush even is. If you are not somehow on the autism spectrum or know a lot about music in general than this band will be entirely unknown to you. Rush is a three man progressive rock band born in Canada made up of three incredibly amazing men Gary "Geddy" Lee, his best friend since he was 11 years old Alex Lifeson, and last but most certainly not least, the amazingness that was Rush's drummer and songwriter Neil Peart. Together, the three of them changed the world of progressive rock through Geddy's unique vocal qualities, Alex's incredibly underrated shredding guitar skills, and Neil's immaculate drums and lyrics. I am here to tell you, yes YOU reading this length rambling message in three sections to keep this fair. Each member will get their own sections and I will try my hardest to keep personal bias out of this. I also just watched Rush: Beyond The Lighted Stage yesterday with my mom so I will mention some things that we talked about during it to try and sell people.

Geddy Lee:

* Geddy has one of the most unique voices in all of rock music. This will most likely be the thing that turns off the people that do listen to me and wind up listening to a couple of songs. He has had a lot of critics for his higher pitched voice usually yelling lyrics. However, I love his singing voice. It is filled with energy and power to it. His voice has a weight to it that not a whole lot of other people can really nail if they really want to.

* You want to talk about sheer talent? How many of you all know lead singers that are a one and done kind of singer? They can play one instrument and they're done? Well shove them aside because Geddy can play not only bass guitar but a double neck bass, synthesizer, and piano. Yeah I think all you haters can stand aside because this man will always be amazing technically.

* So many of lead singers in my opinion, think that they own the band. Because they get to sing the songs right? That means that they get to make all the important decisions and they can't ever do anything wrong. Well for those of you that know Rush, you will remember the synthesizer era. The era of new wave Rush where Geddy shelved his bass guitars for his synthesizer. This caused a small rift between Lee, Lifeson, and Peart who were not at all fans of the way that the synthesizer was going. While Geddy was having a fun time with it, he shelved the synthesizer almost for good and went back to his roots. I don't know many other lead singers that would put up something that they were legitimately having a good time with just for his bandmates.

* Geddy's just general goofball personality is something that continues to make me chuckle. Since he and Alex have known each other for practically ever (they met when they were 11) and have been there for each other for most of their lives they have very similar energy's.

Alex Lifeson:

* Alex Lifeson is an underrated guitarist. There I said it. I feel like of the three of them (Geddy, Alex, and Neil) Alex gets talked about the least due to the fact that Geddy also plays guitar. While it might be a different brand of guitar some people forget just how genuinely face melting his solos are. I could listen to his riff in Tom Sawyer all day long I swear. I'm still working my way through every Rush album in chronological order (I'm just now finishing A Farewell To Kings an absolutely beautiful album.) But his skills are not one to be downsized and I think he is an amazing, amazing guitar player.

* You want to talk about the group goofball? If Geddy is goofy, you look in the dictionary this man is the pure definition of a hilarious and quirky character. When Rush was FINALLY indicted into the Rock N'Roll hall of fame in 2013, after Neil and Geddy's beautiful and moving speech's about how important this means to them, Alex gets up there and his entire speech is spoken in very animated BLAHs. But what's really funny is that if you watch carefully he is actually trying to tell you a story. It's a story about how they all got there past the critics that tried to stop them along the way.

* I love the relationship between Alex and Geddy especially. They're just both such unique kinds of people but they have similar quirks and traits that are evidence of decades upon decades of friendship. I get massive big bro vibes from watching the three of them play together and it's really touching that they never let the fame go to their heads.

* While watching the documentary, I found myself in awe of just his general personality. He was a jokester and the life of the party, and even if sometimes Neil was exhausted by his presence it was obvious that he loved his bros.

Neil Peart:

* If you are asking me, the heart and soul of Rush, was their drummer Neil Peart. Neil wasn't just their drummer though, he also wrote all of Rush's songs after their first album together. Neil grew up probably the biggest bookworm to ever bookworm. He was a socially awkward kid it seemed since he was always reading as his parents explained in the documentary (more on this laster). This resulted in lyrics that are absolutely gorgeous in any context and sound like literature themselves. One of my favorite Rush songs is their song Rivendale themed to Lord Of The Rings.

* Peart was one of the most technically amazing drummers of all time. I don't think I'm saying new information when I say that. He has been praised for not only his technical prowess but the intensity of how he played as well. He was a force of nature when you put him in front of a drum kit. The drum solos in Rush are not easy. They are technically extremely difficult and always leave me to collect my jaw from the floor.

* Lyrically speaking, his lyrics were so intelligent and beautifully worded that it's hard to focus on them sometimes. I've listened to Fly By Night I can't tell you how many times just within the last few months. They are so unique, so beautiful, just so Rush. I can't think of any other word to describe them other than Rush. Nobody else could have written lyrics like these other than Neil himself. Even though he's gone now (Rest In Power you absolute Mad Lad.) I still feel like his music will resonate with millions of future generations to come. It could be the year 3000 for all I care and people will still be jamming to Tom Swayer, just you watch.

* Lastly about Neil himself, this is of the opinion of my mom and I, and you heard it here first, I think that Neil was aspie. He was the quietest of the three of them, he hated getting spotted by fans while the other two seem to tolerate it, he was constantly stimming with his drumsticks on and off the stage by spinning them around his fingers, he was totally nerdy and antisocial, he loved literature more than anything else growing up and would rather have a book in his hands than go out to a public place with his classmates, and he grieved in a different way than most people do. When his wife and daughter passed away, he hit the road with his motorcycle and most often Geddy and Alex wouldn't hear from him for months at a time. They had cute little nicknames for each other that Neil would always sign the postcards with. It was a different one every single time.

Thanks for listening to me ramble on this day guys! I really appreciate it, I know that this hasn't been your regularly schedule Dot programming but I really appreciate you sticking around! Give Rush a listen to if I've piqued your interest you will not regret it.

[destiniesfic]

132 Hours, Chapter 10

It is not better in the morning.

Previous

Read chapter 10 on AO3 or read below (but be warned, there’s mature content in this one):

Once again, it’s hard to sleep. I dream of kissing Cardan, who is actually Locke, and I am wearing Taryn’s pink prom dress. And that’s the tamest of them; I have more graphic nightmares that I won’t recount here, except to say that they are awful. Every time I wake up I am either too hot or too cold. I eventually decide I am most comfortable with one leg pushed outside of the blankets and fall into a light doze.

About two hours into my botched attempt at sleeping, I awaken to some odd noises and realize that Cardan is also awake. A moment later, I realize he must think I am still asleep, because when I look over at him there can be no other explanation for what he is doing.

As before, he is in slightly sharper focus than everything else in the room. I thought I’d find him lying down, but he is sitting up with his back against the wall, and his head is bowed forward. He is definitely trying to be quiet, but it is very clear to me from his weird breathing and the sound of skin on skin and the movement of his hand what is going on.

I shouldn’t watch. I know I shouldn’t. But I woke up turned on my side toward him and I can’t turn over or he might realize I’m awake. I can’t even imagine what would happen then. Would he stop? Would he come over? Would I invite him over? I don’t know which possibility terrifies me more.

His breathing grows more labored and he brings his free hand up to his mouth to muffle the sounds that fall out of it. I hate the way my heartbeat skips at every one, the way every muscle in my body clenches with want, with need. I stay quiet, though, watching with hungry curiosity as he curls over himself and makes a strangled sound, almost but not entirely swallowed up by his palm. His shoulders shake.

When it’s over—and I am marveling at how I just watched him jerk off—he sighs, a long, exhausted sigh that somehow really endears him to me. I want to crawl over to him and nuzzle at his neck. I want to drape my body over his body so we can keep each other warm. I want to lick his hand clean, a thought that I recoil from even as I have it. That can’t possibly taste good, and yet—

“Ah, shit,” he whispers. He’s looking down at his hand, and my delusional omega brain wonders if I should go offer to lick it. But then he pulls off one of his already dirty socks and uses that. He got a shower today, but being stuck in a dirty room the size of my stepmother’s walk-in closet negates that fast. Honestly, after being stuck down here for days, I’m not sure we’ll ever be clean again.

Cardan’s head falls back against the wall. His clean hand grabs for something at his side, and when he presses it to his face, I realize it’s my sweatshirt. He exhales again, and it must be my imagination, but it sounds suspiciously like my name. He takes a few, deep breaths, then puts it back down and curls up on his side, using it as a pillow.

I feel like I have been holding my breath this entire time, but I keep holding it a little longer, just in case. There is a pulsing, demanding heat in me, concentrated between my thighs, but, as I always do, I push it to the side. I curl my knees to my chest, and hope it will be better in the morning.

---

It is not better in the morning.

When I open my eyes, it is to the migraine that threatened me yesterday finally breaking, like someone’s jammed a railroad spike into my left eye. The fever is roaring, too, and I pull my leg back inside the blankets and wrap myself up tight, but my shivering doesn’t stop. My muscles have acquired a dull ache that makes me think they’d be bruised if I could peel my skin back and look.

I think I half-expected to find that Cardan had crawled on top of me in his sleep. Then I would wake up, then he would do it, and it would be an awkward thing to work around while kidnapped but at least the worst of my symptoms would abate. But Cardan is still by his corner where I’d seen him fall asleep last night, except now he’s curled up in a ball around my sweatshirt. So there would be no morning hump session, which is good, because I am not yet at the point where that seems more alluring than scary, awkward, intimidating.

My mouth is dry, and I turn over to reach for the water bottle, but it is empty. When had it emptied? Did I empty it?

“Cardan,” I whisper. That’s all it takes to jolt him out of sleep. He sits up, and rubs his eyes, which then widen when he looks at me so I must look really terrible.

“Shit,” he says again, which brings back echoes of him saying it in the night, which just makes my entire body seize up because he’d been jerking off—over me? or over the situation?—and there was an increasingly urgent part of my brain wondering why he’d had his dick in his hand when he could have put it in me. And then, ow, a cramp on top of everything else. As if everything else weren’t enough.

I paw for the pills the Bomb left me and swallow them dry, hoping for some relief from the headache, even though it won’t be immediate. Then I start to push up to my hands and knees.

“No, no,” says Cardan, shoving out a hand but not coming any closer. “No, you just— just wait, I’ll get them. I’ll get you more water.”

“I can do it,” I insist, but it’s taken so much effort just to get this far up and I’m trembling holding myself in place.

“Jude, you look—” He trails off and shakes his head. It must really be that bad. I want to tell him he doesn’t look much better. The circles under Cardan’s eyes have deepened, and he’s already sweating so much that his curls cling to his forehead. But he just sets his mouth in a line and says, “Let me do it.”

In almost any other circumstance I would hate being bossed around by him, but I just flop onto my belly and groan, “Fine.”

Cardan, however, is wired. He must feel as jagged and sleep-deprived as I do, but I can see the extra jittery energy in his every step. I did make that joke about thrusting, but what happens when you box an alpha in rut in a basement with no outlet? Where does that energy go?

Apparently into his fist, because when he pounds on the door it’s so loud that I nearly jump off the mattress. My head throbs. “Hey!” he calls. “Jude needs water!”

There is no answer for a solid thirty seconds. When Cardan glances at me, I am frowning. “They’re usually right outside,” I say, and my stomach plummets at the thought that we’ve been locked in here and just left with no food or water.

“They’re coming,” Cardan replies, probably to reassure himself. He bangs on the door again, this time with even more urgency. “Hey!”

A few seconds later the door opens, and it is not the Bomb standing there, but the Ghost, dressed in black, his face an inscrutable mask. “Alright, I heard you.”

Cardan takes a half-step back from the door, toward me. I pull the blankets tighter around myself and flatten my back against the wall. This was the outcome we had worried about. Everything Cardan had said and done yesterday was to keep our captors out, and especially to keep the Ghost away from me.

“You need to leave,” Cardan snarls, his hands balling into fists at his sides. I am surprised at the ferocity in his voice. I’ve seen him angry. I’ve seen him hurt people with a shove or a cruel word. I have never seen him like this.

But the Ghost is unimpressed. Probably because if it came down to a fight between the two of them, he would definitely win, even though Cardan has more muscle. “You can relax,” the Ghost says. “I’m a beta.”

Cardan blinks, and so do I. But then his eyes narrow. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

The Ghost sighs. “Ask your girlfriend if I smell like anything. Her receptors are on overdrive. Even maskers wouldn’t help.”

I expect Cardan to protest that I’m not his girlfriend, and I’m about to open my mouth to say he isn’t my boyfriend, when he looks at me and asks, softly, “Jude?”

The urge to deny anything is knocked right out of me, and I inhale, concentrating. It’s difficult to get anything beyond Cardan’s scent and mine, both of which hang heavy in the stagnant air, but I do pick out something. I look up at Cardan. “Just hand soap. He smells like hand soap.”

Cardan looks skeptical.

“I’m less of a danger to her than you are in this state,” the Ghost says. “I can help her out of the room. Let me.”

In this state. He has to know, then. Uneasily, Cardan moves aside to let the Ghost into the room, tracking him as he walks over and crouches at my side. The Ghost presses a cool hand to my forehead while looking at my sweaty, tangled hair.

“Why didn’t you say you’re a beta?” I ask, shivering.

“Wasn’t relevant. When did you last take medicine?”

“A few minutes ago. What about the Roach and the Bomb?”

“Do you introduce yourself to people by telling them you’re an omega?” It’s a rhetorical question, because he then says, “We have to get you into the shower. I’ll help you up.”

I nod. I know what I look like and what I smell like, and I am not so proud that I won’t accept his help.

“Hey,” Cardan begins, when the Ghost reaches out to put an arm around my shoulder, but I give him a look and he doesn’t say anything else, although the set of his jaw tells me he’s unhappy. He crosses his arms.

“Cardan,” the Ghost says, “can you go turn the water on for her? The old heater takes a while to get started. Make it warm to start, not hot. She can turn it up if she needs to.”

“Right,” Cardan says, and over the Ghost’s shoulder I see him nod and leave.

“He listened to you,” I marvel as the Ghost peels the blankets from my body and helps me to my feet. I should feel more self-conscious that I’m wearing only a tank top and underwear and my thighs are definitely crusty with residue, but he isn’t making a big deal of it, so neither am I. Besides, between my shaky legs and my bad ankle, I am a little distracted by the effort of not toppling over.

“Alphas. Temperamental, but they like to feel like they’re doing something.” It seems like a joke, but he doesn’t smile when he says it. He supports my weight easily, and with his help I hobble out of the room.

“You really don’t smell like much,” I inform him. “It’s weird.”

“I’m used to it.”

“Right.” Mentally, I kick myself. And the Ghost doesn’t say anything else, so I don’t either.

As he helps me across the little room, I am very conscious of my body pressed against his and his arm around my shoulder. My hormonal brain, ecstatic that I am being touched, is swimming, trying to tell me I am attracted to him. Am I attracted to him? I mean, I think he’s handsome, objectively. Should I have sex with the Ghost? I probably shouldn’t have sex with the Ghost.

But, of course, those images are provided to me unbidden because the omega part of me is ecstatic that I am willing to actually entertain my horniness. What if the Ghost helped me into the shower and he stayed there with me? And Cardan also stayed? And then what? My rational brain scolds. I don’t know anything about the logistics of having a threesome in a shower. It seems like an easy way to get more injured than I already am.

And while having sex with the Ghost would be simpler from an emotional standpoint because I barely know him, he is a beta, so it would not actually solve any of my current, heat-related problems. Also, Cardan would be sad.

Do I care that Cardan would be sad? That’s an uncomfortable thought.

“Oh, thank god,” I say, when we finally reach the bathroom and I see Cardan pacing back and forth in the little hallway and hear the shower stream hitting the old yellow tile in the bathroom. I can’t wait to be clean. I can’t wait for these heat-induced intrusive thoughts to go away either, but unfortunately that’ll take a little longer.

“Do you need any help getting undressed?” the Ghost asks, in a tone so dispassionate that even my omega hindbrain wilts at how obviously uninterested he is.

“I think I can manage,” I say, mostly because I can, but also because Cardan looks like he’s on the verge of tearing the Ghost’s throat out, and I still think the Ghost would win that fight but I’m suddenly not sure. We’ll all be glad when this is over.

So I limp into the bathroom, close and lock the door behind me, and tear off my sweat-soaked tank top and my underwear. Instead of standing in the shower, I grab the soap and sit right down, not caring if the floor is gross. I nearly start crying when the water hits my skin, and am almost surprised it doesn’t start steaming around me. It feels cool, so I turn it up a little until I’m comfortable. Then I begin scrubbing myself all over.

It takes a long time before I feel clean. My body still reacts to the lingering traces of Cardan’s scent that cling to my skin and hair. But I discover that someone’s stocked the shower with a set of floral shampoo and conditioner that claims to be “scent-dampening.” Small text on the back advises that they “may have diminished effect during periods of heat or rut,” but I pour a good third of the bottles out into my hands and wash and condition my hair, detangling it with my fingers. I wash my pubic hair, too, just in case it’ll help.

When I step out of the shower, feeling much better, I eye my gross clothes and dread putting them back on. But on the closed toilet, neatly folded, someone has left me an alternative: one of those loose maxi dresses you can find hanging on a rack in the back of a Walgreens, for cheap. I pull it over my head; it’s olive green, and too long, but it fits okay otherwise. There are also some soft black shorts, which I put on under the dress. There’s no replacement for my underwear, so I wash it in the sink, wringing it out as best I can, and leave it to hang dry on the towel bar.

When I step out, Cardan, who has now taken to pacing the main area with his head bowed sulkily forward, perks up. “Hey,” he says. “You look… wow, a lot better. Your scent’s— you’re better.” His nose wrinkles. “The shampoo’s a little weird, though.”

“Not a fan of lavender?”

“It just doesn’t really…” He gestures vaguely. “...like, go with you. It’s the opposite of what you are.”

I limp over to an empty chair and ease myself into it. Because I am so tired that my filter is totally worn away, I ask, “What do I smell like to you, anyway?”

