#and i back up all my folders pretty regularly in my drive as well it's easy

[northern-passage]

Hi! I'm sorry if you've answered this before, but what do you use for your IF writing and how do you organize it? (I might ask a few other writers I admire this so don't mind it if you see this question floating around 🙈)

hi! i pretty much solely use obsidian now, which is a markdown editor.

i used to use visual studio code when i wrote in choicescript, and some people do still use vsc in twine as well (along with tweego) but i have a system now where i write and code in obsidian and then port it all into twine manually once i'm ready, rather than bothering with tweego.

obsidian allows you to have vaults, so i have a vault for each separate project (blood choke, tnp, my novel, etc) then within those vaults i have folders where i separate everything. here's a peek inside the blood choke and tnp vaults:

i use. a LOT of folders, especially for tnp, it allows me to break up scenes and variations easily so i can find what i'm looking for. bc is much smaller so you can see i really only have one main folder for each chapter.

i have a variable file for both (i just had to crop out tnp's cus the vault has too many files lmfao) and i also use a spreadsheet on googledocs to keep track of them, both for how many possible points one can have in any numerical variables, as well as what each variable is used for:

for tnp i actually have a separate google doc for each chapter because there's so many. again, it makes it easier for me to find stuff rather than scrolling thru one big massive spreadsheet.

and that's about it. i keep everything pretty contained within obsidian now. i do keep notes on my phone too but it's very messy (i don't really write on my phone in general like some other people do) and i tend to just send any of that to myself through a private discord server and then i put it into my random notes files for later.

[xseaxwitchxkpop]

NSFW Alphabet: Sub!Seonghwa Edition

A/N: idk anyone in Ateez who pushes the catboy agenda more than hwa and this precious soul just makes me have cute aggression. Lemme just remind everyone that stage presence ≠ bedroom preference, so he might be a demon on stage but I personally think he's very far from dominant in the bedroom. Also this is framed for a femme!presenting reader.

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

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

A very clingy baby! Even though he's the sub, he would want to hold you instead of the other way around; when you're cleaning up, give him a plushie to snuggle because he just feels very happy holding something. He would also have the most sparkly eyes ever, looking at you with pure love and adoration. He'll also be very hungry, so always have some food on hand and be prepared to be fed by him because "you need it, too, I don't care if you're my domme, lemme feed you and show you my love!"

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He's fave part on himself is probably his eyes because he knows how expressive they are for him and how transparent they are -- his eyes always betray his true emotions and considering he's a more private person, he likes this. His fave part on you would be your breasts, but not in a sexual way; whether you're part of the itty bitty titty committee or big titty gang, he likes them as a comfort thing, groping them or sucking on your nipples, it's very calming and relaxing for him!

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He loves his face to be covered in either pussy juices/"cum" (since, ya know, pussies don't ejaculate lmao anyway) or use fake cum (or real cum if you have an actual dick) to cover his face and/or inner thighs, it'll get him going like nothing else. He also loves seeing his midsection painted with his own cum and also eating his own cum.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Every once in a while, he likes to fuck his plushies. No one would suspect this because he takes much care in cleaning them immediately afterward, so they keep their softness and hugability. He's recorded himself doing it a few times but always either deletes the videos or keeps them in a separate, unsuspecting folder in his phone; he's thought about sending them to you but never could bring himself to do so.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He's had a few hook ups but most of them have been pretty vanilla as many hook ups tend to be, he knows what he's doing especially with that tongue of his.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Probably missionary, with you on your back and him fucking you. He can easily kiss you, suck on your neck or nipples, and you can easily grab his hair roughly, pull him in closer, scratch his back with your nails, and you two can make intense eye contact. Yeah, that's his favorite position.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He's more passionate about it than anything. He likes it rough but not necessarily fast, and he likes it soft but not necessarily gentle. It's a very delicate balance that he prefers most of the time and can be difficult to pin down when the mood has to be forced from either of you -- when that happens, he rather not have sex at all.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Trimmed, doesn't bother to shave and he doesn't care what you do; bush, no bush, trimmed, shaved, waxed, whatever. However, he likes it when you shave for him down there as a sweet bonding experience, nothing kinky or sexual.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He's very sincere and very intense during sex, especially with someone he's romantically involved with because he's not the most open person and, like Yeosang, takes some prying open emotionally so when he shares that emotional part of himself and trusts that other person, that translates directly to the bedroom. He can be a little goofy if he's particularly happy that day, like giggly kisses n' shit, but otherwise very sincere, very intense.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

If he jacks off, you know about it because he sends you audios of himself getting himself off, complete with moans, whimpers, groans, muffling himself, and him cumming in the end of it. He never sends videos, though, because his ass has a voice kink. He masturbates semi regularly just because he has a high sex drive and you're not always available so he temporarily satisfies himself.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