“It’s…” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and fidgets. I notice his feet are still bare, and nearly blush, remembering what had happened to his sock. “It’s hard to explain. I mean, I probably smell like a lot of things at once to you, too, right?”

I nod. “But if you had to choose,” I press, and brace myself, trying to anticipate the worst thing he could say. Methane gas, rotten fish, a dump?

“Cinnamon, I guess,” Cardan admits.

“What?” I sit forward in my chair. “You hate the smell of cinnamon?”

“No, I.” He looks flustered, but tries to channel it back into haughty and irritable. “Don’t be stupid. I’m going to go shower.”

“But—” I begin, perplexed, but Cardan has already disappeared.

The Ghost, who had been leaning silently against the wall, pushes off of it to approach me. “I should change your bandages,” he says, crouching down to expect them. I open my mouth, but he anticipates me and looks up, adding, “I know you have questions, but I’m only going through this once. Better wait until Cardan gets back.”

I press my lips into a thin line. I can be patient when it’s important, but I am feeling frayed right now. As he is re-wrapping my leg, I blurt out, “How do you know what to do if you’re a beta?”

“What, with your leg?”

“No, with—” I look down at him and find him raising his eyebrows. He had been joking. I sit back in my chair, pouting.

“My dad was an omega,” he explains. “My mom was an alpha. I saw all sides of it growing up, even if I didn’t go through it. Three days every few months I’d be on my own.”

“Was that hard?”

“It was what it was.” He gives me another look. “Now wait.”

I scowl at him. “Can I have a mandarin?”

Maybe happy not to be talking, he gets up to get one from a bag slumped on top of the mini-fridge. I catch it when he tosses it to me, and alternate between picking at it and taking sips from a fresh water bottle until Cardan emerges from the shower, damp and cleansed of sweat. He sits down across from me, and I scrunch up my nose. Lavender doesn’t really suit him either.

“I told Jude I’d only go through this once,” says the Ghost, who seems happier to remain standing. “But I think I can guess your first question. Yes, we all knew what was going on. Pretty much from the get-go. We didn’t say anything because you guys were being cagey for some reason, but we figured we could get you the supplies you needed anyway, no harm done. I only said something because I’m the only one here, and Cardan wasn’t going to give me access otherwise.”

Cardan shifts. I ask, “Why are you the only one here?”

The Ghost blinks at me. That wasn’t the follow-up he was expecting. “The Bomb and the Roach were called away.” He shrugs. “Might be good news, might be bad. Hard to say. They figured I could handle things alone while you were in heat. It’s not like either of you are in a state to go anywhere.”

“So, what, you’re all betas?” Cardan asks, cutting me off before I can follow up.

“Yes.”

He frowns. “We thought you were using maskers.”

“It wasn’t a bad assumption,” the Ghost says. “People in our line of work often do, so we can’t be traced by scent. Betas make good spies, too. Any profession that requires stealth.”

I hadn’t thought about that, but it makes sense. “So were you recruited because you were a beta, or…” My stomach sinks as I consider another possibility. “You were all, like, born… nobody made you this way, right?”

The Ghost hesitates, then says, “I was, yes. The others’ stories aren’t mine to tell.”

Cardan gawps at me. “You’re thinking they were… what, de-designated? Why? To make them better at… crime?”

I shudder. Forcible de-designations were categorized as human rights violations by the United Nations in the early 1970s after certain unethical human experiments came to light. Sure, there are de-designation therapies out there for people whose designations cause extreme dysphoria or health complications, but they take months. The forcible de-designations are quick, and brutal, and painful, and if the subject survives the physical complications, they might not survive the psychological.

“I hope not,” I say, quietly, telling myself that my discomfort is brought around by the idea of anyone suffering such a painful ordeal, not because I like our abductors. I change the subject. “But you were recruited?”

“Yes.”

Man of few words. I hug my arms around my stomach. “Must be nice.”

“The job opportunities or being a beta?”

“Not having to deal with…” I peel one hand away from my abdomen and gesture vaguely.

“No, I don’t envy that.” The Ghost looks between us. “Although I do sometimes wonder what I’m missing out on.”

I glance at Cardan, who, to my surprise, actually looks angry. “If you had fresh clothes for Jude the whole time, why didn’t you give them to her?” he demands. “Why didn’t anybody stay with her? She was stuck in her gross clothes and she was alone, all day.”

Again, the Ghost looks slightly taken aback, although he smooths his face into his usual inscrutable mask in an instant. “The Bomb got these for her yesterday, but she was curled up in her nest and we didn’t know if she’d want to move or be bothered.”

“My nest?” I frown. “No, that’s not right. I don’t have a—”

“It’s a sad nest, but you did pile all the bedding in the room up in one corner.”

“No, that wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t—” I look at Cardan in horror, as he is the one who put all the blankets and pillows on me, but he is looking away from me. I shake my head, and some wet hair falls into my face. “It’s okay that I was alone. I think it was better. Don’t worry about it.”

I feel the Ghost watching me closely, and shift in my seat. “It’s not shameful, what’s happening to you,” he says at last. “Plenty of people go through it all the time.”

“Not you,” I retort.

“Maybe not, but I’ve been around long enough and seen enough to know there are upsides to being an omega.”

“Oh, yeah?” I ask. “Like what?”

The Ghost’s eyebrows shoot up. “You want me to tell you?”

“Yeah.” I glance at Cardan, who’s slouching in his chair and pretending to ignore both of us. “Tell me how my life doesn’t totally suck right now.”

He looks at me, then at Cardan, then says, “I guess I don’t have anything better to do.”

Next

[aperrywilliams]

The Request - Part I (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

(Not my gif!)

Masterlist

Part I / Part II

———————

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Summary: Reader is the Spencer’s best friend and although she has some doubts she'll ask him to do something big for her.

Word Count: 3238.

Warnings: Curses. Maybe the main subject could be awkward for some people. Angst mixed with other things.

A/N: I had this idea but I don´t know if could be enough for a part 2. Impressions, comments and any reaction are welcomed. Thanks for reading!

——————–

A new Monday. As always, I arrived to work 20 minutes before the usual check-in time. That gave me enough time to make my coffee and (Y/N)’s who should be arriving soon.

But time passed and there were no signs of (Y/N). That was odd. Maybe she faced a huge traffic jam. I was about to call her when I saw the elevator doors open, showing the (Y/N)’s figure. I breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of her. She was okay. At least I thought so.

When she passed through the glass doors I noticed her expression and concern returned to my me. Watery eyes, she walked with difficulty and dropped shoulders, as if she had a great weight on her body. Without a word she slumped into the chair next to her desk. Which was strategically next to mine.

She stared at the folders on her desk for several minutes almost without blinking. She hadn't even taken off her jacket and still had the purse on her lap. (Y/N) was clearly not okay.

“(Y/N)… are you ok?”. I asked. I couldn’t help but showed my concern about her. Hearing my voice, she realized that she was not alone and hastened to say something, trying to hide what was happening to her with a fake smile.

“Hey… Spencer. I’m sorry. I didn’t greet you…”. But I knew. Her voice was almost inaudible and it sounded cracked to me.

“It’s ok. You don´t need to. But… are you ok?." I asked again. She let out a heavy sigh.

“No. I’m not” she confessed. I got up from my chair and approaches to her.

“What’s wrong? You can tell me…” I said with the hope she could trust me enough and tell me what happened.

“I don´t want to. It´s so embarrassing and hurting. I don’t know how even I managed to get my ass here”. (Y/N) shook her head avoiding my gaze that was fixed on her.

“Please, maybe I can help”. She looked at me with her puffy eyes and a soft smile. For me were the most beautiful eyes on Earth even if they had been crying a river.

“Not here. Can we get a coffee in the cafeteria of first floor?. I don't want anyone on the team to see me like this”. She looked everywhere making sure that no one was looking at us.

“Of course. Come on”. I grabbed my blazer and phone and joined to (Y/N) towards the elevator.

With our coffees, we go out of the building to an interior patio. We sit down on a bench. (Y/N) took a sip of her coffee and started talking.

"Spencer, I broke up with Darren last night." Her expression was a combination of sadness, anger and defeat. It broke my heart to see her like this.

"(Y/N)... I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. But why? What happened?”.

"This is the part that I'm ashamed of ...". Her hands was trembling and I could see how new tears formed in her eyes and were rushing out. I just took her free hand and squeeze it gently to try to comfort her. She looked up at the ceiling trying to hold back the tears and then kept talking.

“The son of a bitch was cheating on me! And the worst part... is that I only knew it because yesterday morning his other ‘girlfriend’ appeared at the door of 'our' apartment saying she was pregnant with his child.” At this point (Y/N) started to cry wildly.

Oh God . This was worse than I thought. It was like a bad movie. Very bad movie.

"What?" I tried to hide my face of shock, but it was difficult. It really was like a bad joke. Although I'm not going to lie, it always seemed to me that Darren was an asshole and didn't deserve to be with (Y/N), but it wasn't my decision and if he made her happy, that was enough for me. Also they were together for a long time almost as long as the time I had been working with (Y/N).

"I know. How I didn’t realize before?. Spencer, I was so silly. I’m a profiler and my boyfriend has been cheating on me systematically for so long! And the bastard got another woman pregnant!”. The sobs had subsided. Now anger and resentment dominated her voice. I didn’t expect less from (Y/N). If I could have smacked him myself at that moment I would have done it gladly.

"I'm so sorry (Y/N). You don't deserve to be going through this." I opened my arms and wrapped her in an embrace. I hoped that would help in part. At least so she knew she wasn't alone in this.

"I don't know Spencer. I’m so confused. I really thought things were fine…”. (Y/N)' sobs returned, but now they were muffled in my chest. I wish I could have done more.

(Y/N) returned to the BAU feeling a little better after a few weeks of leave that Hotch granted her without asking too much questions. During this time away from work I made sure to visit or call her every day to check on how she was feeling. When I visited her, we talked a lot, drank coffee, watched movies or went out for walk. I think I did a good job as a best friend, making her focus, at least in those moments, on something other than her breakup.

I must admit my selfish being felt some happiness knowing that (Y/N) was no longer with Darren. Although the remorseful side of me felt bad about it. They were conflicting feelings to me. I didn’t like to see (Y/N) hurt for her breakup, but I could not bear to see her with someone who didn’t love her as the great woman she is.

The day she returned to work the first thing she did was hug me tight and thank me for being there for her. Though honestly I couldn’t imagine myself doing something other than what I did.

Months passed, but (Y/N) was never the same. I don't blame her. Surely she thought was going to marry Darren. Before what happened, (Y/N) always was showing her happy spirit to everyone. And it was contagious. She constantly was in a good mood, even making Hotch laugh. Now she looked silent, withdrawn. During the flights it was more frequent to see her in the furthest jet' seat reading or deep in thought instead of playing poker with the rest of the team.

On one of those flights, I sat next to her. When (Y/N) saw me, closed the book she was reading and looked at me with a smile. At least I had open access to (Y/N)'s smiles, and that soothed me, although I knew there was an internal struggle in her head beyond all the things she had entrusted to me before. I didn't know what it was, but it sure kept her uneasy.

"You missed poker," I said smiling.

"I didn't feel like losing today," she replied, resting her head on my shoulder.

“Me neither, and JJ ended up winning. I'm disappointed in myself”. I tried to joke.

"Yes, that speaks very badly of you Dr. Spencer 'Vegas' Reid." She let out a genuine laugh that filled my heart. For a second I felt the old (Y/N) reappear. But as soon as she let out that laugh, that was how quickly it disappeared, giving way to a deep sigh.

"What is it? Where does that sigh come from?" I dared to ask her. After a brief second, she replied.

"I'm tired. This case was hard,” she said. I took her hand and started stroking it with my thumb.

"Yes I know. But I think there is something else that bothers you besides the case itself.” She raised her head to look at me and smiled again.

"I have to rehearse my poker faces with you, apparently," she said with a frown .

"Or you could just tell me what's going on" I replied stroking her hand without releasing it.

"True. I could...”

"You should. We are friends, aren't we?”. That reason works 99% of the time with her. She nodded. After a few minutes in silence, she broke it.

"There's something I haven't told you about this whole situation with Darren... and that's what has kept me thinking for a while..." She paused her story for a few seconds. Possibly she was thinking how to find the right words. "For a time with Darren we were trying to have children..."

I couldn't say I was completely surprised. (Y/N) was in a relationship with her boyfriend for almost 4 years. It was reasonable to think they were ready to start a family at some point. I didn't like the image my mind was picturing, but it was something to be expected.

“And well, at some point we realized maybe there was a problem. But we didn't want to delve into that and time passed. After what happened, I kept thinking… if he did it with another woman, maybe I was the one with the problem…”. (Y/N) paused a little to examine my face.

"Are you blaming yourself for not getting pregnant ?" I asked her.

"Yes. I did. But as good Dr. Reid always says, 'Look for the evidence first.' And that's what I did next . A while ago I went to the doctor and had many tests. And... yes, the big conclusion is I’m the problem... it is very likely that I can never have children by my own, Spencer." I could see how (Y/N) bit her lower lip to avoid showing the wave of feelings that were surely stuck in her chest at that time.

"(Y/N)... how can you be so sure of that ...? Maybe if you talk to another doctor...". She put one finger from her free hand to my lips to stop me from speaking.

"Spencer, it's okay. You don't have to say or do anything. I'm telling you so that you know I trust you and that I'll be fine. I just have to get used to the idea…”. It was obvious she had been thinking about this subject for a long time, because she managed to contain herself and be strong. I raised her hand taken with mine and brought it to my lips to stamp a warm kiss.

"You know you can count on me for anything, right?. Whatever, what you need. If you want a second opinion, I can help you find one. Or if you just want to talk about this…”. I said outlining a smile and looking directly into her eyes so she knew my words were true. I didn't know what else to offer that could help her. Sure she felt overwhelmed. (Y/N) nodded and a "thank you" came from her lips before resting her head on my shoulder again.

It was hard not to think all the times in the past few years when I might have noticed signs of (Y/N)'s intentions. Some things made sense to me. Sometimes we joked about a faraway future. Most of the time she hinted a wish of having a big family, a house, and a dog. I wanted it too, and I always told her I was sure she would get it before me.

Weeks passed and in our conversations with (Y/N) the subject didn’t return. A couple of times I tried to ask her how she felt about it, but she just shrugged, told me she was accepting it, and then changed the subject. So I chose to drop it and trust when she was ready to speak, she would.

One morning arriving at the BAU after a case and before going to our respective places to sleep, (Y/N) approached me and asked me to go at her apartment for dinner at night. I stared at her with intriguing eyes. Seeing my face, she hastened to explain.

“I wish we could talk, but now we both need to sleep. Today at 8:00 works for you?”. I nodded accepting the invitation. Maybe she was ready to talk.

When she opened the door greeted me with a smile, but I could immediately perceive some nervousness in her. I couldn't tell the reason. I also didn't want to ask, yet. We sat down to eat and  with (Y/N) only talked about trivial things: the last case, about the book she was reading, that she talked to her mother that afternoon, that the car was faulty and she had to send it to repair. I kept noticing the anxiety and the times I glanced at her, she tried to avoid prolonged eye contact with me.

We were drinking the post dinner coffee and I couldn't stand the insecurity anymore. I had to ask what was going on.

"I don't think you asked me to dinner just to talk about these things ..." She shook her head and settled into the chair to try to calm her nerves, which were already evident by now.

"It’s true. There is something 'less trivial' I want to talk to you about,” she confessed before taking another sip of her coffee.

"Well. I'm all ears. You can tell me. You know you can tell me anything and trust me, right?"

"I know. And I really appreciate it. I couldn't be discussing this with anyone else." She paused for a few moments, rested her hands on the table, intertwining her fingers . "Okay. Do you remember I told you about I was trying to get pregnant when I was with Darren, about my suspicions, and my visits to the doctor?”

“Yes, I remember. You never wanted to talk about that again."

"Yes. I was trying to get used to the idea. But, I don't know, I didn't want to quit yet. Although I don’t like to keep false hopes. The thing is, I listened to you and asked for a second opinion. I got new tests and the results are similar to the first time... only they opened up a little hope for me.” (Y/N)’s eyes lit up as she said it.

"That is good news, isn't it? What did they tell you?" I was quick to ask.

"I have a chance if I try artificial insemination. Now we both know what the odds mean… they are not certainties…”

“I know… it's still good news, isn't it? Are you going to try?”

"Yes. I want to do it” she said with determination.

"And what is coming now?" It wasn’t an easy question. (Y/N) was not in a relationship right now.

"Now I have to get a sperm donor. It could be an anonymous donor since I currently have no partner…”

"I understand and yeah, and anonymous donor is an option if you don't want to wait for a partner… ”

"Yes. I would have liked that. But by now it's not possible… and I don't want to wait to know if it will work or not…”

"I get it. So… you want to try it now.”

"Yes. But... my first choice is not an anonymous donor,” she said suddenly. I looked at her curiously. Could it be she already has a new boyfriend and is what she wants to tell me?

"No?, what is your first option?"

"You". She said fixing her eyes on me.

I felt like I was short of breath and had trouble swallowing. Was what I was hearing true? Above all the scenarios I had pictured in my mind in those last minutes, this was the least plausible to me.

"Me?"

"Yes. I know it is unexpected and it may seem strange to you, but believe me I thought a lot about it. And I want do this with someone who understands my situation and who I can trust. I don't know... an anonymous donor complicates me and I know that would be the most reasonable thing... but... I can’t. Doctor told me the odds could improve if the potential donor could accept taking some studies and eventually follow a treatment. Spencer, I’m so sorry, I'm pushing you to a difficult situation…”

My feelings conflicted at the time . She wanted me to be her donor. But would that change things between us?. She was asking me for a favor as a friend. What if it work out? Eventually (Y/N) would have a child of mine... where was I in this equation? I held my head in both hands. It was too much to process.

"Yes... I mean, I understand what you are saying. It makes sense, but if everything works out… we'll have a child…”

Doesn't she see the consequences of that?