So, this man, has some kinks that get me thinking. He has an oral fixation for sure, so anything involving his tongue; he definitely has a breeding kink like hard-core "let me breed you, mommy/daddy, I wanna give you babies" breeding kink, more so than San; temperature play; pegging/anal play; cock rings; nail scratching; biting/marking; kitten play; shibari; restraints; voice kink; ASMR kink.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Hmmmm, maybe the bedroom? He doesn't really have a favorite place to do anything because each place brings a different kind of thrill for him, so anywhere he can look at and easily imagine you commanding him to take you or you taking him is his favorite place. His least favorite place is the shower because the water washes away the lube and is just generally an annoying interruption.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Doing a sexy, feminine dance for you. Sexy girl group concepts? He learns the choreo and dances it just for you; turns him on because he enjoys you intently watching him while being just out of reach. Rubbing your hand up and down his thigh, no matter how innocent, will also turn him on greatly. Also if you cook for him -- it can be as simple as ramen but as soon as he sees that you cooked for him, he's ready to pounce you and be at your every command.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I don't think he would be into piss play or scat play (absolutely no hate to people who are into this lol) but I think he wouldn't like them just because he's a bit of a clean freak and all he would see is a mess to clean up and that would definitely ruin the mood for him. Another definite turn off of his is extreme pain; he likes a little bit here and there, like slapping his ass and thighs, nail scratches wherever you scratch him, but flogging and riding crops are a no go for him.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He LIVES for giving oral and that's directly from his oral fixation. It keeps his mouth busy plus he gets to please his partner. Again, he also loves his face covered in cum and/or pussy juices, so oral is definitely such fun for him!

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Moderate. He likes it a little faster than slower, but not exactly fast, if you get what I'm saying. He likes to feel you and you to feel him, so he wants it on the slower side of things but a slightly fast pace will be suitable for the most part. Only every once in a blue moon would he want you to fuck his brains out or to fuck yours out.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Quickies involving penetration? Nah, not a fan. Quickies involving oral? Sign him the fuck up. He wants to see how fast he can get you to orgasm with just his tongue and since you derive such pleasure from it as well, you let him take on this challenge.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

As long as extreme pain is not involved, he's game for a lot of things. He's always wanted to try semi public sex, voyeurism, and submissive cuckolding, but he would only try this with one of his members since he trusts them quite a lot.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

I think he could probably go two, three rounds, maybe four if he has a crapton of energy for God only knows what reason. He has experience, jacks off sort of regularly, so he can last a good while in bed while being pounded into or pounding into you.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He's got dildos of varying sizes because he, like San, is also a size queen. He has a couple of buttons plugs and some vibrators, along with handcuffs and bondage rope. He has a couple pairs of kitten ears and a matching choker and butt plug.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He likes to tease, but not in a bratty way. It's a very sweet way, like poking your cheek and rubbing it like a cat as he strokes your inner thigh and ghosts your genitals, teases you with food like "hey if I make this dish, maybe you can fuck my ass tonight" and he'd act all cutesy about it, he'll make suggestive comments while making direct eye contact, and wiggle his butt sometimes.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He's a happy medium between San and Yeosang. Hwa makes noise - groans, whimpers, moans, mewling - but he isn't loud with them per say, they're very throaty noises and he uses his chest to make them so they're low in volume but frequent.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He quite prefers the natural noises of sex between you two rather than having a playlist or any other background noise going. He's sensitive to noise in the first place and the background noise could overwhelm him in a bad way.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

He's average. Nothing too long, nothing too girthy, but boy does he know how to use his average dick regardless.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

He has a bit of a high sex drive. Think like smack in the middle of average horny and extremely horny and that's Hwa. He can go like three days without sex with no complaints but coming up on a fourth day may be a little bit hard for him.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He becomes quite sleepy afterward, wanting to snuggle you to fall asleep while you rub his back up and down and he holds you and squeezes you like his personal plushie. It takes a while for him to actually fall asleep, but that's because it takes him a while to calm down enough to lull into a peaceful state of rest before succumbing to sleep.

[rudemaidenswrite]

Can I Join You?

Part 2

BY: @pusantheamazonian

Fandom: Stranger Things          Jim Hopper X Reader

Part 1

It's been a few days since the carnival ended and your brother has left for the next town. And you have not seen nor heard from Jim either. You knew it was just a fling that would never get off the ground. He has a teenager at home. That alone will cause more chaos than trying to get back into the dating scene. So in a weird angry habit, you decided to bake cookies when you got off work.

El’s curiosity is still high about Y/N. With a plan she hides in the bathroom after school with Max guarding the door. Sitting on the floor, the radius tuned to static, faucets running and a handkerchief over her eyes. Taking deep slow breaths she's able to focus and locate Y/N. 

In the black nothingness Y/N appears, standing alone in a kitchen. Walking closer El is able to tell you're making cookies and singing along to the radio.

"Y/N?" El whispers but your sudden turn towards her threw off the connection. "Damnit!"

"You okay?" Max poke her head in.

"I'm fine." Grumbling El pulls the handkerchief down. 

"Did you find her?" Max asks sitting next to El.

"Yes, she even looked at me like she heard me."