“If it work out, you have no any obligation Spencer. I only…"

"Yeah, you only need my sperm. I get it…". I got up from my chair and started pacing around the room. My head was running 1000 revolutions per second.

"I don't want this to sound like I'm using you. Sorry. You don't have to accept. Just forget what I said, ok?”

"Why me? Is it just because we are friends?" Surely that last question was not entirely expected, because her face winced.

“Spencer, is everything. Because we are friends, because I couldn’t trust another person as I do with you, because you understand my situation. Because... because you are a wonderful person..."

"You know my genes might not be that wonderful..." I said with a bitter smile.

"Spencer... that's not what I mean, you know that...".

"Would you let me be a part of their life...?".

"Only if you want…". Her watery eyes told me it was true. That there was no bad intention on her part.

"This will make our friendship change, you know that, right?"

"Yes. I know. But it doesn't have to be a bad thing… besides… they are probabilities, right? ”. I nodded. I slowly approached her, taking her chin and lifting her face to me. When she finally looked at me, I started to dry her tears with my thumbs.

“Do you remember I told you that you could count on me for anything? I meant it. Even if you only want my sperm now,” I said smiling at her. That made her laugh a little. She got up from the chair and hugged me tight.

"Thanks... thank you so much!" (Y/N) said as she buried her face in my chest. Her tears were now of joy.

I could only close my eyes and hold her tight against my body. I knew this could be a huge mistake, but (Y/N) deserved a chance and if she believed that I could help her, I was not going to refuse despite all my apprehensions. Although it could mean a future torture just thinking we could have something so intimate in common and still be just friends. Even there were chances it would not work, for me the line between us had crossed.

Would it be possible to go further in the future? Could (Y/N) ever see me with different eyes? With the eyes with which I looked at her every day? Could I allow me to feed that little hope? I expected the future might one day be on my side. I allowed myself to have that wish. Time would tell whether or not I was right accepting her request.

——————–

[shewantedtobeasecretgirl]

12. Granny Out of Control a.k.a. headless chickens, Gene Simmons’ girlfriend and Rapunzel

In the previous chapters: Judy and Stone act after their embarrassing encounter in the shower as if it hadn’t even happened; they implicitly agree on not telling Mike that his one-night stand was just the consequence of Judy’s revenge-fueled rumors about Stone’s sexual preferences. Ed loses his voice so the show has to be canceled, Jeff offers to give guitar lessons to Judy instead in his spare time. Granny buys a metal magazine to learn more about Seattle-based rock bands; the picture of Pearl Jam makes her think the perfect match for Judy isn’t Jeff but Stone. Krisha picks Effie up in the city to tell her that Kelly Curtis and Susan Silver have plans with her as a photographer; she also gives her the list of codenames the band and crew members use at hotels. Effie also joins her when she feeds Stone’s unsociable cat, Red who is incompatible with all girls who try to approach him.

 „I don’t know, man… Are you sure you saw them?”

“Don’t piss me off, Schmitty, of course I’m sure. I know whom and what I saw.” I mumble as I put the flashlight back between my teeth. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Not only makes he me do this stupid act, he even drives me crazy with this weak-minded questioning in the meantime. The guy obviously watches too much TV. Especially detective shows about drug cartels.

“But let’s go over it again. Maybe you were wrong or misunderstood the situation or…”

I sigh, and take the flashlight out of my mouth only to direct the blinding ray of light in his face.

“Okay, but this is the last time. And I’m only willing to tell it again because I have nothing better to do and because technically, I can’t do anything else until we finish this. Open the bag and hold it.”

“Yes sir... so you went having a shower…”

“Not that it matters if I went showering or shitting but yes, I went to the restroom.”

“And you opened the door…” he goes on with the storytelling like a small child who already knows his favorite bedtime story by heart.

“And there were they, standing at the sinks…”

“Stop. Are you sure it was them?”

“Of course I am, I could recognize Judy and Stone from miles!”

“Are you 100 % sure?”

“No, I’m only 99 % sure because there’s a very small chance that they both have doppelgangers right in this town but let’s say I’m very likely to have seen them.” I confirm while I start portioning the green leaves into the plastic bag Schmitty is holding.

“And they were…”

“…basically naked.”

“Basically?” he asks like he’d never heard the word before.

“Yes, basically.”

“How do you mean “basically”?”

“What? I’m fucking around here with sharing my weed with you and you’re already high? Unbelievable…”

“No-no-no, seriously, man, you didn’t say “naked”, you said “basically naked”. Define the difference. It’s important.” he flails fussily.

“Stop shaking the bag, it’s difficult enough to do this only with one hand. So, uh, they weren’t completely naked, they both were wearing a towel…”

“The same towel or…?”

“Hah, interesting idea, but no, they both had their own towel on. But I assume none of them was wearing any underwear…”

“That’d be normal, I mean, after showering… but that’s the weakest point in your theory, them having a shower at the same time… it sounds so unreal.”

“Yeah, I thought the same until I found the only logical reason.”

“What? That you only dreamed the whole thing? Or that it was just an intense trip due to the shrooms Mike gave you?”

“I know it sounds unbelievable but at this point, I’m pretty much convinced they did it on purpose.” I close the bag and throw it at Schmitty who hides it immediately in the inner pocket of his jacket and pats himself on the chest satisfied.

“Thanks. But I can’t follow your thinking, Scully. Why’d they secretly meet in the shower?”

“I don’t want to shock you but… I think they had sex right before. I almost entered but then I glanced them and they were almost naked, both giggling and Judy was groping Stone and… I backed out, I was so surprised, I didn’t even know what to do…”

“But they hate each other.” Schmitty protests shaking his head.

“And? Since when can’t people who hate each other have sex with each other?”

“Man, this is too much to me, Stone has Amber at home, Judy is like a nun, they can’t stand each other so obviously, they have sex??? Bullshit, that’s all I can say. I don’t know what you saw but it definitely couldn’t be a post-coital scene.”

“Look, I don’t understand the exact reasons either but…”

“I’ve always been told that as soon as we start touring, girls will try to drag me in the tour bus all the time but I imagined it somehow different…”

We both freeze at the hearing of Stone’s smug giggling and our surprise only grows when we recognize the voice that belongs to his companion.

“Sorry for ruining your wet rock star dreams but it’s impossible here to talk to someone face-to-face, even the walls have ears in this crew.”

Schmitty and I exchange a meaningful look and to his nod, I turn the flashlight on the lowest level. Walls might not have ears here but this bunk bed curtain we’re hiding behind definitely does. Even four, to be exact.

“So what’s the purpose of this conspired, hyper-secret meeting, Camden? I’m hungry so let’s get over with this as fast as possible!”

Hungry, yeah, I can imagine. So you prefer quickies, Stoney?

“I just wanted to talk about yesterday.”

Schmitty stares at me with popped eyes, even his jaws drop of shock.

“Ha. So you were thinking about it?”

“Yes but not the way you think. I’m not gonna tell you tirades about how much I regretted it or stuff because I didn’t. I only want to ask if you talked to Scully about it?”

Schmitty grabs my forearm, digging his nails into it, his other hand is shaking uncontrollably.

“No and I don’t know why I should force it, I mean it happened, it’s embarrassing enough for both of us so let’s draw a veil over it.”

“It’s embarrassing for both of us? Do you really think I give a damn about that? I mean, okay, I lost control, which doesn’t happens really often to me but who cares, I can handle the consequences. You feeling embarrassed, now that’s the last thing I care about. But have you already thought about the feelings of your friend at least for one single second?”

We both furrow our eyebrows and her words probably found their marks since Stone doesn’t answer, which makes Judy go on with the pep talk.

“Okay, neither of us is going to say a word since we both have selfish interest in keeping it in secret but if Scully shoots his mouth off and he finds out about what happened… just think into it, it’d ruin his self-esteem. I mean, it’s inevitable that it turns out later but the best strategy is discretion. Now, it’d be too fresh for him, let’s wait until he forgets about this little… intermezzo.”

Schmitty covers his still opened mouth in complete horror and even I start feeling uncomfortable now that my intuition is basically confirmed.

“So, would you finally promise to talk to Scully?”

“Dunno… I’ll consider it.”

“Jesus Christ, Gossard, would it hurt not to piss me off once in a lifetime?”

“To answer your question, yes, it would but this time it’s not about you, Miss Fussy. I was just thinking that we should let it slide since after all, it’s not as a big deal as you think.”

You fuck her and then try to ditch her? Come on Stone, I thought you were better than this.

“I mean, you make such a fuss but I don’t think Scully would let it slip, he’s probably already forgotten about the whole scene. And if I came up with it, he’d just start overthinking it; when he knows he has to shut his mouth, he becomes gossipy all the more.”

Ha, thanks Stoney but just for the record, I don’t gossip, I just process things by discussing them with other people, see also at “coping mechanisms”…

“It’s you who’s overthinking it. Just stop protesting and do what I ask you. I even use the word “please”.”

“Fuck, okay, I’ll see what I can do, just leave me finally alone with this. Can I ask you something too?”

“It depends…”

“Could we stay here for ten… fifteen minutes? You know, it’s about my reputation…”

“Fuck off, Gossard!!!”

We both exhale with a deep sigh when we hear them leaving the bus.

“Holy. Shit.”

“Holy. Fucking. Shit. Dude, you were right!”

“Of course I was right, I always am, you just never believe me.“

“But… damn… I didn’t see that coming… Gahhh.” Schmitty facepalms, rubbing his forehead worried.

“I’m surprised, though, I thought they didn’t notice me.”

“Apparently, they did. Jesus, I doubt there’s something serious between them but now that I heard it with my own ears, it all makes sense! They hook up, they are both embarrassed since they are enemies, plus the Amber-factor… and poor Jeff, he has a massive crush on Judy and she knows it, maybe she tries to have two irons in the fire… So she convinced him to keep the fling in secret not to ruin her chances at Jeff… She looks so innocent and now she turns out to be an actual snake… Do you think Karrie knows about it?” he jabbers staring desperately in front of himself.

“Whoa, stop, dude, are you insane? She’s not a bitch, they just made a mistake and she freaked out. Her worrying about Jeff sounded genuine, after all, Stone is no perspective for her, he’s got that… he’s got Amber, whatever she is for him. And I don’t think Karrie knows anything, even if she does, she’ll pretend she doesn’t.”

“But this changes everything! Jeff is our friend too and I don’t want to lie to him.”

“Trust me, he’ll never ask “And tell me Schmitty, have Judy and Stone had sex?”, so you don’t have to.”

“You’re making fun of me but you know too how dangerous information these are so you’d better have a good idea what are we going to do know.”

“I’ll tell you, Schmitty: we’re gonna act casual. Just watch me.”

***

„There’s no chance I could reach that string. Just… no. I don’t have that muscle, I’m done.” I moan as I desperately try to stretch my pinky finger to play the next chord following Jeff’s instructions.

“Hey, relax, just reach a bit further, you’ve almost got it.” he chuckles and makes an insecure move to help me out but he changes his mind in the last moment and pretends he only wanted to scratch his arm. And I pretend not to have noticed it.

“No, it’s impossible, I can’t twist my wrist that much. I don’t have freakishly long fingers like Stone, it’s enough.” I give up and put the guitar aside. We’ve been practicing for like one hour, I played him my still rudimentary sounding song idea, of course without telling him what exactly it was. He improvised a bass line to it on his acoustic bass guitar, his fingers are still running back and forth over the strings despite the fact I stopped playing. When I was a kid, Grandpa would tell me that if you cut the head of a chicken, it can still run around for a few seconds before collapsing, maybe it’s a similar phenomenon. Or maybe it’s like when a freight train hits a car and it pushes the vehicle in front of itself for miles before stopping. Headless chickens and train wrecks, why am I thinking about stuff like these while hanging out with a nice guy?

“I’m sure you can do it if you practice it. Look, my fingers aren’t long either.” he raises his palm. Is he expecting me to measure mine to his by placing them together? Could we rather just draw them around and compare the drawings like small children? Okay, he’s got strong, manly hands, that’s not bad at all. But how can he stuff those thick fingers between the strings? And those jewelries, God, they are terrible. Would he mind if I asked him to put them off?

“No, I can’t. I’m not good at these moves, I’ve already tried to play the violin, it didn’t go well. It went awful.” I protest, rather to overtalk my racing thoughts than to argue with him. I hope he’s not going to ask me about the details, I don’t feel like telling him that story at all.

“Okay, it was you who asked me for help, so…” he shrugs with a half smile, his fingers are still nerve-wrackingly torturing the instrument.

“Actually it was you who offered to help so…”

“Fair enough. I don’t want to force it so… if you want to finish all your future performances by saying “sorry, now comes the chord which is incompatible with my wrist so go the fuck home” – then okay, I don’t care.” he puts down the guitar. I try to decode the expression on his face, is he disappointed or just casual or…?

“How do you do that?” I ask quickly, I can’t bear that look.

“What?”

“This… everything…” I flail helplessly.

“I don’t know… I think I got bored with doing nothing and wanted to try something new and I realized I could do everything instead of nothing.” he leans back with a challenging smirk.

“Geez, you spend too much time with Stone.” I roll my eyes. “I mean… I played you something and you immediately knew what to do with it. Your head is full of ideas and variations, can you hear the harmonies instinctively or…?”

“I don’t know… when I hear a melody, I start hearing the other parts in my head… but sometimes I just mess around and try different things to check if they can work as a song or as an idea that I can use later. I try to keep my ears fresh, I fight against crafting only bass lines in my head, that’s why I pick up the guitar from time to time. You know, if a bass player never leaves his comfort zone, after a while, he’ll tend to operate only with the same five or five notes, it’s like a tunnel vision… or tunnel hearing…” he ends his explanation with a shrug and a lopsided smile, as far as I’ve observed, he does that pretty often.

“That’s amazing… I envy you so much. I’ve been studying and playing music for as long as I can remember but I’ve never felt that… sense of liberty? I practiced my ass off, I learned everything I could, at Juilliard, we basically dissected classical musical pieces into single notes and… I developed some weird perfectionism in the meantime, I know how good music is supposed to be composed but… I myself just can’t do it. I was so busy with studying other people’s works that I couldn’t develop the ability to create something, it’s like… my knowledge paralyzed my creativity… Or that’s just what I keep telling myself because I1m not willing to accept the fact that writing music is a gift you can’t just earn by practicing and learning…”

“Maybe you’re right.” he shrugs again and his reaction somehow hits me hard; I don’t know why, though. “I think I’ve already mentioned you that I took piano lessons but I hated it. I found literally nothing intriguing in it, it was boring, I’ve never been into Beethoven or some shit like that.”

“What?” I frown. I didn’t expect him to like the same things I do but… could he just show at least a little interest in what I like? I even talked about art and skateboarding with him. Okay, he doesn’t owe me anything, we’re not dating and all but if he ever wants something from me… okay, he probably doesn’t, it was obviously just a stupid gossip.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to trash your music, it’s just not for me, I appreciate it but I don’t like it. I’m just a Montanan jerk, did you forget?”

“You’re not a jerk, don’t say that… I’m just… nothing, forget it.”

“No, if you want to say something, don’t swallow it. Did I hurt you?”

“You didn’t… I’ve just spent my entire life playing classical music so I can’t imagine how someone is able not to like it at all.”

“Same here with sports.”

“God, I hate sports!” I exclaim and I immediately begin to laugh realizing I’m not better than him either.

“You see? But speaking of your music studies, there’s one thing I’ve always wanted to ask.”

“No.”

“No what? Am I not allowed to ask the question?”

“No is the answer to the question.”

“But I haven’t even…”

“Trust me, it’s no.”

“If you say so…”

“I’m just kidding. Most people attack me when they learn I’m a musician asking if I’d sing or play something for them, it’s so annoying, it’s like the “grunge question’ of classical musicians…”

“Okay, I get it.” he smiles. “But that’s not what I was about to ask.”

“Thank God. So, I guess you don’t want me to teach you reading sheet music either, because that’s usually the second question, which is usually asked by people with no musical hearing at all...”

“No, it’s more of a… personal one.” he hesitates squinting at me for the final permission.

“Hit me.”

“Why are you here?”

“Here? Like, here and now, with you or…?”

“No, I mean, why are you here, with the band? You graduated from one of the most prestigious music schools on Earth, you could conduct top choirs or whatever… and you’re here, loading our shitty van every single night, smelling sweat and cigarette smoke, spending days in a tour bus with beer drinking ugly dudes… Why? I guess Juilliard graduates can pick whatever job offer they want so...”

“I’m here for the money.” I answer without thinking and it immediately sounds false. Am I? Really? “I came here for the money, I don’t deny it, I had no job and however terrified I was, something told me I had to take this opportunity.”

“But… as a classical musician trained at Juilliard… why this job? I just can’t get it.”

“Well… I’ve known for a very long time that the music of baroque era is in which I’m the most interested. It’s, you know, a passion to me, it’s like punk was to you. And if you want to be really good at it, you have to go to the place where it comes from. Here in the States, you can basically hear nothing that was written before Mozart.”

“Europe?”

“Exactly. So in my senior year, I applied for a scholarship of the music academy in Leipzig.”

“And…?”

“And I won it.”

“So you studied in Europe too?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because my father died a few months before I graduated and the small firm he ran died with him… it was a very complicated period so I asked the academy if I could postpone it by one year.”

He’s chewing his lower lip and speaks up only after digesting for a few seconds what he’s just heard.

“And they refused your application?”

“No, they sent me a kind acceptation letter in which they cited their scholarship regulation that said postponement is allowed once. So I moved back to Seattle and started teaching.”

“Oh. I guess something came up one year later too.”

“Well yeah, my sister’s almost dying, that came up.”

He exhales with a deep sigh, I have the feeling he already knew all the details, he just couldn’t do the math. Maybe Karrie told him our family saga. I don’t mind, though, I don’t feel like telling him those stories either…

“Well, that’s a lot… but it also sounds like… you gave up your dreams.”

Now it’s me who can’t do anything else but shrug.

“Maybe… or maybe, it was just a warning from the universe. I’m not religious but I do believe that everything happens with a reason, maybe you can’t find it out ever because it’s something bigger than you or your shitty little life. My family needed me and they still do, or at least they need my two hands I can make money with so… plus, I’ve always been terrified of performing. I have worst stage fright, I doubt I would be able to conduct in the spotlight of the world’s biggest concert halls… anyways… have you ever heard about famous, female conductors?”

“Normally, I’d say you’re a coward and you should follow your dreams but I understand the family factor, of course. And I don’t want to act like a hypocrite either, I could have looked for another graphic design program too when mine was canceled in Missula.”

“But changed your dream instead.”

“Exactly. And maybe that’s what you should do too if universe or God or Buddha or the spirit of Johann Sebastian Bach is trying to message you that you picked the wrong dream.”

“Are you trying to say I should switch my brain to believe loading shitty vans and smelling Scully’s and Schmitty’s stinky feet is my real dream?” I giggle.

“If that’s your way, than go for it, girl!” he plays the overly enthusiastic motivational trainer. We crack up but none of us is laughing heartfelt. His face finds finally rest in a genuine, encouraging smile. “Let’s raise our glasses to the new dreams!”

We both reach our hands to clink our imaginary glasses.

“To the new dreams!”

***

I’ve been on the road with them for days and nothing. Not a single move or a sound that’d confirm we’re following the right traces. And I’m thirsty. So thirsty. But they are so envious, I know they are hiding spare water in their stupid spacesuits or what but they claim they have nothing to share. Sure. I would never drink recycled pee, anyway. But those two moons look pretty cool, the night sky compensates me for every inconvenience I’ve experienced since we started chasing that gross sandworm… everything for the melange…

However important my mission is, it gets interrupted by three quick, impatient knocks on the door.

“You’ve been shitting in there for forty-two minutes! I know you’ve finished and you’re just reading! I have to pee! Get the fuck out of there! Why do you have to do this all the time?”

Maybe because this is the only place where I can have some progress with my current reading undisturbed? I reluctantly close the hardcover volume of Frank Herbert’s Dune and glance lazily at my wristwatch.

“First of all, it’s been only forty minutes. Second, it’s shorter than a blink of an eye, if you measure it in cosmic time. Not even applicable.”

“Okay, I can use astronomical metaphors too. My bladder is a red giant that is about to explode so…”

“I’m coming, I’m coming, geez, urinary incontinence? You should see a urologist.” I remark opening the door. He basically tosses me out of is his way and almost slams it on my nose.

“It’s rather you who should see a doctor, fuck, Stone, what did you eat? Uuugh, I’m dying.” I hear his muffled indignation.

I lie down on my bed and stuff the pillow under my nape. I turn the pages back and forth for a few times until find the place where I was before Mike kicked me out. So, back to those goddamn pervert Fremen fuckers…

I barely manage to read a few lines, when Mike comes back and throws himself on his bed, unmuting the TV that is showing underdressed ladies caressing their own body and telling their erotic fantasies in seductive voice. I clear my throat. No reaction. I do it again, this time longer and louder. Nothing.

“Sorry, am I bothering?” I ask sharply but our guitarist seems to be completely immersed in the curves. “Okay, busted. I know you only went to the toilet to jerk off. You only watch Playboy TV and noname porn channels, you really need to get laid.”

“Done, last night. Remember?” he answers slowly and mindlessly, his eyes are still glued to the screen.

“No, because I wasn’t there, thank God.”

“You’re just envious because you have to practice celibacy, otherwise Amber would cut your balls off.”

I squint at the girls over my book.

“Not that I feel tempted. Jesus, I’m sick of these… udders…”

“Hey, watch your mouth! Those ladies deserve more respect! Especially her!” he points at the blonde, blue-eyed, busty woman on the screen who is dropping her lingerie standing at a bath tub.

“Why, who is she?” I look back at the text in front of me, not that I understand a word of it. Since I receive no answer I turn my head towards Mike only to see he sat up in the meantime and stares at me offended. “What? I have no idea.”

“That’s Shannon Tweed!!!” he flails outraged.

“… who is…?”

“Who is a goddess, Playmate of the Year in 1982 and last but not least, the girlfriend of Gene Simmons!”

“Oh. So she’s old as dirt.” I summarize laconically.

“Stone, what’s wrong with you? What’s wrong with her? What’s wrong with big boobs? I thought you liked them… I mean, you are the guy who’s entitled to do anything with Seattle’s most spectacular pair of bosoms so…”

“Hey, you’re talking about my girlfriend!” I grunt.

“I’m talking about your girlfriend’s tits!”

“Exactly, that’s it! Don’t talk about my girlfriend’s tits! Anyway, how do you know what they look like?”

“Hey, first, I’m only talking about them. It��s called freedom of speech, First Amendment…”

“What the fuck, parts of the Constitution are printed now on beer tags or did I miss something?”

“…second, it is very difficult not to know what they look like, they basically poke your eyes out!”

“Only talking, ‘course.”

“Certain female anatomical features attract men’s eyes, it’s in our genetic code. Don’t even try to make me believe those features had nothing to do with you ending up with her. Wait!” he exclaims with a finger snapping. “Oh, I get it already. You miss her! That’s why you can’t stand the playmates on TV! But you could have said, it’s not a shame…”

“Dr. ‘Cready, expert of constitutional law and anatomy, psychotherapist. I’ve just said I don’t feel tempted…”

“Because those boobs” he points at the screen “are forbidden fruit and remind you of those boobs in Seattle.”

“You’re pointing in the wrong direction, Michael. You’re pointing at boobs in Indiana.”

“Whatever. You miss her, admit it. My boobies are over the ocean, my boobies are over the sea…”

“Stop!”

“My boobies are over the ocean so bring back my boobies to me…”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“BRING BAAACK, BRING BAAACK, BRING BACK MY BOOBIES TO ME, TO MEEEE!”

“I’m only saying that even huge breasts can be boring after a while.” I overshout his off-key singing.

Mike suddenly stops singing and just blinks at me completely frozen.

“You mean… you want to leave Amber?”

“Jesus, what did I do to deserve this?” I bury my face in my hands. “I mean… imagine your favorite food!”

“But that’s… risotto…?”

“Perfect!”

“But risotto doesn’t look like boobs!”

“Jesus, of course not, just imagine it!”

“Okay. Mmmh, it looks delicious. I can even feel its smell.” he moans with closed eyes.

“So you want to eat risotto now, right?”

“Oh yeah, I want it more than anything.”

“And if you could… or had to eat risotto every single day, would you feel the same?”

“Uhm, probably… not.” he opens his eyes.

“And here we are. If you’re in the position where you can play with huge breasts every day, it’s not such a big deal anymore.”

“Hm, makes sense…” he lies back. “But wait!” he sits up quickly again.

“What?”

“In that case, risotto wouldn’t be my favorite food anymore.”

“Yeah, probably…”

Congrats Sherlock. I drop my book on the nightstand, by now, I basically gave up all hope for finishing the chapter I was reading.

“But that means that you prefer small boobs now!”

“I didn’t say that but obviously, smaller tits have their appeal too. And there are girls who would look ridiculous with big breasts.”

My mind begins to wander involuntarily… Yeah, Amber is a bombshell and she drives me crazy whenever she’s around but I’ve always had a thing for more fragile looking girls…

“Who are you thinking about?” Mike asks greedily like a curious puppy.

“Jesus, no one.” I scoff frowning. “I mean, very slim girls look better with… proportionate breasts, you know, like small apples…”

I catch myself cupping my hands, what the hell, am I honking imaginable tits in the air? Okay, I have to talk to Eric to fly Amber here, I’m going to put an end to this, I’m pathetic.

“Say an example!”

What? I don’t know whom I was thinking about, I don’t even know if I was thinking about an existing person, maybe I was just fantasizing about freaky phantom breasts, I couldn’t even see them, it was just a desirable cleavage… and round hips… and shapely thighs…

“I can’t!”

“Just say an example, I don’t know, someone famous who looks like that, or someone who we both know…”

“Kylie Minogue?” I groan in agony. Hopefully I satisfied Mike’s need for a new protagonist for his erotic dreams because he only nods with an appreciative pout.

The ringing of the phone on the bedside between us interrupts our intellectual conversation and we both stare at the device surprised and confused for a few seconds, it’s usually us who call family members and friends, not the other way around. Finally, I decide to pick up.

“It’s Stone.”

“…” No one answers but I can hear some indistinct noises coming from the other end of the line.

“Hello… who’s that? Wo am I talking to?” I ask, and Mike pulls closer to the speaker of the receiver too.

“Ah… excuse me… I must have dialed the wrong number… you’re obviously not the Notre Dame Hunchbach…” an old female voice answers.

What the hell? Is this a prank call? Old people make phone pranks too?

“Who?” I mouth to Mike who mouths “Judy” as a response. Ah, yes. She also chose a codename, not that anyone is interested in her. “You’re talking to Dr. Hugh Jeego, but who am I talking to?”

“Ah, you must be Mr. Gossard. I’m Mrs. Albertson, Judy’s grandma.”

I almost drop the receiver.

“Ugh… uhm… hi, Mrs. Albertson, it’s nice to meet you… I mean, even if not in person but… I guess you wanted to call Judy so…” I make an attempt to finish this awkward intermezzo but she cuts me off.

“Actually, I am glad that I can talk with my Judy’s new colleague, this job is so different in comparison to what she worked earlier, you know, she taught in a school…”

“Yeah, I know…”

“…and now she’s with a rock band, and there are so many rumors about musicians, they drink and do drugs and…”

“We… we don’t drink… that much… not before shows…” I answer and Mike nods approvingly opening a beer can with a loud fizz. “… and we prefer herbs…”

“And mushrooms…” Mike adds.

“Shut up, you ruin everything!” I hiss between my teeth while I cover the microphone with my palm.

“Who was that?”

“It was… it was Mike, our lead guitarist.”

“Ah, Mr. McCready!”

Mike pats his chest proudly.

“Exactly, Mr. McCready…” I flip him the bird.

“I hope my Judy takes care of herself, she tends to become obsessed with work, she even forgets to eat… does she eat properly?”

“I’ve… I’ve seen her eating… so I guess she does…” I try to reassure her but I’m afraid I don’t sound very convincing; after all, the eating habits of Miss Smarty Pants don’t belong to my main interests.

“I wish she ate more, she’s so skinny, isn’t she?”

“She is… I mean, she’s slim. But like… not too slim. Her body is proportionate… I mean, physically, anatomically… her shape is feminine…  and when I say “feminine” I mean she’s not malnourished…” I babble and the small apple tits appear in front of my eyes again, Jesus, I’ve started losing my sanity… For some reason, Mike feels necessary to grab the receiver and yell a gratuitous, cheesy tirade into it.

“My learned colleague is trying to say that she’s a very pretty young lady, with all the respect, of course. She’s the most virtuous girl I know, she behaves well, you can be proud of her, Mrs. Albertson.”

Yes, Mrs. Albertson, exactly, your grandchild behaves well, she brought condoms only enough for a whole fuckin’ football team, safety first… I snatch the receiver out of Mike’s hand and lift it back to my ear but before I could finally get rid of the old lady, the TV catches my attention. While we were listening to the phone call, the harmless playmate fantasies ended and the channel started airing hardcore porn. And either was the petting part very short or it didn’t even exist since the “characters” are pretty much in the middle of things and before we could react anything to avoid the disaster, the actress starts screaming rhythmically.

“What was that noise? Are women with you too?” the old woman inquires suspiciously.

“Turn down the volume, for fuck’s sake!!!” I scream-whisper to Mike.

“No, we’re alone, Mrs. Albertson… we’re just watching TV… Murder She Wrote, someone is being killed!” Mike improvises aggressively poking the remote. “It’s not working…” he groans with a miserable expression.

“Oh, I like that show… which episode? Maybe I turn on the TV to watch it too...”

If you knew… In the meantime the man starts moaning too so the obvious noises grow even louder.

“Oh, the murderer is being killed too!” I try to win some time for Mike, I admit, it wasn’t the most creative lie I’ve ever said…

“I’m saying it’s not working, it must be contact failure or low battery…” he explains beating the remote against his palm at full strength, creating a counterpart to the sound of the bodies snapping against each other on the screen.

“It’s the episode about the slasher.” I maintain the conversation and then address Mike again. “Then use the power button on the TV device or throw it the fuck out of the window, I don’t care, just do something!!!”

“Ah, great idea!” his face lights up and finally, he walks to the TV and turns it off. I swear, I thought for a second he was going to choose the window version, like Keith Moon. I’m sure he was considering it but found the box too heavy.

“It’s over…“ I transmit to Mrs. Albertson.

“It ended with a cliffhanger, what a shame…” Mike remarks and I can barely suppress my snorts.

“I hope for a happy ending…” I grin, Mike presses his pillow against his face, while the poor lady obviously doesn’t even know what to say. After a few seconds of silent, body-shaking laughter, he rearranges his face muscles and takes the receiver away from me.

“It was a pleasure to meet to you, Mrs. Albertson. Judy is a great girl and as far as we know, Effie too, please, hug her for us. I hope we can meet you in person too, when we get back.”

“I admit, I’m relieved, I want you to know I think you are just darling guys. And now, I call the Notre Dame Hunchbach, as I intended to. Goodnight, Mr. Gossard, Mr. McCready.”

“Goodnight, Mrs. Albertson.” we sing in unison.

After I hang up the phone, we stare at each other silently for long moments, before we burst out laughing hysterically.

***

Great. She’s late. She promised she’d be waiting for me at the bar counter at 9 p.m. I’m doing the third circle in this goddamn place and she’s nowhere to be found. Okay, RCKNDY is actually my favorite place and I was happy when Krisha offered to meet me here to unveil Kelly’s and Susan’s “great idea” about which I only know at this moment that it concerns my photos. The cigarette smoke irritates my throat and some unknown band is in the middle of sound check on the stage, the indistinct guitar noises and the female lead singer’s instructions blast at random moments from the speakers causing me mild heart attack every single time and making the crowd members overyell them. Despite the early hour, the place is packed; I can barely struggle through the mass of flannel-wearing guys and girls. Early hour… what am I talking… now that my lifestyle converges on clinical death, both metaphorically and literally, I usually spend my evenings in front of the TV wearing my pajamas. It’s good Krisha picked this day, Mom is working at that new side job again so I didn’t have to make anything up to prevent her from asking suspicious questions.

I visited the restroom to kill some time but it just made me frustrated all the more since I involuntarily became the audience of a bunch of girls, one of them was gushing about the kissing skills of her current crush… gah, I can’t believe I turned into this sour bitch, just because I’ll end up as a spinster, she’s entitled to have some fun…

Almost fifteen minutes have passed by and she still hasn’t shown up yet. I can’t hang out with Victor either, he’s helping with putting the finishing touches at the sound check. I guess I have to wait then. I pick a bar stool and try to decipher the list of beverages on the wall.

“What can I get for you?” a red-haired bartender girl asks. Her question catches me off-guard, since my good old answer “beer” hasn’t been an option for a while and I didn’t have enough time to consider the alternatives. She’s chewing gum with a bored face, reminding me of a ruminant… a hot ruminant.

“Uhm… I… ugh, I haven’t…” I jabber and she reacts with an impatient eyeroll, the countless bracelets are clinking around her wrist as she runs her fingers through her red mane.

“I’d like to have a virgin mojito.” I utter the first thing that comes to mind. She acknowledges my choice with a scornful scoff… Yeah, in case I haven’t felt embarrassed enough yet, she makes obvious that she’s the sexy and cool femme fatale and I’m a straight-edge cripple in a boring, worn, brown jacket.

“Hey, here you are!” someone grabs my shoulders.

“Me? I’ve been waiting for you for like… hours?” I frown while Krisha settles down on the bar stool next to me and places her beer on the counter.

“Gosh, sorry!” her eyes pop as she checks her wristwatch. “I arrived too early and went to the executive office to meet a few friends.” she points at some people talking in front of a door that probably belongs to the office rooms. “That’s Alex, he runs this place, he’s a good friend of Stone, by the way. And that girl next to him works here too, she’s the girlfriend of Regan.”

I observe the girl she’s talking about, she has a nice, bright smile. Fantastic. Krisha knows everyone here… and I have no idea who these people are, and by the way, I’m nobody.

“Regan?” I furrow my eyebrows. “It’s a unique name, I swear I’ve heard it but I can’t place it…”

“He’s also an old friend of mine. And of Stone of course. You might know his name because he played in Malfunkshun with Andy. I mean Andy Wood.”

“Wood.” we say the name at once. “Of course I know his name, I didn’t grow up in a cave…” I explain, maybe in a sharper tone than intended.

“Oookay… “ she raises both hands defensively. “Actually, Regan almost became the drummer of Mother Love Bone, until they replaced him with Greg Gilmore. They made Stone fire him, I was thinking “okay, that’s it, he’s gonna hate us forever” but somehow, he managed to convince him by using logical reasons. If you ever want to fire a drummer, just call him because he’s your guy.” she nods meaningfully and takes a sip of her beer.

“Based on my sister’s opinion, drummers probably leave the band willingly, after having spent some time with him.” I remark dryly. “Thank you.” I reach for my drink and slide the money towards the phlegmatic redhead. I suppress a smile when I see her realizing with disappointed face that I spared the tip. What was she thinking, seriously?

“Oh yes, I forgot your sister and you sew Stone-shaped voodoo dolls in your spare time. By the way, Regan has played with a guy called Shawn for a few years, he’s a huge talent. The dude is a Prince-freak, which is somehow odd in a city where you can’t make a single step without stomping on a distortion pedal but he’s an awesome singer. AND they are planning to jam with Stone as soon as he gets back. I can give you the address of their rehearsal room in case you want to assassinate him…”

“No, thanks, I already know where he lives so…”

“Right!” she slaps herself in the forehead.