"Weird. So what now?"

"Time to see her."

~

Opening the door you're surprised to see Jane for several reasons. 

1. It's a school night. 

2. You didn't tell Jim where you live. 

3. This was not how you expected to officially meet her.

"Jane what are you doing here?" Confused you are staring at a determined thirteen year old.

"Visiting. May come in?"

"Okay… does your father know you're here?" Absently you move to the side and let her in.

"Do you have any cookies?"

 "Yeah, why don't you sit at the table. I'll get you some. Do you want some milk?" Pointing off to the side at the table.  You instantly know that this child is smarter than she leads people to believe. 

"Yes please." 

You watch her sit at the table and wait for you. Jane stares at everything. Placing the milk and cookies in front of her you should probably know the real reason she's here.

"Jane-"

"El." She quickly interrupts while picking up a cookie.

"What?"

"I go by El."

"Ok El.” Sitting across from her you pick up your own cookie. “Do you want to tell me the real reason you hitchhiked 18 miles after school to my place?"

You watch her nervously curl inwards before responding.

"Dad and history class." 

"Why don't we start with history class." You quickly pick option two.

El nods and pulls out her book and folder. 

"There's a test next week and I don't understand anything." Handing you an outline. "Dad sucks at helping me with homework."

"Growth and Expansion is basically about the major changes in the U.S. during the 1800’s. So the Industrial Revolution, the changing role of government, and development of foreign policy." Moving to a chair closer you keep the outline handy.

As you go over the information with her you lose all complete track of time. You just happen to look at the clock to see the time.

"Shit!"

"What?" Frightened El looks for the danger.

"It's almost seven. We gotta get you home." You are up and out the chair. You need a plan.

"Why?"

"Why? El it's a school night and I bet you didn't tell your dad you were going to be home late." You're trying to process the carelessness of this child. Jim is in over his head. 

"I did not."

"Well do you want me to call him so he can come get you or you want me to take you home?" 

"Can you take me?" El pleads with her best frowny face.

"Yes but you'll have to give me directions."

"Okay." El packs her stuff up while you make her a snack baggie for tomorrow. That's filled with cookies and a separate bag for Jim. 

In the car El stares out the window bobbing along to the music. 

"So what is going on with your dad that you had to see me?" Reaching you turn the music down. Time to bite the bullet. 

"He likes you but thinks that I don't understand the complications of dating a single parent. He is being chicken. Mike explained it to me."

"You've definitely thought about this." Well if that’s not a child being a wingman you don't know what is. She definitely cares about his happiness. 

"It would be nice to see someone regularly at home. He works late and forgets the time."

"Well you'll just have to light a fire under his ass. In my experience single parents are the slowest moving people ever. Stubborn and grumpy." Chuckles you spare a glance.

"Your experience?"

"I was raised by a single dad too. Growing up it was just dad, my two older brothers and me." Reaching into your purse and pulling out your wallet. You open it to the pictures and hand it over.

"Mom?" El slowly flips through them.

"Don't know. She left one day, decided that she didn't want a family anymore." Shrugging it’s an odd thing that has always bugged you. 

"Sorry."

"Don't be dad eventually remarried and I got an awesome new mom and a little brother." You motion for her to keep flipping.

"New mom?"

"Yes."

"Mama… is not well. Dad let's me visit every couple of weeks. She lives with Aunt Becky."  Frowning, she puts your wallet back in your purse.

"It's nice that you visit her. I bet it makes her happy even if she can't show it."

"I hope so." She gives you a small hopeful smile.

El has you driving to the outskirts of Hawkins. Alongside a gravel road, turning onto a hidden dirt driveway. Pulling up you see the cabin setting on the hill.  You also see Jim walking frustratedly to his truck.

"He beat you home."

"Shit." She whispers seeing him too.

Honking your horn, he turns around making eye contact. As you nod to the passenger seat. There's a wave of relief for a split second before he walks closer.

"Next time you need help with homework. Just tell me, it's dangerous to be walking alone." You make sure to say loudly once you both are out of the car. Hoping to dampen the punishment.

"Jane." Jim grumbles, angrily throwing his cigarette. 

"See stubborn and grumpy. Just like I said." Nodding at him you give her a wink.

El laughs. "I like her." Jim sends El a furious look, which causes her to head directly inside. "Bye Y/N."

"Bye." Waving you watch her head up the hill before walking to Jim who has started pacing. "She's a firecracker but a good one." 

"Thanks for bringing her home. Where did you find her?" Huffing he runs a hand through his hair, still trying to calm down. 

"I opened my door and there she was. Don't know how she figured out where I lived."

"God… thanks again."

"No problem and here." Diverting his attention you hand him the bag.

"Cookies?"

"Yeah I was making some before El showed up. It's like the smell drew her in."

"I'm surprised."

"About what?" Confused, why would he be surprised? You're a decent person of course you brought her home. 

"Jane's very standoffish, won't interact unless she likes you and knows you're a good person."