“Anyway, can I finally learn why we’re here?”

“Soon. We’re waiting for someone… I’m going to introduce you to someone… who has a job offer for you!”

“Wow… let me guess… healthcare branch has discovered me and they want me to be the face of some firm’s dialyzer portfolio?” I squint at her as I loudly slurp my cocktail.

“Damn, you nailed it!” she bangs her fist against the counter. “Anyway, I’m not going to tell you anything until she arrives, you need to be punished for the self-deprecating joke.”

“Spank me…” I mumble but my retort stays unnoticed since Krisha stares in an indefinite direction next to me sending an enthusiastic wave towards someone.

“Look, Jer is here too.” she points at the target of her smile and I follow her gaze only to recognize Jerry Cantrell… he’s wearing black jeans and a black leather jacket with a white tee.

“Wait… didn’t… didn’t you mention… I mean, you dated, didn’t you?” I ask confused, trying to form coherent sentences. It’s not going well.

“Yeah, we did.” she wiggles her eyebrows.

“But exes are supposed to hate each other…” I try not to turn around too obviously, so I remove a non-existing hair from the shoulder part of my jacket. While he’s slowly walking through the crowd, I notice he’s holding hands with a long, brown-haired girl. She has a perfect body and she’s probably completely aware of it since the tight leather pants highlight every curves of her. Sure, a 10/10 chick for a 10/10 guy, that’s how world has always worked… His hair is let down… I catch myself smiling, Dad insisted on calling him Rapunzel…

“It was just a summer fling and we realized after a few dates that we weren’t made for each other. So no one got hurt.” she shrugs. “Anyway, we share the building with the management of Alice in Chains so we knew we would run into each other all the time. The music scene of this city it’s like a big, incestuous family so…”

We both crack up.

“Oh no…” she sighs annoyed, staring over me again. I don’t know what’s going on in her head but it must have to do something with another twenty-eight people I’ve never met. “DON’T TURN AROUND!” she yells at me when I try to check the cause of her reaction.

“Why, what’s…?”

“It’s too late, I guess she’s already noticed us… or hasn’t she? Bow your head…” she leans on the counter, letting her hair cover her face.

“What the fuck?”

“I said bow your head… avoid eye contact… shit, I don’t have the nerves for this right now…”

“Krisha? Oh my god, it’s you, I haven’t seen you for ages!” I hear a powerful female voice from behind my back.

“Oh, hi Amber, it’s nice to see you!” Krisha groans with a painful smile, lifting her head and letting herself be pulled in a half-embrace resigned. I have to bite my lips to prevent myself from giggling since she sends a cross-eyed grimace to me over the girl’s shoulder. So she must be Stone’s Amber.

“Hey, are you here with your little friend?”

And that must be me. I involuntarily straighten up as much as I can but despite the high bar stool, I’m still shorter than her in her heels. I wonder if Red peed into these ones too… Now that I’m checking her out properly, I realize somehow she doesn’t belong here. Mini dress, heels, perfect makeup… That’d be Stone’s type?

“Uhm, this is Effie, she’s the sister of the band’s new monitor engineer…”

“Ah, Julie, you see, I know everything…” she knocks on his temple with her index finger a few times. “I’m Stoney’s girlfriend.” she grabs my hand and shakes it aggressively. I don’t correct her, I just exchange a quick look with Krisha, her eyes confirm that it wouldn’t make sense anyway.

“And… are you going to stay for the gig too?” Krisha nods towards the stage after a few moments of awkward silence.

“Oh, no, I’m going partying with my girls, I just checked in, I wanted to say hi to Alex and ask him for a favor. We’re organizing a grunge-themed fashion show and this place would be a perfect place for it.”

“A what?”

Krisha’s face radiates shock and disgust at the same time.

“You know, this grunge thing is blowing up, the firm is about to launch a collection, you know, flannel shirts, jackets, shorts with leggings, so we’re looking for a grungy place to present it…” she explains with huge hand moves. As she begins to explain the details of her brilliant idea, I get immediately distracted. Not only because my mind is desperately trying to ignore this nonsense but because I spot Leather Pants Chick at the same sport were Alex and his colleague were standing a few minutes ago. Only a few seconds pass by until her partner arrives too, he immediately pulls her closer by her hips as he leans against the wall… they engage into a make-out session without hesitation. Jerry digs his fingers into her hair and as things are getting more intense, his hands slowly wander along her back until they reach and firmly grab their destination…

I swear it wasn’t so hot in here when I arrived, I can feel my face is burning, I’m sweating like I was in hell… Yeah, being forced to watch a hot guy smooching with a girl who isn’t you but in exchange, is much prettier than you, that’s how I imagine the first circle of hell. I can barely peel myself out of my jacket, my elbow gets stuck when Amber grabs its sleeve. I’m still a little dazed-off and stare at her expressionlessly while I’m trying to pick up the threads of conversation.

“...exactly like this one, thrift clothes are so trendy now, where did you get this one?”

She shakes the sleeve of my jacket impatiently, making me realize that’s what she’s talking about. Should I tell her the truth? That it’s not from a thrift shop, that it’s original, that Judy and I pooled the money we earned at our summer jobs together and made an agreement about taking turns on wearing it six years ago?

“I can’t… can’t remember…” I manage an effortless answer.

“You have a great taste, we three should do a thrift store tour together.” she rants on.

“Totally.” Krisha tries to seem enthusiastic but she rather reminds me of a snarling serial killer.

“Okay, I have to go, oh my god, I’m late and I haven’t even talked to Alex. We could hang out in the city next week, call me, Krish! And bring your new friend too!” she winks at me. “See you, later girls!” she finally leaves us alone, the quick tapping of heels echoes in my head even after she has disappeared behind the office door. Krisha grabs her glass and drinks its content for one sip.

“Ah, I feel much better now.” she sighs. “I’m afraid my phone is about to die. I may not be able to make phone calls for a while.”

I snort into my drink.

“I must say, she’s not the girl I’d imagine as Stone’s girlfriend.”

“Trust me, she’s not the girl whom anyone would imagine as his girlfriend. But seeing them together is always like a free circus ticket, it’s pretty funny, especially when you have coke and popcorn too.”

“Sooo… where’s the mysterious person who we’re waiting for?” I look around, although I have no clue what physical characteristics I should look for, I don’t even know if we’re talking about a man or a woman. As my gaze slowly wanders around the room, I admit to myself unwillingly, that I exactly know what I’m looking for. Long, blonde hair, black leather jacket and a white shirt. The realization makes me blush, I feel like in those good old high school days, trying to casually encounter my current crush who doesn’t even know I exist. Why am I like this all the time? Why? I’m such an idiot…

“Okay, I check Alex’s office, maybe we misunderstood each other and she went in without me noticing her. And I’m sure Alex needs some spiritual support too, the recovery will be tough for him. Do you wanna come?”

“No, I… I’d rather wait here.” I answer quickly, flushing, I’m stupid, stupid, stupid… “So it’s a she?” I shout after Krisha but she just waves me off laughing.

So… what was I thinking? I could have join her and meet her cool friends but I chose to drink here alone, not that I don’t feel lonely enough. And I ran out of drink in the meantime too… I want to procrastinate the next round until the other, friendlier bartender shows up again but unfortunately, the red-haired demon spots my empty glass and elbows on the counter opposite me with a challenging, patronizing smile.

“May I bring you a next lemonade?”

I’m about to snap back but a pleasant male voice over my head makes me change my mind.

“One more of this, whatever it is. And the lady is my guest.”

[lovelikedestiny]

Still waters run deep | Part One

The morning after jumping out of a skyscraper, Nile does not expect to wake up to the smell of bacon and therefore lies quietly on her back for a few seconds while she tries to find out whether she's still asleep. Her growling stomach tells her otherwise, however, because apparently dying and coming back to life is quite stimulating for the metabolism and makes you damn hungry

The sore muscles she expected from yesterday's questionable actions – hey, she was shot several times and threw a teenager in a ridiculous hoodie blazer out of a window – do not materialize, and Nile doesn't know whether to embrace or curse this aspect of immortality. She decides to put everything that has to do with it in the farthest corner of her head and see to it that her stomach gets something to eat. At least this is a task she can easily handle and that is comforting considering all of the changes she has experienced in the past few days. To her surprise, there is only one other person in the kitchen of the house Andy chose to stay for last night. Nicky stands calmly at the stove and turns the bacon in the pan with practiced movements that Nile envies for their elegance. He's wearing something similar to the evening in Goussainville. His back - under the dark fabric of his shirt - is turned towards her and he doesn't give the impression that he was tortured in a laboratory for 18 hours. "Good morning, Nile," he says softly without turning around and Nile almost startles because she didn't expect him to notice her. But this man has been around for 900 years and has probably learned to tell the steps of his companions apart. And it's no wonder with as close as he and Joe are. "Hi," she says awkwardly and stands indecisively in the doorway until Nicky points to an empty chair at the table, still keeping his eyes on the pan. "Please take a seat. Would you like tea or coffee? " "Uh...coffee please," she replies and sinks into one of the chairs. “I can go straight back to bed without caffeine,” she adds jokingly, trying to lighten the mood that is overshadowed by yesterday's events, despite the pleasantly normal noises of sizzling bacon. As if Nicky had done it hundreds of times - this man has probably witnessed the development of this hot drink – he pushes a cup filled with wonderful fresh coffee over the table to her and the subtle smile that plays around the corner of his mouth is what Nile sees as a victory. However, she cannot help but notice the deep circles under his eyes; adorning his pale face. "Thank you." She puts both hands around the cup and sighs softly as the pleasant warmth envelops her fingers. Nicky gives her a friendly nod and goes back to the stove, where he begins to lift the bacon from the pan onto a plate. Without taking her eyes off him, Nile carefully takes a sip and waits until it has reached her stomach before she speaks to Nicky: “Did you sleep at all? You look terrible. And I say that knowing some people would be very likely to throw themselves at your feet if you looked at them." To be honest, she doesn't know how to behave towards him. She had so little time to get to know him and Joe better before they were kidnapped. Nevertheless, the couple was extremely nice and welcoming at dinner in France and Nile is sure that has not changed. "No," Nicky says simply, his tone still soft when he answers her and puts a plate of toast and bacon in front of her. "And it's enough for me that Joe throws himself at my feet." Nile, who didn't expect such a dry line, gives a surprised laugh and is rewarded with a small but mischievous grin from Nicky. This almost makes her forget the essential aspect of their conversation:  Nicky hasn't slept. And with the way she felt after jumping out of the skyscraper, his body should actually be pretty exhausted. After all, he and Joe didn't get the gentle treatment in the lab. Before she can go into further detail, Nicky shrugs his shoulders, almost embarrassed. "Unfortunately, I can only be of service with toast and bacon. The kitchen has nothing more to offer here and I didn't want to leave the house." He doesn't say why he didn't want to leave the house and Nile doesn't dig deeper due to the dull shine of his eyes. "Hello? I could die for bacon!" Nile exclaims in an exaggeratedly dramatic way and inhales the salty smell of the said food deeply, but considering past events and their significance her joke leaves a bitter aftertaste.

She clears her throat uncomfortably and starts to eat while Nicky silently prepares another plate of toast and places it on the seat next to Nile, although he doesn't sit down. She opens her mouth to ask him why he isn't eating too when Joe's voice comes from the hallway. "Nicolo?" Even if she doesn't know him that well, she hears the slight alarm in his voice and Nicky notices it too. "In the kitchen, my heart," he replies quickly and gives Joe a tender smile as he enters the room. The dark-haired warrior immediately relaxes when he catches sight of Nicky and Nile realizes that Joe looks just as exhausted as Nicky just in other ways: his face has a pained expression, and his eyes are slightly puffy as if he had cried last night. And Nile can't blame him in the slightest, smiling encouragingly at him to make him feel like he doesn't have to hide anything from her. Sympathetic crinkles form around his eyes when he returns her smile, but the humorous spark that lurked in his gaze in Goussainville is missing. She concentrates on her breakfast when Joe and Nicky kiss and then put their foreheads together, which is so much more intimate than wild making out, as Nile has seen several times in public with other couples. Quietly mumbled words wander back and forth between them and despite the fact that Nile tries hard to focus on her coffee, she still listens to them a little. "Did you even sleep, Nicky?" Out of the corner of her eye she sees how Joe puts a hand on Nicky's cheek, gently stroking it with his thumb. “I'm fine, Joe. Really. I can catch up on sleep,” Nicky assures him just as quietly and puts his hand on Joe's, squeezing it gently. "Sit down. Unfortunately, there is only toast.” Joe makes an unsatisfied noise. “You should have woken me up. Then I could have stayed up with you and...” "Yusuf", Nicky interrupts him and there is so much warmth in his bright eyes that Nile quickly takes a long sip of coffee and burns her tongue, although the pain disappears seconds later. “You needed sleep. And I...” “You need sleep too! You were in that damn lab with me!” Joe interjects, his voice still lowered, but clearer. "... don't sleep very well after heavy missions,” Nicky ends the sentence calmly, as if Joe hadn't said anything. "When this is all over, you can tie me to the bed and we won't go out for a week, okay?" Joe sighs deeply but laughs softly. “A week in bed, huh? I like that thought." With another kiss, Nicky urges him to the seat next to Nile, where the other plate is already waiting. Joe falls heavily on the chair, accepts Nicky's coffee cup with a grateful smile and leans into the touch as Nicky briefly lets his hand slide through Joe's curls. “You're an angel,” Joe says, biting off the jam toast that Nicky has already made. It's just a small bite and Joe chews it for a long time, but Nile thinks it's better than not eating at all. "If I'm an angel, you are my heaven." Nicky rummages behind them at the sink and makes this statement as casually as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "Oh man," Nile says, eating her last piece of toast. "You're really disgustingly cute." Joe chuckles into his mug, but the chuckles stop abruptly when Booker walks into the kitchen. There is a really crushing silence for a few heartbeats and nobody moves. The problem with the Frenchman is that Nile absolutely thinks his betrayal sucks and can only shake her head at how he turned over the people who have accompanied him for centuries. But she understands his motives, has seen the deep pain that nests in him when he told her about his family, and she likes him. Nile sees in him someone who understands her current situation with her family. Booker shifts his weight, his bloodshot eyes darting back and forth between them and finally he starts moving and comes to the table. "Morning," he mumbles. Joe pretends not to have heard him, his eyes stubbornly fixed on the jam toast, although he only pushes the bitten bread around on his plate. Nile raises her hand in greeting. "Hello." "Good morning," Nicky says and Booker freezes in alarm, his hands on the back of the chair he has just pulled back to sit down. As if the Italian had yelled at him, but Nile sees no hostile behavior in Nicky's grip as he pours coffee into another mug. Even Joe takes a closer look at his lover and Nile's last strip of bacon remains lonely on her plate because she is absolutely confused by everyone's behavior. "I hope you saved a bunch of bacon for me, Nicky," Andy says as she appears in the kitchen. The warrior looks tired and beaten but moves with the same confidence and strength with which Nile first met her. She favors the side that Nicky patched up yesterday, but otherwise nothing of her new mortality can be seen. Nicky hands her the coffee cup and a plate on which you can barely see the toast under all the bacon. "That is out of the question." Andy narrows her eyes into ice blue triangles yet sits down at the breakfast table with her plate and mug, without taking her attention from Nicky. "Everything is fine so far?" "Always,” Nicky says simply and somehow automatic. Joe makes a face. “According to the circumstances, boss.” The swipe at Booker cannot be ignored, Booker stares at the floor. "And you?" Andy's snort is barking. "As good as new. And now eat your girl-toast. Nicky didn't make my toast that sweet." Joe shakes his head with a grin. "Bacon is also difficult to smear." "Exactly," Nicky says, stressing Joe's opinion by pointing at Andy's plate. "Bacon is fat, but not spreadable.” Whatever it is that the others hear in Nicky's voice, it makes them turn to the Italian who is still at the sink, now washing the pan. Nile nibbles on her last strip of bacon without saying a word because she doesn't want to miss anything. Only then does she notice that Booker is the only one who hasn't received a coffee cup or a full plate and has not yet sat down, as if he were unsure whether Nicky should bring him anything or whether he should get something himself. "Um," Booker makes a sound in his throat. It is not an offended sound, but just an expression of his discomfort and he moves to go to the wall cabinet where the cups are. The water in the sink runs out.

Then several things happen at once: Nicky turns around in a lightning-fast movement, something gleams metallic and suddenly Booker utters a French curse, staggering backwards and staring in disbelief at the knife that is stuck in his shoulder.

Andy jumps up. "NICKY!" "Merde!" Booker hisses and pulls out the knife – the knife Nicky threw – with clenched teeth, looking sadly at the blood on the blade and on his shirt. But before he can reply, Nicky is suddenly in front of him. Andy curses too and prepares to intervene, but the table is in the way and Nicky is too fast. With her mouth half open in shock, Nile can do nothing but watch as Nicky skillfully snatches the knife from Booker's grip, knocks him with a short, violent blow against the wall and rams the weapon millimeters from Booker's face into the wallpaper. She can't believe that this is the man who kindly showed her the bed in France and apologetically declared a few minutes ago that he could only serve toast and bacon for breakfast as if that were a criminal offense. On the other hand, Nicky is the only one who hasn't expressed his anger so far. Joe was pretty verbal in the lab and wasn't shy about saying what he thought of Booker's actions, and Andy just seemed too exhausted and tired of all the shit she's been through in her many, many years to be particularly outraged. But Nicky was the one who soothed Joe yesterday and coaxed Andy with gentle touches into letting him treat her wound. And however, Nile expected his anger to be expressed, she didn't expect this kind of anger; this icy wrath that doesn't burst out of Nicky uncontrollably like Joe's yesterday but is purposefully and controlled and therefore all the more intimidating and frightening. Booker stares wide-eyed at Nicky, who has one hand still on the knife rammed into the wall and the other buried in Booker's shirt, holding Booker firmly in place, his face just inches from Booker's. "Did that hurt?" Nicky finally asks so gently that Nile wouldn't have understood him if it hadn't been for dead silence in the kitchen. And although Nicky has not raised his voice, a shiver runs down Nile's spine, because beneath the gentleness you can clearly hear an unsettling coldness.

Can be found on AO3 too :)

[jemmahazelnut]

Two broken hearts with matching sides - Chapter 7

Link: AO3

Here you can find Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six.

Notes: I swear I will publish the next chapters faster.

First steps

Freed woke up with a slight headache. It could have been worse for him given how much he had drunk the day before. He yawned and got dressed noticing that it was now lunchtime. The night before he and Laxus had come home at four in the morning. After writing to all the people that had worried, Freed had gone to sleep with a mixed feeling of adrenaline and relief in his body. The chat with Laxus had definitely changed his perspective, but he still didn't know how to approach the blonde.

During the journey home they had decided to take things calmly so as not to repeat the mistake they had made years ago. Go out, see what it was like to be together after years and, if necessary, make things serious. It was the best he could hope for. They had also decided not to say anything to the others, merely saying that they had solved their problems.

Freed left his room and entered the kitchen, where the three roommates were already there. Evergreen was having tea while she read the news on the phone, Bickslow ate breakfast even though it was late now, and Laxus was making a coffee.

“Morning,” Freed greeted as he opened the fridge.

“Coffee?” Laxus asked. Freed smiled at him.

“Yes, thank you,” he replied, pleased to finally be able to have a normal conversation.

Evergreen and Bickslow looked up in surprise from the table at them.

“Have you solved your problems?” Bickslow asked.

“Yes, I'm still sorry about yesterday. I didn't mean to worry you,” Freed said taking the jar of jam and putting it on the table.

“I really hope for you two that you're done driving me crazy,” Evergreen commented in annoyance.

“Yes,” Freed replied. Evergreen was obviously curious now. Rightly so, since she had had to endure all their squabbles.

“So what was the problem?” she asked. Freed just kept quiet, not sure what he could say. They had decided not to give news around, mainly because they had just solved, they didn’t know how things were going to go between them.

“We had some misunderstandings and last night we solved” he just said after a while, since Laxus didn’t speak. Evergreen arched an eyebrow, not at all pleased with the answer.

“Misunderstanding?” she asked skeptically. She was about to ask for more but luckily Bickslow intervened.

“Well, as long as you don't leave home anymore. Honestly, I'm tired of running after you too,” he said calmer than the girl.

“I'll try not to,” Freed replied. Laxus set the cup of coffee in front of him and Freed took it with a slight smile on his face.

“How about going to billiards?” Laxus asked.

“Do you mean all together?” Evergreen asked that she still wanted to know more and she was scrutinizing them openly, looking for every little information. Laxus and Freed nodded.

“Great!” Bickslow exclaimed “Just like the old days.”

***

“You softened up in Germany,” Laxus smiled as he walked out of the bar with Freed for a moment to smoke. They were with Bickslow and Evergreen in the club they always went where they were teenagers and had decided to play a couple of games of pool. They both thought that going out with the two friends would make things less embarrassing, moreover, they both wanted to be forgiven by the two for behaving like assholes and that was the ideal opportunity.

“I wouldn't say, if it wasn't for Evergreen you would have already lost” Freed retorted closing the door behind him and then leaning against the wall.

“I don't think so,” the blond objected, lighting a cigarette.

“You haven't given up yet,” Freed commented and Laxus made a small grimace.

“I tried, and for a few months I even managed to quit, but then I started again,” Laxus replied taking a puff and avoiding saying that since Freed returned, he had increased the number of cigarettes he smoked per day. “So, what’s Germany like?” he asked.

“Everything is much better organized and people are not chaotic and rude like here. Just look at the streets and see how clean they are compared to ours,” Freed replied.

“The perfect place for you,” Laxus commented, glancing at him. In fact, there was also that problem to think about. When Freed finished his two years of university, would he go back to his father, or would he stay in Italy to live with his mother? Laxus hoped that he would choose the latter option, despite the fact that he knew that finding a job there would be more difficult. Also, perhaps Freed lived better in Germany.

“Maybe” said Freed “But I still prefer Italy, maybe just because I was born there,” he added with a slight frown. Then he began to tell some anecdotes and Laxus listened curiously.

The blond found himself staring at his friend -if he could define him that way again- thinking it was really nice to be able to talk to him again. Freed hadn't changed then so much, and even if there had been some embarrassing moments during the evening, the conversation had been easier than he had thought. Thinking that they were screwing everything up for nothing still made him weird, and knowing that Freed still had an interest in him excited him.

The temptation to behave like a teenager was so great, being physical, putting an arm around his shoulders, trying to make contact with him, it was something that came normal to them when they were high school. Now, however, he avoided doing it, partly because he didn’t know how Freed would react, partly because in the end they had solved only a few days before.

He finished his cigarette and continued to listen to Freed talking about a weekend in Berlin.

“So far I've only spoken, you haven't told me anything new,” Freed said after a while.

“I don't have much to say,” Laxus said with a shrug. “My life is always the same, the grandfather is getting older and more emotional. He also got a little dog. He always complains about it, I told him to get a goldfish if he really wanted an animal”. Freed laughed lightly at the joke and Laxus smiled.

“You always wanted a dog as a kid,” Freed recalled with a smile.

“Yes, and he never took it from me. Now that I'm gone, he takes it. I think he does it to piss me off,” the blond commented. “However, he’d like to see you again. If you want, we can go to him in the next few weeks,” he added hopefully. He didn't want to rush too much, but it was true that Makarov had asked him about Freed. Laxus had heard him on the phone and told him that he had talked to Freed, briefly telling him what had happened between the two of them. Freed nodded.

“Gladly,” he said and Laxus smiled in relief.

“Good”.

Freed looked down for a moment. “I'm really sorry I left without telling you anything.” Laxus looked at him in surprise. “I didn't say goodbye to anyone, even though my mother told me to”.

“Hey, we were both stupid. We should have clarified that time, but better late than never,” Laxus reassured him.

“Yes but… I left it all behind. I acted like an idiot, and the worst is that I was doing it up until a few weeks ago,” he snorted. “If you hadn't come to me, I wouldn't have talked to you.”

“I didn't make it easy for you,” Laxus objected.

“This isn’t the time when everyone takes the blame, is it?” Freed smiled slightly, perhaps to defuse the situation.

“Of course not, fault’s seventy percent yours,” Laxus replied. Freed looked up in surprise and the blond grinned. “But I’m good and I forgive you”.

“I'm talking seriously,” Freed said but then he smiled and shook his head. “It doesn't matter, let's go back and play,” he said. Laxus nodded and the two boys entered the club, joining Evergreen and Bickslow. The rest of the evening they spent with the two friends, joking like in the old days, almost as if not even a day had passed.

***

A few nights later the four boys decided to go to a bar together by joining the Strauss brothers. Freed had nothing to complain about, he knew that Elfman and Evergreen were together, and personally he liked Mirajane and Lisanna.

And spending time with Laxus was getting easier. After some initial awkwardness, it had been oddly easy to get back into a relationship similar to the one they had in high school. They weren't as close as they were back then, but they were working on it. And it was nice to know the blond liked him, even though they hadn't spoken since that evening. And Freed honestly didn't know how to move. Even if all instinct told him to throw himself on Laxus and kiss him, he tried to keep him in check with rationality. If Laxus wanted to take it slow, he was fine. And indeed, perhaps it was for the best.

“Guys, are you here too?” asked a voice behind them. Freed and Bickslow turned and saw Rufus. If the second smiled broadly, Freed instantly tensed. Rufus smiled at them and cast an interested look at Laxus. He was in the company of Minerva, Orga, Sting and Rogue.

“Hey! Do you want to join?” Bickslow asked. Freed hoped they would say no, but unfortunately the boys agreed. And unfortunately, Rufus sat right next to Laxus. He had to expect it, the presumptuous blond was obviously attracted to Laxus.

Actually Freed still hadn't figured out what was between them. He hadn't asked, but now he was actually morbidly curious. Were they engaged? Or had they just been dating for a short time? And how long? And why did Laxus go out with that blond? What the fuck did he like about Rufus? Hell, he was thinking like a jealous boy.

But with good reason, Rufus was clearly flirting with him and even though Laxus didn’t respond to his flirtations and tried to make him understand that whatever had been between them was now over, Rufus continued. Freed just bit his tongue so as not to spoil the evening. In reality, however, all he wanted to do was achieve the two and take those damned hands of Rufus off Laxus' shoulder.

“Well, it's funny to think that just a few years ago we all hated each other,” Sting commented suddenly.

“Yeah, Ever and Elfman didn't get along at all and look at them now,” Mirajane said with her eyes sparkling with joy. The two boys blushed slightly.

“Well, you and Minerva didn't get along quite well either,” Evergreen commented to get out of the situation.

“Yeah, you nearly bitten each other in the school corridors. You were two beasts, almost worse than men,” Sting commented cheerfully.

“Not to mention you and Natsu,” Rogue muttered.

“True. Hey, you two didn't get along very well either,” Sting commented, glancing from Freed to Rufus.

“Yeah, we were always competing for everything,” Rufus smiled. “But things change, by now we’ve put those disagreements behind us, right?”. Freed would have had a lot to say about that last statement. The last time they met Freed had yelled at him and was one step away from punching him and kicking him out of the apartment. And even at that moment Freed just felt the urge to insult him and remove that presumptuous attitude.

Instead, he just drank his drink. “Yeah. You and Laxus were always competing too,” he changed the subject. Orga laughed loudly and nodded. Fortunately, the discussion changed and no one paid him more attention.

Freed, however, continued to observe Rufus and how he spoke next to Laxus, approaching him and telling him who knows what. At that moment he regretted not sitting next to him. He had done it so as not to risk leaning on him and doing who knows what, but at that moment he just wanted to be in Rufus's place.

He honestly hoped that evening would be over quickly, because watching Rufus and Laxus so close was starting to get on his nerves. He tried to be rational, and told himself he had no reason to worry. Laxus had told him he wanted to go out with him, not with Rufus.

It didn't work at all.

The annoyance remained there and the fact of not knowing what had been there between those two was driving Freed out of his mind.

He tried to ignore that sense of annoyance and started talking to Rogue, while still glancing at the two boys. At one point the two stood up and Freed couldn’t help but follow them with his eyes. Laxus put a hand on his shoulder and Freed looked at him in surprise.

“I'm going to smoke, are you coming?” he asked. Freed nodded and stood up, a little relieved that he had asked him. Imagining those two alone would have been too difficult. Sting and Rogue also joined.

“Do you smoke?” Rufus asked.

“No,” Freed said. “But I want to get some fresh air,” he explained. Rufus didn’t reply and the three boys left the room.

While Laxus lit a cigarette and handed the lighter to Rogue who did the same, Rufus turned to Freed and asked him what it was like to be in Germany. Freed already had a malicious response on his tongue, but once again he decided to keep it to himself and began to tell something.

“So now you can speak German really well,” Rufus commented after a while.

I already knew how to speak well, Freed thought irritably, but he nodded. “You instead? What have you done in these years?” he asked actually not very interested.

“Since you left, Laxus and I have been going out often. Remember all the disagreements we had in high school? They disappeared into thin air,” Rufus began. Freed looked at him now pissed. He had thought that Rufus was starting to talk about his university, how he was still the best in the class and other bullshit like that. Instead he had begun, of everything, to talk about Laxus. He was doing it on purpose, it was clear.

“We found that we got along very well. By the way, I wanted to apologize for the last time we met. I didn't really want to wake you up, but we were so caught up in the situation that we didn't realize we were noisy”.

Freed’s irritation grew even more. Fucking asshole. He just wanted to answer him badly and get that smile off his face. But there were also Sting and Rogue, and he didn't want to ruin the evening.

“Old story,” he said coldly. Pretending indifferent was best.

“A bit like Rogue and I do, when passion takes over...” Sting intervened cheerfully.

“Nobody wants to know anything,” Rogue growled irritated silencing the blonde.

“However it seems that you’ve solved your problems. Everyone was wondering why you never talked to each other again and why you disappeared without anyone knowing,” Rufus began again. Now Freed was really going to tell him to fuck off.

“An old fight,” Laxus interjected, perhaps foreseeing Freed’s wrath. “It doesn't matter anymore.”

“I understand,” Rufus said and stared at them for a moment. “So you're friends again like you used to be,” he commented.

“Yes,” Laxus replied hastily. “I saw Yukino the other day, I learned that she takes the same course as you” he changed the subject.

Freed remained silent with pursed lips and nervousness that it went up more and more. They were friends. Right. Laxus apparently didn't want to talk about their relationship. Not that there was much to say, obviously for the moment they were just dating, it was obvious that he didn't want to talk about it. But with Rufus he didn't have much trouble making out in front of other people.

All the good times spent with Laxus in the last few days were covered by that new news and the bad mood grew more and more. Rufus's presence didn't help, because the blond really seemed to have some confidence with Laxus. He leaned on him, smiled clearly flirtatiously and chatted animatedly.

Either Laxus didn't notice because he was an idiot, or he wanted to make him nervous about something. Something Freed honestly didn't understand. Maybe he just wanted to show him what he had been missing in those three years? Or maybe he wanted to piss him off? Or maybe he was more interested in Rufus than he was.

Freed didn't say much all evening, and he chatted more with Rogue than the others until they finally left. Freed didn’t miss the 'See you these days' that Rufus said to Laxus, but he didn't comment on it and pretended not to have heard it as he headed towards the car.

[joezworld]

Money (1/2)

Merchandising! 

April, 1997

One morning, Bear was sunning himself in the yard when a group of men in dark suits approached him. 

“Excuse me,” One of them said. “Would you happen to be D7101?”

Bear cracked open an eye. “I haven’t been D7101 in thirty years. Why do you ask?”

“We are from the law offices of Goodman, McGill, and Associates.” The man said quickly, causing Bear to open both of his eyes. “And we represent the Learning Curve Corporation. They would like to license your image for use in their new toy line.” 

As if by magic, one of the other men produced a thick sheaf of papers, which he presented to Bear, who viewed them quizzically. “If you could just sign here.”

“License my image?” Bear didn’t know any of the words that the man was using, but he did know one word that described who these men were: Lawyers.

One of his previous drivers had gone through a very messy ‘divorce’, and had informed Bear that ‘the only good lawyer is your lawyer. All the rest are crooks!’

These men very clearly weren’t his lawyers, so that meant that they were crooks. He viewed the stack of papers that were being held out to him - judging from their predatory smiles and London accents, it was likely that they didn’t believe he could read, and even if they did, he doubted they were going to let him take the time to read every page of that document, especially considering that he didn’t have any hands to hold it with!

“Gentlemen, I do not believe that now is the best time for this,” he said while looking over at the door to the yard offices as though his driver was about to come out of it. “Perhaps we could meet again in a few days? Seven tomorrow night at the big station?”

The men agreed, and left. 

When Bear’s driver eventually did show up several hours later, he found his engine unusually eager to go, especially considering their destination. 

-

Wellsworth

“Good afternoon Mister Growls!” Said Ben cheekily as he shunted Bear’s clay trucks. 

“Same to you.” Bear said. “Listen, Ben-”

“I’m Bill.”

“Whichever one you are - you seem like the kind of engine who knows how to get a lawyer. Would I be correct in that assumption?”

“You might be...” Ben said slowly. “But why does such a fine upstanding engine like you need a lawyer?”

After Bear finished explaining, Ben looked unusually upset, and had dropped the playful attitude he usually had. “Those berks are tying to swindle you! Don’t worry - I do know someone. He’ll meet you tonight.”

-

 That night, Ben’s lawyer, who was actually called a solicitor, met with Bear in the sheds. He was a peculiar man, with an American accent, white hair, and a simply ridiculous combination of clothing - red pants, a blue tie, and a checked coat - that somehow worked quite well on him. Bear was suspicious, but Ben had assured him that for all his peculiarities, he was excellent at what he did. 

After listening to what Bear had been told, he agreed with what Ben had said. 

“How are they swindling me?” Bear asked, puzzled. 

“Well, this company makes toys based on the Thin Clergyman’s books, and the television series that is based off of the books.” The man explained. 

“When they make the toys, they’re basing them off of the drawings of you in the books or the models in the tv series. So they wouldn’t have to pay anyone, because the artists were paid by the publishers, so they own the rights to those drawings, and then the publishers hired the toy company, so they can use the drawings from the books.” 

“Now, I don’t know why they would try to buy the license to your image, but you have only appeared in a few books, so it might be possible that the artist doesn’t have the drawings anymore, or there’s another reason why. International copyright law is very difficult.”

 Bear, who felt very overwhelmed, had to agree!

-

The Next Day

Bear arrived at the big station with the 18:45 Limited. Once the shunter took away his train, Bear had his driver park him on the siding closest to the platforms. 

The lawyers showed up at 7:00 on the dot, an enormous pile of papers in their hands. 

“Mister 7101!” The leader said, smiling like a predatory animal. “A pleasure to see you again! Have you given any thought to our proposal?”

Bear smiled. Unlike yesterday, he was prepared, and his smile was much sharper than it would ordinarily be. From the platform, Oliver shivered - he’d seen smiles like that before - on diesels in the 60′s.

“I have, and I believe that my solicitor would like to discuss the particulars of this contract with you.”

Bear’s solicitor, who had been standing behind a pillar wearing an absurd white jacket, stepped into view. “Hello gentlemen. I understand that you wish to use my client’s image?”

The lawyer’s faces fell as they turned to face Bear’s lawyer, who was beaming broadly. 

“Thomas Perfect, attorney at law. Here’s my card.”

The other men frowned deeply as he swiped the papers from them and began perusing them. After a moment, his smile fell, and he glared at the men as though they’d insulted him. “You lot have a lot of nerve trying to approach my client with this.” He said, gesturing to the papers. “He will sign absolutely nothing until you come back with a real contract - now get out of here before I report you to The Law Society!” 