"Oh! Well that's a good thing, not wanting to be involved with bad people." Nodding that's understandable. 

"She likes you, be prepared to see her randomly." Shaking his head in disbelief. 

"That's okay we can talk about our feelings again."

"You talked about feelings?" 

You watch him visibly pause. Apparently it never occurred to him that El would want to talk about feeling to someone else.

"Yeah like how she wants you to be happy because you want her to be happy. Also about how single dads are stubborn and grumpy all the time."

"That's what that comment was about? I'm not grumpy and stubborn all the time."  Scoffing he straightens up.

"I doubt it, I know the grumpy and stubborn attitude pretty well." Teasing you mender back to your car. Leaving him to his own devices.

"How?"

"Like minds think alike. I was raised by a single father." Winking you climb into the driver’s seat.

~

In your comfiest pajamas and ready for bed, you're finishing up with brushing your teeth when there's a banging on the front door. It's almost 10pm, you didn't plan on anyone coming out. Looking out the peephole, you're surprised to see who it is. 

"Jim? What are-" Opening the door you don't know what to say.

Cutoff, Jim's mouth is on yours. Hands hold you close as he backs into the nearest wall. Your hands find their way into his hair. Pressed closely, you can taste the lingering cigarette. 

"You came all this way for a smooch?" Pulling away you can't help but to smile. 

"....Yes?"

"Uh huh. You know I'm not buying that, right?" It's obvious to you that he had no set plan. 

"I figured you would." Shrugging he keeps a flirty smile. "What would you say if I said that I had to see you tonight."

"I would say that you're probably crazy because I look like a goblin." Saying that you realize you should probably let go of him. 

"No you don't. I'm the mess. I have no idea how to raise a teenage girl and I've been a grumpy father for years."

"If you say so.” Chuckling it's becoming clear how much El acts like him. “You know the police showing up late at night to my place is going to start gossip."

"Why don't we give them something to actually talk about?" In boldness he steals another kiss. 

"Well I'm no expert on firearms but I do know that's not a gun in your pocket."

"And the cheesy wisecracks." With a defeated sigh he head falls into the crook of your neck.

"Don't expect anything less. I have my own repriatore of dad jokes." Pulling on his collar to redirect his attention. "If you're looking for a hint my bedroom is the door on the left." Nodding down the short hall.

Next thing you know, you're looking at the floor and his ass. It's a short trip, inside he shuts the bedroom door with his foot as he dumps you on the bed. Scooting upwards you pull him with you. There’s no way in hell you're letting him escape without something happen.

"Fuck. Do you have any idea how crazy you make me?" Mumbling he kisses his way down your throat. Stifling a whine, you're beginning to lose all coherent thought processes. Just his presence makes you feel all tingly. 

"Do you know how hard it was not to kiss you outside the restaurant?" Delighted in this turn of events. You make your own little confession. Now is not the time for soft, slow romance. This is needy, rough lovin that you both so clearly need. 

[peralta-guaranteed]

Can you hear me, S.O.S., help me put my mind to rest

“Sorry they made you come out for something so stupid.” He mumbles, finally, in the elevator up to his apartment. “It’s not stupid.” “It’s 1am on a sunday, I’m pretty sure you had better things to do than pick up a beat-up co-worker and buy him his drugs.” He shoots her a quick glance as they get out on his floor. “I’m gonna pay you back for those, of course.” She doesn’t even acknowledge it, because they both know he can’t afford it. “It’s actually 12:30, and my partner needed my help. So there’s definitely nothing better to do with my time.”

---*---

Amy is Jake’s emergency contact on his medical file, which makes sense if you think about them as the lovey-dovey couple that they are now. She has been his emergency contact since two months after he’d met her, which makes less sense, until you realise that she is reliable, comforting, supportive Amy, and he is Jake, and he has never not been yearning for her attention just a little bit.

read it on AO3

 “Jesus Christ, Jake. I know you’re bad at paperwork, but this is a horror show.”

 Amy rubs her eyes with the palms of her hands, trying to stare down the little stars that appear in her vision from doing so. Jake, across the room on his worn-down couch, eating something very sweet and very crumbly - a cannoli, maybe? it was gone too fast for Amy to recognise - simply shrugs.

 “You don’t have to do it, Ames, you know that.”

 She does. She knows. She offered, after all.

 Maybe it was too early for something like this, anyway. They’d been officially together for barely a month, a stage where most other couples would still be discovering each other’s little likes and dislikes and trying to hide some imperfections from the other. Definitely not the stage of going through their partner’s chaotic mountain of very personal paperwork and files. Yet here she is, sorting through insurances (the rare few that Jake actually has, mostly because he’s legally required to), licenses, bills and Academy certificates.

 It was a mess that had Amy’s fingers itching every time she saw it, she reasons, and nothing they’d done in their month together really fit the usual trajectory of a relationship anyway, based on the fact that they already knew each other like the back of their hands. So when Jake had groaned about another forgotten bill from the mail tub that Amy forced him to steadily work through every time she came over, she’d offered to get things straightened out for him once and for all.