The men fled in the most dignified manner they could, leaving Bear and Mr. Perfect alone. 

“I am so glad that I was here - that was one of the most offensive offers I have ever been presented with!” He ranted to Bear. “Honestly, the nerve of those people!”

“What did it say?”

“Oh nothing much - except that they wanted to take your image and make toys from it without paying you! If you’d signed this, they’d have been well within their rights to do whatever they wanted and not pay you a penny - Priddy or otherwise!” 

Bear was offended, even if he still didn’t know what any of that meant. 

He asked Mr. Perfect this, and he laughed. 

“So basically what these swindlers are trying to do is buy from you, the rights to use your image - and by image I mean what you look like specifically, because you own that - so they can make products from it. These people want to make toys, so they want to buy your image so they can make little models of you and sell them.” 

He paused. “What’s really offensive here is that they didn’t want to license your image - which means that you own it still but are letting them use it for a fee; they wanted to buy your image outright for a pittance! I think this said a few hundred pounds, which is absolutely ludicrous. If I were a good man I’d report them to the Law Society, but I’m a lawyer, so I’m going to rake them over the coals and take every pound they have instead.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yes! Yes it is!”

----

Several weeks went by, and the men never returned - Mr. Perfect had apparently been negotiating with their employers directly, and it was not necessary for them to come to Sodor.

Bear had been kept appraised of the ‘negotiations’ that had been ongoing - apparently his lawyer was very good at his job, or the other lawyers were very bad at theirs - and he was now getting an extremely generous offer for ‘the nonexclusive licensing of his image specifically in regards to wooden railway-compatible models’, whatever that meant - it had been explained to him several times, but he still didn’t quite understand it. His lawyer assured him that this was on purpose, but he shouldn’t worry about it. 

Finally, two months later, a balding man with a severe gray suit arrived at the big station with Bear’s lawyer, who was quite naturally dressed in the most flamboyant outfit Bear had ever seen. 

“Mister Bear,” He said after a moment, looking like he had swallowed a lemon. “I feel that we have gotten off on the wrong foot with our meeting, and I would like to apologize. After careful consultation with Mister Perfect, I believe that this contract is more than acceptable. Forty percent gross retail sales, an annual license fee of fifteen thousand pounds per year for at least five years, beginning when sales begin at Christmas, and final veto power over any future products. I trust that this is all acceptable?”

Bear’s lawyer nodded, so Bear accepted. It took some doing, but with a pen jammed between his teeth, Bear managed to sign the papers. 

-

-

“So Mister Toy-Train,” Bill teased. “Where are they?”

“Where’s what?” Bear asked warily.

“The models! I heard that you were the hottest toy of the year.” 

“Oh, that.” Bear had heard all about the trouble his model had caused. “I’d imagine that they’re still stuck in transit. I don’t know much about toy-making, but I would assume that it’s not normal for there to not be enough toys at Christmas!”

“Actually, that’s a sign that its popular! It means that everybody wants one, and when nobody can get one, people’ll go mad to get their hands on one.” 

“I hope nobody went mad over a model of me!” 

“Oh you should my large Bear-y friend! That means that more people are buying the models, which means that you’re getting more money from that company!”

“Hmm. I suppose I should look into that.” Bear’s eyes widened as he remembered something. “Oh right - I was supposed to ask you if you knew any ‘money managers?’ Mister Perfect said that you knew someone who was trustworthy.”

“Oh I do, but it might not be worth it if its only a few thousand pounds. My brother and I invest our own money because we started out that way.”

“You have money?”

“Oh yeah! We own a racehorse - he does really well.”

"No they don’t!” Shouted BoCo from the other end of the yard. 

“Ignore him.” Bill said. “How much money is it?”

Bear told him how much money it was.

“I’ll put you in touch with her.” Bill gasped, his eyes wide. 

[anika-ann]

Errare Humanum Est - Pt.18

Impostor

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2)  x Supernatural

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (past?)    Word count: 3690

Summary: Natasha is showing a bit of tough love, ‘Nat’ is on a shaky ground and Tony is being mature. Seriously, I mean it, this isn’t a joke, Tony actually can be an adult. See for yourself.

Warnings: mentions of amnesia and death, swearing, light angst and--

Story masterlist

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Despite Steve’s initial protests, you started cleaning up while he was still trying to sooth his supersoldier appetite.

You weren’t finished yet when irritated Natasha Romanoff paced into the room.

“Come on, Rogers. I get the situation you found yourself in, I really do, but try to be smart next time,” she hissed and seemed ready to yank him to his feet by his ear.

If she hadn’t look so intimidating, you might even laugh. Steve had the decency to look guilty and you quickly realized this was about him denying the director his wishes.

‘Smart’ though? Meaning?

“Sorry, Romanoff.”

“Don’t you ‘sorry’ me and think for a second! I have two SHIELD agents downstairs, keeping them from coming up here only by telling them I’ll bring you down there in my teeth if I have to!”

Your blood turned to ice. That was much more serious than Steve had led on. What the hell?!

Steve shot the fellow agent an angry look, his teeth clenched, clearly about to snap back at her – he never got a chance.

“You’re coming with me. Do you really want them to sniff around here? I have nothing to worry about, but you might want to sort things out before Fury finds out what’s going on and tries to stick his nose into it,” Natasha stated flatly and the glare she sent his way spoke volumes. Also, the flicker of her gaze towards you during her speech was everything but inconspicuous.

You gulped in fright and resisted the urge to take a step back despite the murderous glare being aimed at Steve.

“Stop scaring the shit out of people!” Steve hissed, rising to his feet and protectively standing in front of you.

Natasha sighed and eased her terrifying manners; the switch to a friendly demeanour was almost too sharp to wrap your head around.

“Sorry. You know I’m not afraid of him. I know you aren’t either. But think, Steve. Do you want Fury to find out right now and have him on your ass – hers, more importantly, because she’s the one who rose from the death –  or do you want… more time with this very charming lady, who happens to be your soulmate?” she bargained and threw a wink at you over Steve’s shoulder. What was this, a fucking wink day? And how was she switching between her moods so quickly?

“I know which I would prefer,” she added softly and smiled at you.

Her gentleness surprised you just like when she had led you to Steve’s room only several hours ago – really, only hours had it been? – and more so, her authenticity. This was a side she was willing to show her friends – for some reason, to you as well – and the strict uncompromising agent was her everyday mask.

Steve let out an indistinct sound that told you he admitted to himself she was right and that he resigned, though very much unwillingly.

You forced yourself to gather some courage and plastered a smile on your face as he turned to face you.

“If this is just about me, don’t worry about it. Go.”

Thee lamely covered hurt at you sending him away tugged at your heart, but if you were being honest, you maybe needed time to think and Steve being away could help.

“I’ll still be here. I promise,” you assured him and just like yesterday, he seemed calmer after that. Yet, there was still something that had him frowning as if he was being torn in half, having an itch he wanted to scratch, but was afraid of revealing to you where it was.

You exchanged a look with Natasha and took a calculated guess when you saw her eyes turning compassionate. You finally understood why you had found him in the chair by your bed this morning – it was closer to you. Definitely close enough to cover you in case any kind of shit went down.

“And I’ll be fine here. There’s no safer place in New York, right?”

The thumbs-up from the Natasha was subtle, but you still noticed it. Jackpot. If it wasn’t so sad that Steve was terrified for your safety, you might even cheer. In this case, not so much.

Steve’s eyes found yours, boring into them as if looking for the last remnants of anything that would keep him in the Tower. He must have found none, because he nodded softly. Your smile grew more honest.

“Okay. Alright. If you don’t mind. I promise I’ll try to be quick,” he declared at which Natasha cleared her throat.

“Because you can totally tell the World Security Council to suck it up…”

…what? Did Steve nearly refuse such an important meeting (it sounded pretty important, okay) for you? Thank God for Natasha Romanoff. You weren’t sure your conscience could live with that…

“You did,” Steve threw over his shoulder swiftly and that caused both yours and hers lips to twitch. Yeah, she seemed like the type. “Jarvis, does she still have the authorisation to walk the Tower without limitations?”

“She does now again, Steve,” the AI announced and you only then realized he was talking about you. Oh.

“Thank you, Jarvis.”

“You didn’t have to do that. I would have just-“ you blurted out and was cut off by his eyebrow arching.

“-sit in the same room all day?”

Point taken. “…yes. If necessary.”

“Well, it’s not,” he exclaimed and pressed the lightest of kisses to your temple. “Let’s get going so we can be back.”

With that, the agent and the captain took off, while you were left there standing, dumbfounded. Your face was burning hot, the warmth focused into one particular place where Steve’s lips brushed your skin.

As you automatically reached for Steve’s plate to clean it as well, you wondered if he did it on purpose or if it was something he did automatically.

Either way, the recovery from the shock and the pleasant feeling the gesture left in your chest kept you busy for the next half an hour.

And suddenly you knew it wasn’t thinking what you needed to do, no. You had to talk to someone. And you knew exactly who.

“Uhm… Jarvis? Can I ask you something?”

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When the AI opened the door for you, you came to face Mr. Stark’s backside. Admittedly, it wasn’t the worst view you could be offered, though Steve’s would have been more impressive; yes, you had noticed, that man was impossible not to ogle. More importantly than the view being acceptable, you’d rather spoke to the man eye to eye. Which was rather difficult seeing as he was partially buried in… a robotic suit with shiny colours of red and gold?

A superhero suit, you realized. Right. Because you were momentarily accommodated with superheroes.

“Uhm, Mr. Stark?” you addressed him warily, not wanting him to-

A clank sounded as his head snapped up, its back colliding with a platter of metal above it with deadly precision. Your hand shot up to your mouth to cover it before you could embarrass yourself by the squeal coming out of it.

“Goddammit!” he cursed loudly, making you wince in compassion as he rubbed the injured spot on his head, turning around. ”Who-  oh. Oh. Hey, kid.”

“Why is everyone calling me that?” you complained, remembering Dean’s set of nicknames involving exactly this. Then you grimaced as he abruptly let his hand fall to show you he was in fact not hurting. He even grinned, an expression of emotion you believed only with hesitance. “Also, sorry.”

“I’ll live,” he waved it of before answering your rhetorical question. ”It’s ‘cause we’re old and respectable. Does Cap call you that too? ‘Cause that might be a bit weird.”

“Uhm… no…?”

“Oh, good, I was getting worried,” he hummed light-heartedly and then went to a container on his right, pulling out an icepack to place over his wound after all. He gestured towards a swivel chair politely. You shook your head. “What’s on your mind?”

“The… uhm, the Jarvis told me I wouldn’t be interrupting…” you pointed vaguely at the ceiling, suddenly realizing this was a bad idea. Probably. Not to mention Mr. Stark was apparently in a middle of something, so… “Clearly, I am. Sorry, I’ll just-“

“Nope! Stay right here! And it’s Jarvis without the… ‘the’. You didn’t answer the question.”

He took the seat since you seemed uninterested in it and tilted his head with one corner of his lips raised.

“I… I wanted to thank you for your hospitality. And… I’d like to ask you something, but it might be a bit strange?”

He removed the icepack with a chuckle, tossing it carelessly to the middle of his workspace. “Kid, for all we know, you were brought back from death by an angel who spilled your memories on your way from Heaven. There’s no such thing as ‘strange’ these days. Kinky might weird me out – maybe –, but strange? Nah.”

Kinky? Really? You were so not about to talk sex with this man. His jokes were slowly putting you at ease a little though, despite what you had come here to ask.

“Right. I… uhm… I just wanted to ask… uh, what am I like? Or… she was, I mean.”

The man frowned at you, sitting upright instead of basically lying in the chair.

“You still are. Her, I mean,” he mimicked you. “Why would you ask me that? Why not Cap? Or is he only bragging about himself?”

“No! No. Steve’s… very helpful.”

“Oh. Good for him. ‘Cause being narcissistic is my jam, not his, he’s more like ‘I’m just a kid from Brooklyn’ kind of guy,” he impersonated Steve with his chin stuck out, while his voice fell an octave. The corners of your lips twitched. “Then again, he’s a hundred-year-old man and me, on the other hand, I’m slightly younger, a genius, a billionaire and overall perfect.”

That drew a chuckle from you – you simply couldn’t hold it back anymore. This man was a clown. But he was also speaking very bluntly, which was why you had chosen him to be your source of information. You liked his demeanour; he reminded you of Dean. You had a feeling that you might have been the teasing kind of friend with him. She had been. Whatever.

“I bet,” you humoured him and he squinted at you playfully.

“Correct answer. You want an opinion of someone who isn’t smitten by you,” he stated confidently and you felt the blush instantly colouring your cheeks as his choice of words.

“Smitten is not… uhm-“

“Kid, he is definitely smitten. He was and still is, or is again, whatever floats your boat,” he smirked and leaned his elbows onto his thighs. “Not that I can blame him. You’re easy on the eyes, ridiculously good to him and for him, because you are the same breed of a creepy romantic, you can keep up with my and Clint’s verbal combat, because clearly you were born with the sass gene, and believe it or not, you showed quite early on that you had guts and quite steely nerves, which is something Steve’s girl desperately needs.”

You blinked in surprise at such long speech. You had no idea what to say to that shower of compliments, having a bit of a problem to believe it was you he just described. So you focused on the safest topic.

“Steve?”

“What about him?” Mr. Stark asked, confused.

“This is the first time you called him ‘Steve’, not ‘Cap’,” you elaborated, only to earn an almost tired sigh.

“Well, obviously. Cap has a stick up his ass and jumps out of planes to save the day. It’s mostly Steve who’s a little shit and doesn’t use parachute for the said jump.” I beg your pardon? Steve is doing what? “And he’s always Steve first to you, Steve with the job of being Cap.”

That quickly distracted you from the stunts Steve was apparently pulling on missions of saving the world. You could imagine that – seeing Steve as a regular person, no matter how unique he was. You had a hunch he appreciated that too.

“Oh, I didn’t mention that before? That you were the first civilian he bothered to drop the bullshit superhero persona with? Demolished the walls keeping his little precious heart, that’s actually too big for his own good, safe and never rebuilt them? My bad, so I’m telling you now. And he’s willing to bend the rules for you. I never saw him leave a meeting early until you showed up.”

He gestured wildly with his hands as he drew metaphorical walls in the air and made them crumble down and then his fingers curled with his thumbs straightened, connected to create a heart from his hands.

Your own heart swelled in your chest a little. Could it really be true? Could Steve have been honest with you? And… could you be that person for him?

You had no idea what to say. Or do, for that matter and the man huffed exasperatedly.

“Look… I’m not great at this, okay? That’s why I built robots, not humans.”

“Jarvis seems human enough,” you quipped, taking care to leave out the ‘the’ this time.

“Thank you, miss,” the AI quickly chimed in.

Of course, he was listening now too. You hoped he wasn’t recording or something, because this was a very private conversation you wouldn’t want anyone to see and hear. Especially not Steve.

“That’s because he has a human template. He was a servant at my house when I was a kid. Great guy. deserved to be immortalized.”

That little piece of private information in exchange of opening yourself to him about your insecurities and worries was highly appreciated. Your next confession was the only thing that kept you from smiling at Mr. Stark gratefully.

“I… I think I’m hurting him by being here,” you whispered the darkest secret and Stark’s eyebrows got nearly lost in his hairline with how swiftly they jumped.

“You? Hurting Steve?” he repeated incredulously and you worried your teeth over your lower lip, curling into yourself, averting his intense glare bashfully.

“Hurting him and his reputation on top of that. And his job…. I don’t remember him. I can’t and I hate it, because I met him only yesterday and it would be ridiculously easy to fall in love with him, but how can I? How can I be that person to him, when he’s in love with someone I don’t know anymore?”

“First – if this is about his job, about Fury mostly, screw that. Focus on what’s important here. Him,” he emphasized, rising from his seat to stand face to face with you – which he did, because he wasn’t as tall as Steve.

You opened your mouth to oppose him that Steve’s job was sure as hell important – to Steve and to the world – but you never got the chance as Stark raised his index finger warningly.

“Uh-uh. I talk, you listen. You’re asking me how? Duh. Meet him again. Know yourself again. I told you – so far, you seem to be the same. But even if you’re not…” he mused, shaking his head with his jaw clenched. “Cap- Steve’s been at the bottom, okay? If you think you’re hurting him by being here in any form different than a literal ghost haunting his ass-- he’s… you’re not hurting him is all I’m saying, okay? So what, you might order different toppings on your pizza or like a different shampoo, show up here wearing a lumberjack shirt, whatever. But this…” He tapped approximately on your soulmarks, oblivious to how much his words had affected you so far. Which was a lot. “…means something. It means everything. To you, to him, to you together.”

“You… you didn’t seem to believe that too much yesterday. Now you do? So what, we’re okay and we’re going to be, because fate said so?”

Your question might have sounded sceptical, but on the inside, that was another matter entirely. What Stark had told you was already worming its way through your brain, very effectively.

Could this, whatever this was, be better than you not being here at all? You had thought so, but Steve’s interaction with the director, the carefully guarded pain being his kind eyes… it made you doubt. You hadn’t meant for it to sound like you wanted to flee, because you didn’t, but… your overloaded mind was getting the best of you.

And Tony Stark was apparently having none of it, because he made a face and shrugged.

“I don’t know who said so. It could be fate, it could be God, it could be the fairies for all I care. The thing is, you believe in that, don’t you? That the soulmark means something and that there was a reason for you to meet him again, exactly like that.”

You had no counterargument since he hit the nail on the head, so you remained silent. He charmed a lop-sided smile singing of victory.

“That’s what I thought,” he exclaimed, satisfied with himself. Then, his face softened a bit. “And that’s fine. You thought that before, which is my point. You’re still you. You might not have concrete memories, but I think everything about you does. It feels like it sometimes, doesn’t it? Weird things, things you shouldn’t feel, things you shouldn’t know, but you do.”