 She’s not sure if she regrets it now. Thumbing through a pile of loose papers that turn out to be several medical records from his injuries as a rookie cop, she realises that maybe this is a bit too personal, a step too close for what they have so far. Would she be willing to share this kind of information with a boyfriend of four weeks? she wonders as she skims over a page detailing the frankly insane amount of medication he was supposed to take after another week-long stay at the hospital. She’s quite sure he took barely half of it, gritting his teeth and moaning about stupid doctors instead, even though she didn’t know him back then - she knows him too well now not to immediately picture a slightly younger Jake with a list of weird-sounding pills he couldn’t pronounce and a giant frown on his face at the pharmacy.

 “I don’t have to- I mean, I can stop. If you don’t want me to do this.”

 Jake, finished with whatever he was eating, leans back on the couch to face her at the tiny table in his kitchenette. He gives her the patented Peralta-grin, the sweetness only heightened by some leftover cream-filling (definitely a cannoli) on his right cheek. She has half a mind to get up and lick it off, but she’s blocked in by paper piles all around her.

 “And keep Amy Santiago from a chance to file paperwork? Pretty sure that’d be grounds for a break-up. I’m surprised you haven’t run out to buy me a filing cabinet filled with all sorts of folders and tabs and whatnot.”

 She lets her eyes drop back down to the papers in her hands, trying hard not to show him the blush creeping onto her face. She had been making a mental list of what binders she should buy to really get this in order.

 “I’m just saying, if you don’t want me to see some of this- it’s very private information-”

 “Babe.” He still grins, and Amy thinks about how that pet name has settled between them far too quickly and far too comfortably as well. “Pretty sure nothing in that mountain of papers is any more embarrassing than all the stuff you already know and tease me about all the time.”

 “True. It’s not like I’m going to find out here why you think using the same soap for your dishes and your shower routine sometimes is an okay thing to do.” She grins back before filing away another old medical record, suddenly getting stuck on one little line at the top of it. “Jake, please tell me Stevie Schillens is      not     still your emergency contact.”

 “What? No. Of course he isn't. They make you update your info with every promotion at work.” That alone tells her that if ‘they’ didn’t, Jake would definitely still have a co-worker from his starting days on his files rather than, say, his current sergeant or a close friend. She shuffles through a few papers to find a more recent record.

 “Who is it, then? Might be good to update again and reconsider, promotion or not. Your mom is like half an hour’s drive away if anything happened, Terry can’t really get away from his family if it’s after hours. I wouldn’t trust Charles not to break down worse than you if he ever gets a call, and Rosa- I guess she’s responsible enough, but she might hurt you more for giving out her phone number-”

 “Really, Ames?” His voice is so soft from the couch, and when she finally looks up again, his face has that strange tilt to it, between affectionate and amused. As if she’d just said the most ridiculous, yet adorable thing in the universe. As if the answer wasn’t completely obvious.

 She looks down again at the paper she picked up, a medical report from a while ago, and as she reads the little line on top, she remembers.

-*-

 “Amy Santiago?”

 “This is she.”

 The voice down the line is as foreign as the number on her cell had been when she picked it up. She didn’t get many calls on her private phone anyway, apart from her family, and they were not the kind of people who’d call her at midnight on a saturday.

 “This is NewYork-Presbyterian Brooklyn Methodist Hospital. We’re calling on behalf of Jake Peralta? You’re listed as his emergency contact, but there is no additional info on your status-”

 She’s up off the couch and into her bedroom to change into jeans before the nurse on the line can even finish.

 “I’m his partner. Work. Partner. We’re detectives. NYPD.” Amy almost barks down the line while wedging the phone between her shoulder and ear to pull down her sweatpants. Jake would obviously carry his badge even when he wasn’t on duty like tonight, but maybe they hadn’t found it, maybe he hadn’t been able to give them that info... and while it was slightly upsetting to think about, she knew that the hospital would give fast-tracks and special treatments to active cops, and if that was something that could help him now, the morality of it all didn’t matter one bit to her. “What’s happened? Is he- is Jake okay?”

Obviously he’s not, you idiot, he’s in the hospital and not present enough to give them any information so they have to call his emergency contact, that is the furthest from okay that he could be-  

 Her inner scolding is interrupted by the very calm, very soothing voice of the nurse.

 “He should be fine. He was brought in ten minutes ago. Somebody assaulted him, but a nearby officer intervened and called for an ambulance. We just needed to check because his files are very… incomplete.” Amy hears the rustling of paper and the slight distaste tinging the nurse’s voice and makes a mental note to sit down with Jake and make him update all his information as soon as possible. “And he’s not clear enough to answer any questions due to the painkillers. Are you aware of any allergies or problems that could arise from medications? He doesn’t need surgery, but we have to treat some lacerations and other wounds.”