Your heart positively stopped as you recalled the familiarity of Steve’s face, the comfort of his embrace, the warmth in your chest that shouldn’t be there, not so shortly after meeting him.  

“How… how do you know that?” you whispered, voice barely audible but still very much shaky.

“I didn’t. I took a wild guess. Looks like it was a good one.”

You huffed a short laugh, unable to comprehend how this man even existed, brisk and arrogant at first sight, but very much intelligent, funny and wise.

“Yeah. Looks like it…” you mused with an absent smile remaining. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

His arms went around you a bit awkwardly and for a very short moment, but they did, a pat on your left shoulder following. He withdrew quickly then, his hands stuck into the pockets of his jeans.

“Let’s never speak of this conversation again, alright, kid?” You nodded obediently, glad he wanted to keep this under wraps. “And stop calling me Mr. Stark. It’s Tony. Leave that mister shit for bedroom games or whatever.”

You shook your head incredulously as you recognized the moment you should distance yourself and leave him work. “Whatever you say, Tony. I owe you one.”

“Ha! You wish. It’s like a thousand. No, three thousand!”

“You’re rich enough not to dwell on such petty debt,” you called back at him and even without seeing his face, you were able to tell he was smirking.

“Oh, am I? How would you know?”

“I wouldn’t. Took a wild guess!”

A chuckle walked you out of the door instead of the man himself.

“See? Still the sassy queen!”

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You wandered the Tower then, visiting the rooftop even and taking in the marvellous view. When you spread your arms to feel the wind better, you felt a ghost of fingers trace your skin, nothing concrete, just a whisper of a touch. You smiled sadly, wondering if it was a memory trying to fight its way out of the knot in your brain Castiel had mentioned when he had first attempted to figure out what was wrong with you and possibly fix it – which he had failed.

You didn’t blame him. Truth was, you didn’t know who to blame; not Castiel, not Steve and you had enough reason to know it wasn’t exactly your fault either. When you spread your arms again, the sensation didn’t return. So you left the open space, perhaps in search of the similar feeling throughout the Tower.

After Jarvis nudging you to take something from the fridge at least to imitate lunch, you met Clint again. You only nodded in a greeting at the man from the morning and continued your route. He didn’t engage, sensing you needed an alone time – which you did. Ever since the talk with Tony, a smile never quite left your lips, no matter how small.

You didn’t know what time it was when Jarvis addressed you again, polite as always, to tell you Steve was back. You felt your face light up and headed the direction you believed was his room.

You never ended up in a rather open hallway leading to it, stopping in your tracks when you heard a sudden rustle of fabric behind you. You spun on your heels only to meet an unfamiliar face of a woman, watching you with interest. A creepy interest, the kind of an examining glare that made you shiver.

You would swear you could feel the air crackle when her lips curled up slightly. Hair stood at the back of your neck and you fought a tremble. There was something powerful about the woman and you didn’t know whether it was safer not to move anymore or try to take a run for it. Since your feet took roots in the ground, staying still it was.

“Hi,” she breathed and it felt like she stole the air right from your lungs only to say the one word.  

“Who... who are you?” you queried shakily, something in you screaming to kneel in front of the woman who carried an immense power; how you knew that, you couldn’t tell.

When you didn’t listen to the instinct to submit to her, it was only due to the numbing horror as she took a step closer.

“Oh, do not fear me. I’m just here to fix what my brother obviously didn’t think through. Close your eyes,” she requested almost gently, but you couldn’t. You were afraid that if you did, you would never open them again.

And while you didn’t remember what it felt like to die, you sure as hell didn’t want to relive it.

When you didn’t obey, the woman sighed.

The very next second, you swiftly turned your face away, shading your eyes the second the sharp glow hit you.

You screamed at the burning sensation suddenly coursing your veins, lighting up every cell in your body, setting it on fire. Tears prickled in your eyes, running down your cheeks, leaving a burning trail like acid in their wake.

And then there was nothing. ༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Part 19

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*runs and hides*

To distract you: wasn’t that a lovely moment with Tony? O:-)

[callioope]

Author Interview

tagged by @theputterer -- thank you :) 

Name: Liz

Fandoms: In terms of posted fics, mainly Rogue One and Star Wars (OT). I have at least one fic posted in A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones, Community, and Howl’s Moving Castle (book). But I also like The Clone Wars and Rebels. I’ve been reading mainly ATLA fic for the past couple weeks. 

Where you post: AO3 and sometimes here on tumblr. There are a few drabbles I’ve posted on tumblr that I really ought to crosspost on AO3 for posterity. 

Most popular one-shot: “In Which Sophie is Late, and Howl Noses Around in Her Business” (Howl’s Moving Castle) With 698 kudos. Uh. Wow. I was not expecting that! It’s literally my only HMC fic (although I do technically have other unfinished drafts) and it’s not even a year old, and surpassed my second most popular one-shot which was posted in 2015. Pregnancy trope is popular I guess. It is amusing to me that my most popular one-shot is not in my favorite OTP fandom (rebelcaptain). Howl’s Moving Castle ended up having a wider audience than I anticipated. 

Also as a disclaimer, but popularity is weird to gauge because do you go by hits or kudos or comments? I went with kudos because hits could count people who clicked on my story and then didn’t like it. But it’s hard because hits also include re-reads, so, idk. 

Most popular multi-chapter fic: “The Last Stark” (A Song of Ice and Fire) 815 kudos. This was finished in 2013 so it’s had plenty of time to accumulate the kudos. It’s a Gendrya Anastasia AU (“Aryastasia” was my working title for this one lol). So again, popular trope, in a popular fandom, in a popular ship. This fic is so old when I reread it, I usually find myself wanting to edit it, especially the ending. I was so ready to be done writing this that I think I rushed the ending. Oh well, writing plots is really difficult!

Fic you were nervous to post: Every fic? lol. I’m never not nervous to post a fic. But I’m definitely more nervous posting in a fandom for the first time. So posting “Whatever I Do (I Do It To Protect You)” (Rogue One, rebelcaptain) was pretty nervewracking, especially since it’d been awhile since I posted anything. [OOOH, fun fact, but WID celebrated it’s 4 year anniversary yesterday! Ha, that’s funny.] I was working on this fic for weeks before I posted it. 

I was also super nervous to post my Jeff/Annie Community soulmate AU, “Intro to Neurochemical Compatibility” because (a) first time posting in that fandom, (b) I decided to use script format which I know is not everyone’s jam, and (c) the premise is just so ridiculous! But I had fun with it. 

Also gift exchanges are always nerve-wracking because I worry the giftee won’t like it. My giftee never responded to my 2020 rebelcaptain secret santa fic so I’m actually constantly worrying that they didn’t like it and feeling bad that I failed them. :/ 

How you choose your titles: with so much agonizing. gosh it’s so hard and honestly i have so many titles that i hate. I’ve got a couple song lyric titles. a couple quotes. a couple “how to...” apparently that was a whole phase I went through. Either the titles come to me immediately, or I put off choosing a title until the absolutely moment I need to post it, and then spend hours agonizing over a quote/song lyric/phrase that fits and probably begging others for help.

Do you outline: YES. Possibly overly so. I’ve ran into issues in the past, when I was much younger, where I didn’t resolve problems proposed early in the story. So I need to know where the story is going in order to lay the proper groundwork. Also, if I do not write things down I forget them five minutes later. I also think outlining is a useful trick to jumpstart writing, so if the muse just isn’t present, I’ll try to lure her out by outlining. 

Complete: 19 fics. 

In progress: Oh boy this is so hard to count. As far as what’s posted? Technically only one: “How to Lose a Spy in 10 Days” (Rogue One, rebelcaptain). Despite the fact that I think the deadline was extended multiple time, I procrastinated and ended up rushing chapter one to meet the rebelcaptain rom-com challenge deadline. Didn’t really have a proper outline for this one, even though I knew vaguely what I wanted it to be about. I wrote chapter two but I hated what I wrote so I ... I kinda abandoned it. I mean technically, I never consider a work abandoned, I always intend to get back to it. Some day when I have the inspiration I will. But this idea ended up being a challenge I didn’t feel ready for at the time, and then my interest moved on to other ideas.

I also had a longer story planned for “you must become an island (the horizon is all we have)” but only posted one part of it to finish it on time. Ideally this fic would be part of a series, but again, motivation is needed so we’ll see

Technically I have 22 rebelcaptain ideas alone (including some listed in this post) at various states of completed, plus a handful of Community and HMC ideas. Of the ones I’m most interested in, there’s probably about 14 that I really hope to finish and post some day. 

ETA: omg i totally forgot that i was idly considering trying to finish my rebelcaptain soulmate AU in time for Valentine’s Day, but at this point I haven’t had any motivation to write so I don’t think that’s gonna happen. that fic has been sitting in my drafts since 2018 and in my drafts it will continue to sit.

Coming soon: “soon” is relative but these are currently the ones I’ve focused the most on recently:

Fencing AU (rebelcaptain)

You’ve Got Mail AU (rebelcaptain)

Post-War Fic with @allatariel (rebelcaptain, plus a LOT of other ships, includes Rebels characters, OT characters, and... maybe some others :) )

Palm Springs/time loop AU (Jeff/Annie)

Do you accept prompts: Wellllll here’s the thing. When I’ve asked for prompts, I haven’t been the best at fulfilling them in a timely manner. For that reason, I don’t encourage prompts but I’m not opposed to them. (I suppose technically exchange fics are prompts, and I wrote a bunch of fics in 2017 for rebelcaptainprompts, but I’m not gonna count those because I don’t think that’s what the question here is really going for)

“The Climb (A Lie, A Hero)” (Rogue One, rebelcaptain) was actually a prompt. 

I solicited prompts for my birthday in 2019, which I didn’t end up fulfilling until exactly one year later. 

Technically the You’ve Got Mail AU is a prompt, someone prompted me to write a fic for my favorite go-to comfort movie.

And, uh, the certain someone who tagged me for this meme prompted me in a comment back in October 2017 to do a Luke and Leia swap where Leia grows up on Tatooine, so that is sitting in my WIP list. 

Yeah, this is why I don’t solicit or encourage prompts. The return rate is just not fair for the prompter. 

Upcoming story you are most excited to write: this fluctuates on any given day. the fencing AU is so close to being done (well the first draft anyways) so i really really want to just finish it! But yeah it’d be anything on the coming soon list above.

tagging: @allatariel, @cats-and-metersticks, @lothcatlovesysalamiri, @veritascara, @brynnmclean and anyone who sees this and wants to do it! also ofc per usual no pressure if u don’t want to.

[oinkawater]

can i request a fic based on 'it's all coming back to me' by celine dion pleaase!! i'm so obsessed with the song!! hmm, maybe an akaashi or oikawa x fem!reader thank you so much!!

AH YES this song is my heartbreak jam!!! and i had a few scenarios in mind so i did BOTH HEHEHE and they’re equally long so i apologise

-

oikawa tooru

and i banished every single memory you and i had ever made

but when you touch me like this

and you hold me like that

i just have to admit that it’s all coming back to me

“Okay, meet back at this queue in 15 minutes? You get your stuff and I’ll get mine,” you instruct your boyfriend slowly, making sure that he heard you through the loud music booming in the department store.

“Okay! I’m not a child — see you in 15 minutes, baby,” he laughs. He puts his hand on the back of your head and reeled you in to press a kiss a kiss to the top of your head. “Be safe.”

You know this department store like the back of your hand. The times you spent in here roaming around with your boyfriend could beat the number of hours you’ve slept in the past 2 months.

Planning for an event important to so many people in your life has proved a lot harder than you thought. Now you’re in a haste trying to get decorations for the amatuer engagement party you’re throwing.

You found yourself at the aisle with wall decorations. You hum to yourself, pressing a fingertip to your lips as you scanned the filled shelves.

“(y/n)?”

“Oikawa?” The name rolled off your tongue even before you could properly process who was calling out to you. You listened to that voice every single day for 3 years — you couldn’t forget it even if you tried your hardest. “Hi?”

“Hi,” he says with a breath, shoving his hands down his back pockets. He raises his shoulders up as he looks at you, quite unsure of what to say. Instead, he just repeats himself by accident, “hi.”

You smile. “Hi. I haven’t seen you since...”

“High school graduation,” Oikawa sighs softly. “So, how have you been? You disappeared from everybody’s radar since then.”

“Yeah, I took my degree in London,” you stated. “I stayed with my dad. I actually just moved back here a few months ago.”

You’d piled away every memory you had with Oikawa. As much as you can, you pushed it into the back of your mind where it should belong. When the wound was still fresh, it

Now that he’s standing right in front of you, you could suddenly remember it like it was just yesterday. The laughter, the craziness, the things you’d gotten yourself into. They’re the stories you’d never ever forget but you’ll never tell anyone about it — it’s a memory for you to keep and hold on to.

Your boyfriend might not have had the best history with Oikawa, but he’s a part of your past whether he liked it or not.

“We should totally get dinner some time,” Oikawa grins. His eyes widen when you lifted your head in shock. The intention of his invite sinks in almost instantly and he flinches as he covers his mouth. “Like, with Iwa-chan and Makki! Mattsun, too! I bet they’d be glad to see you’re back.”

Your shocked state prolongs for a while, but eventually, you started laughing. You could see he was cautious with the words he was going to say to you. “I’d actually like that. I was thinking of reaching out these past few days but I didn’t exactly know how to start.”

Sure, you were trying to get rid of the awkwardness between you. But it wasn’t entirely a lie just to ease off the tension. You genuinely meant it.

“Well, I’ll call you!” Oikawa exclaims, instinctively pulling you in for a tight hug. “Or I’ll text you. Whichever’s convenient. I’ll see you around, (y/n).”

And just like that, he turns around to continue with his shopping.

You stand where you are, hand still hanging in the air from hugging him back so abruptly. A gush of familiarity washes over you as you stand there, still in a complete state of shock.

There’s not a lot of things that can leave you at a loss for words, but Oikawa will always be the one to make the impossible happen.

All the memories came back: that God forsaken first date, his volleyball matches and the heart wrenching break up. There were several things that factored to your break up and you still couldn’t entirely understand everything that had gone down.

“Hey, babe,” a hand sneaks up on your lower back and a kiss is planted on your forehead, “you’ve got everything?”

You jump and turn to face him, a wide smile replacing the frown on your face. “Yeah, just one more thing left.”

Oikawa had walked away a significant distance from you before he remembers that he doesn’t have any way to contact you. The groupchat would absolutely not shut up about it.

He whirls around and calls out your name, his shout is silenced by the sight in front of him and it told him that his friends’ words would probably hurt less.

Because there you are, all coddled up with the one person he couldn’t come to terms with. You’re in Ushijima Wakatoshi’s arms as you scanned the shelves again.

A sigh escapes his lips. Pressing his lips together, he nods slightly and turns back around to continue his day. This was his chance to make things right — to apologise for being so selfish when you were younger.

But maybe there’s just some things that should be left unsaid. So he just walked away.

-

akaashi keiji

there were hours that just went on for days

when alone at last we’d

count up all the chances

that were lost to us forever

Long distance is difficult. Having schedules that barely allowed proper conversations made it even worse to attempt to keep a dying relationship afloat.

It’s even more difficult since there is no relationship to uphold. You broke up a while after you moved for college, but whenever you’re back in town, you just couldn’t stay away. It’s worse because neither can he.

Whenever you’re together after months, it always felt like the hardships never happened at all. Months seemed to pass by like years whenever you were apart.

You’re lying on your stomach, face smushed into Akaashi’s arm as you lied in bed. Akaashi slips his hand under your shirt and rubs your bare back, eventually pressing his thumb into your shoulder. “I missed you so much — I missed this.”

You hum in response, pressing a chaste kiss to his arm. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”

He inches forward and presses a kiss to the side of your head. “Believe it, babe. I’m here.”

You reposition yourself to your side and try to make out his face in the dark of your bedroom. You nuzzle your face into his shoulder, a hand going around him and rubbing circles on his back. “You smell so good.”

“Everything is just not the same without you,” Akaashi mutters into your hair. “I swear, I just want it all to end. I love having you around.”

It was so hard not to miss him. The breakup was innocent and you ended on good terms. The closeness you had with one another is too good to permanently let go of.

“I wish I could stay,” you whisper, repositioning yourself once more. You press your back against his chest and let out a heavy sigh, grazing your fingertips up and down his forearm. “I just want to be with you.”

He buries his face into your hair sprawled out behind you. At some point, his perception of time whenever you came back changed. He never noticed it up until recently when Bokuto pointed it out.

Akaashi wasn’t just counting down how many days he had left before he can see you — it’s how long before he can hold you; before he can touch your skin.

When you’re together, it’s how many times does he get to see your face before he has to wait months before grazing upon the emotions that dawn on it. How many more times can he hear your laugh before he has to hear it over the phone every once in a while.

“You smell so good.” He props himself up on his elbow and moved the hair from your neck. He presses a kiss to the back of your neck, his other hand trailing down to your thighs. “I can’t fit 5 months into the 3 days I have with you, (y/n).”

The air in the room quickly gets slightly more intense — he sucks on the skin and his hands still roaming around your bare thighs. “But I’ll try to make sure that we make up for the time we were apart.”

“Keiji,” you whisper shakily as he moves up your neck, still sucking on your skin sloppily. His hand blindly searches around for yours, squeezing it when a struggled moan pasts your lips. “Keiji, please.”

It’s a very complicated relationship that you have right now. You’re not exactly together, but you’re not exactly single either. You could do whatever you want while you’re apart, but you just could not bring yourself to see other people.

It scares you to see other people. Keiji is the greatest person you know and you don’t want to find out if there’s someone who can top the impression you have of him.

You just couldn’t let go.

You lie on your back as he moves on top, nudging your nose with his. “(y/n).”

“Keiji,” you sigh out, your fingers tangling themselves into his hair. Your back arches and your eyes widen when his hand moves higher up on your thigh. “I love you.”

He nods, processing your words. He dips back down to lock you in a deep kiss before he says it against your lips, “I love you too.”