 “He’s not on any permanent medications. He had to take Vicodin and Heparin after a surgery four months ago.” She replies immediately and without a doubt, remembering her last trip to the hospital with him while she slips into a jacket and checks her bag for her purse and car keys. “Oh, he has asthma, but hasn’t had an attack in years, so he doesn’t use his inhaler regularly or anything. And he’s allergic to bees, but I don’t think that matters?”

 “No.” the nurse almost chuckles. “But the rest is very helpful to know, thanks. Will you be able to arrange for someone to monitor him for the next 24 hours? Otherwise we’ll need to prepare a room for him. He keeps saying you’ll pick him up, but we weren’t sure-”    “I’m on my way.”

-*-

 She speed-walks to the front desk of the emergency room not ten minutes later.

 “Hello. My name is Amy Santiago. I’m here for Jake Peralta - he was brought in twenty minutes ago?”

 “Ah! The lovely lady detective.” The nurse - it’s a different one from the phone call, she can tell from the voice - gives her a weird sort of smile. “Yes, he’s been asking for you non-stop. But the painkillers should have worn off by now, so he might be more coherent.”

 She tries to ignore that comment, she really does. But it’s not easy.

 “The doctor’s going over aftercare with him, so he might be a few more minutes. You can take a seat if you’d like.”

 Amy glances over to the waiting area, full of people even at this time of night, before turning back to the desk. “Uhm, the nurse on the phone said he needs to be monitored for 24 hours - do you know why? Is there anything I need to be aware of?”

 The lady gives her a once-over before another strange smile, like she knows more than Amy does (which, logically, in this situation she does, but it feels like she knows something else, too).

 “He’s had a minor concussion. Nothing to worry about, but he might be a bit disoriented or woozy, so it’s best not to leave him alone. And if he throws up or feels faint, you should bring him back immediately. He has a check-up appointment to remove his stitches in three days. Everything else you need to know will be on his report.”

 “Sure.” Amy nods, and hopes that Jake doesn’t lose track of that report on his way from the examination room to the waiting area - it wouldn’t be the first time he manages to lose paperwork in record time. She gives the still smiling nurse another nod before finally heading to sit down and pull out the crossword puzzle she was halfway done with when she got the call.

 “Hey.”

 “Oh! Hey!” Amy practically drops her puzzle and jumps from her seat in the waiting room once she sees him standing in front of her.

 Jake looks a mess. His leather jacket is ripped on one shoulder seam, and his jeans are covered in grime. There’s an awful lot of blood on his hoodie - probably from his nose, which is covered in a bandage - and his face is more red-bruised than pale in most places. There’s another, bigger bandage over a stitched-up gash across his left cheekbone, the accompanying eye blood-shot, and his lip is split in at least two places.

 “You look like hell.” She blurts out before thinking and immediately scolds herself, but it actually earns her a little laugh.

 “You’re looking lovely as well, Santiago.” His eyes wander over her messy ‘I had to get here in under ten minutes on a saturday couch night’ look, including a steadily unraveling hair-bun and oversized sweater.

 “Sorry, I mean-”

 “S’alright.” He drops into the seat next to her and winces. More bruises, Amy thinks.

 “What happened?” She sits back down as he leans forward, only now noting the clipboard and pen in his hands (which are equally roughed up, knuckles worn down, with scabs already forming. Whatever had happened, he sure hadn’t given in easily).

 “Some big-shot guy whose dealer I arrested last week spotted me coming out of a bar. Decided the best way to deal with his crippling drug addiction was to beat the shit out of the cop who’d cut off his supply. He was, like, a giant of a dude.” Jake puffs up his chest and raises his arms to show the supposed size of the man, and Amy can only nod. “Luckily he was too stupid to check for surveillance on the very public street we were on, and there was a beat cop on the corner who cuffed him pretty quickly.” He looks down again at the clipboard, and tries to scratch his nose before remembering there’s a bandage in the way. “He also called an ambulance, which I think was a bit over the top, but I couldn’t really breathe to tell him no.”

 Amy gives him a quizzical look, and he sighs before explaining.

 “Fucker punched me in the chest so hard I had an asthma attack.”

 She snorts. She doesn’t want to, but it’s not really something you can stop, even as she clutches her hand over her mouth in embarrassment.

 “I’m sorry, Jake, I shouldn’t- it’s not funny-”

 “Well.” He grins at her, far softer than usual, but that might just be to not upset his split lip. “It is a little bit funny, I guess.”

 “Do you have an inhaler at work? You should take one with you, you know, even if you haven’t had problems for a while, you never know when they show up again, case in point, and people might not know what to do - maybe I should get an inhaler too, for when we’re working together, and make sure Charles knows how-”

 “Hey.” He interrupts her verbal stream of consciousness by holding the clipboard up to her, and she grabs it reflexively the same way she does when he sneakily slips her his unfinished paperwork. “Can you help me fill out these stupid forms? I think I’m still a bit high from whatever they gave me back there, or maybe I just don’t know half of these words anyway.”

 She grabs the pen from him as well, clicks it twice, and gets to work. She doesn’t even have to ask him about most of the fields he’s left blank, and after a minute or two, the file is full with both his chicken scratch and her perfect handwriting. She’s filled out so many of these forms for him before, she could probably do it in her sleep. Which would be quite a worrying thought if it wasn’t so weirdly sweet at the same time - she realises that he has never, not once, asked anyone else for a ride to the hospital for work injuries, at least when he had the choice (and luckily, he was barely ever so hurt that he couldn’t, that any one of them had to jump into the back of the ambulance with him, but most of those times it was her as well).

 “Here.” She hands the file back to him. “Get that to the nurses, and we can go back to your place so you can catch up on sleep. Do you have your medical report?”

 He nods and swaps it for the clipboard in her hand in a well-set routine they both know, getting up to hand it in while she does a quick read through. There are not that many after-care instructions - the usual things for concussions she’s aware of, a healing balm for the bruising, replacing the bandages regularly, and another truckload of painkillers and medicine. The doctors sure do seem to love pumping him full with it whenever they get a chance, and he sure does love to ignore them and not take any of it. She still makes a mental note to swing by the pharmacy on their way home to pick it all up when he gets back and gestures for her to leave.

 He does a dramatic turn and bow to say good-bye to the front desk as they pass it, earning himself a giggle from the ladies and swaying only a little after he gets back up. Amy has her hands around his elbow immediately, steadying him and leading him outside - they did say he would be woozy - and the nurse gives her another one of those smiles. She’s still not quite sure if she likes them or not.

-*-

 They stop at the late-night-pharmacy as planned - Jake obeys orders to stay in the car to make it all quicker, but insists on getting a bag of sour gummies as a reward, and Amy sighs as he tears into it right away, probably covering her whole passenger seat with the powder - but the rest of the drive stays quiet. It feels more concerning to Amy than it should. He’s a blabbermouth at the best of times, should be even more so after being loaded up with painkillers and coming down from the adrenaline high of a fight, asthma attack and hospital treatment all at once. But right now he seems utterly silenced, fidgety and... nervous.

 “Sorry they made you come out for something so stupid.” He mumbles, finally, in the elevator up to his apartment.

 “It’s not stupid.”

 “It’s 1am on a sunday, I’m pretty sure you had better things to do than pick up a beat-up co-worker and buy him his drugs.” He shoots her a quick glance as they get out on his floor. “I’m gonna pay you back for those, of course.” She doesn’t even acknowledge it, because they both know he can’t afford it.

 “It’s actually 12:30, and my partner needed my help. So there’s definitely nothing better to do with my time.”

 He mumbles something else as they step through the door, but she doesn’t catch it. She helps him slip out of his jacket instead, reminds herself to google a good tailor that works with leather as she notices the ripped shoulder while hanging it up and turns around to look at the blood-stained hoodie he’s taking off.

 “I don’t think that thing is salvageable.”

 “Damn, and it was one of my favourites, too.” He pouts, playfully, before remembering his injured lip.

 “All your hoodies are your favourite.”

 “Am I not allowed to love them all equally?”

 Amy is already in his kitchen not answering that, instead bundling the hoodie up and into a trash bag she’s pulled from a shelf. She’ll take it down to the dumpster with her when she leaves tomorrow, or else he might try and wash it.

 “You don’t have to do all this, you know.” Jake says as she walks past him to put the bag on the front mat. “I can take care of my clothes.”

 “Sorry.” She halts and takes off her own jacket and shoes, instead. It’s a strange situation - they’re both used to Jake being a lot more inhibited from medication or alcohol when she literally has to bring him home, usually hanging onto Amy’s shoulders and babbling nonsense while she shuffles him into bed. But now he’s standing up all on his own, silent again, looking around the place as if he doesn’t know what to do in his own home with Amy as a not-quite-guest. Neither does she.

 Another beat of silence passes between them before Jake clears his throat and bumbles on.

 “You should- ...do you want something to drink? I think I still have some of that herbal stuff you brought-”

 “You should-” Amy starts at almost the same time, silencing them both again for another beat. “You should change out of these” she gestures to his dirty clothes “and put the balm on your bruises and get ready for bed. You’re gonna crash from the adrenaline soon.”

 It seems like he wants to say something else, but the silence is deafening by now, so he only nods and grabs stuff out of the pharmacy bag before heading to the bathroom.

 “I’m gonna grab a spare shirt for me to sleep in, if that’s okay?” She calls after him and only hears ‘Sure!’ before the door closes.

 Amy realises, as she turns around for the dresser in the one room apartment he inherited from Gina a while ago, that she’s never been here before without some medical emergency clouding her vision. She knew his old place - from a few late evenings working on case files (which he illegally took home, but neither of them mentioned that), and a movie marathon when he was extremely sick and had begged her over on her day off because he was convinced he was ‘going to die any minute’ and didn’t want the neighbours to find his ‘decomposing corpse later in the week’ - and he’d been over at hers far more times than she could count (her place was nicer, she had actual cable tv,, and a working kitchen for him to rustle around in for random late night snacks).

 But this apartment? It seems strangely foreign now, without a drunk or medicated Jake needing her help, without the usual distraction of getting him into bed, getting his shoes and jacket off, forcing him awake to take some aspirin and then settling down on the couch to his snoring. She feels like a guest instead, someone who doesn’t know if they’re allowed to sit down or get a drink from the kitchen without being invited. That’s nonsense, she thinks - she’s here to help like always, and there’s no way Jake would care if she turned his entire kitchen upside down and re-organised it or fell asleep on the couch right then and there.

 Loud grumbling and ranting from the bathroom pulls her out of her thoughts, before she can even decide to pick up the spare bedding set for the couch she knows he keeps in his closet.

 “Everything alright?” She knocks on the door, but barely waits for the angry ‘No!’ before opening it. Her breath catches.

 Jake’s in his pajama pants, and - that’s it. She can see the muscles in his bare back flex as well as the reflection of his front in the mirror, as he tries to bend around in some convoluted way to reach the large, purple bruise that travels from his waist to his back.

 “Stupid doctors and their stupid lotions and stupid ideas for people who can’t do yoga or some shit to reach their own back-” he mumbles, but Amy doesn’t hear much of it. She’s seen Jake shirtless before - you don’t go on stake-outs or undercover assignments without catching each other in different states of undress at some point - and every time has been a secret memory, quickly stolen and hidden somewhere deep in her mind, to be dusted off and remembered at the most inopportune times or when she feels particularly alone after a drink (or maybe four). This time will probably be no different, she thinks as she notes the soft trail of hair under his belly button, down to the sweatpants that definitely sit lower than any jeans she’s seen him shirtless in before.

 She has to act, she reprimands herself, before he notices, before he sees her staring or realises she’s blushing, so she steps up to the sink and pulls the tub of healing balm from his hands.

 “It’s not the doctors’ fault you always get injured in inconvenient places.” She answers his rant while dipping her fingers into the lotion and carefully applying it to the bruise, trying not to rub or press too hard for it to hurt.

 Jake doesn’t breathe the entire time her fingers are on his skin.

 “There you go.” Amy closes the little tub and puts it next to the sink, eyeing his bruised face and completely ignoring the flush that is hiding underneath it. “Lemme change your bandages before you sleep, too. You already got them dirty.”

 “I can do that-”

 “You’re going to rip it straight off and disturb your stitches, most likely.” Her hands are already at the corner of his cheek, carefully prying off the tape and strips, and he forgets how to breathe again.

 She replaces the bandages just as carefully and leaves him to the rest of his night time routine, filling a glass of water in the kitchenette and coming back with a packet of Vicodin at the same moment he steps out of the bathroom, finally pulling a shirt over his head.

 “You should take some painkillers before you sleep. It’ll help.”

 “Oh goodie.” He quips and eyes the water. “Drugs! Because the injuries totally weren’t caused because of somebody off their drugs!”

 “These are prescription drugs. It’s different. You know that.”

 He still stares warily at the package in her hand, but another shuffle forward from her and he grabs them and pops one into his mouth, grimacing after downing it (whether that grimace is for the medicine or the water he actually has to drink, she’s not sure).

 “Good boy.” Amy jokes, and he’s glad he’s already swallowed so he can’t choke on his water from hearing that. “Now get some sleep in. I’ll be down here on the couch if you need anything, or feel worse.”

 “Don’t go-” He stutters and stares right past her head at the aforementioned couch. “I mean, you don’t- you don’t have to sleep on the couch, I know how uncomfortable it is- you can sleep with me- I mean, in the bed, with me in the bed, I mean- there’s enough space- with the extra blanket- I don’t-”

 He interrupts his own rambling with a deep sigh and a ‘Jesus, Jake’ before Amy can stifle another giggle. He feels just as awkward with her here as she does, and it almost makes the whole thing more comfortable. They’ll just have to power through the nonsense and get back to their normal friendly behaviour, she reasons.

 “If you really don’t mind. I’m gonna get the stuff from the closet.”

 He’s already bundled up under his own covers when she comes back with the heap of blanket and pillows for her side of the bed.

 It’s not her side, of course, it’s just the part of the bed he’s freed up from his own duvet, and that she’s going to sleep on now for one night, but it’s not like they have sides in their bed like-

power through the nonsense, she repeats as she settles down and stares over at him. His eyes are closed, his breath already slowing down into a sleepy pattern, and despite all the bruising and bandaging, his face looks so soft when he’s asleep. It’s a sight she could definitely get used to.

-*-

 She remembers waking up the next morning, far too early for the late night they’d had. She remembers how wonderfully warm he was, hurt face buried in her shoulder and softly breathing across his shirt that she’d borrowed. She remembers her heart racing as she tried to untangle herself from the cuddling position their sleeping bodies had found themselves in, and she remembers the soft, quiet, confused ‘Ames..?’ when he woke up a few hours later and found the bed empty, with her already sitting at the tiny kitchen table she was sitting at right now.

 Looking back at the report of the night she just remembered, the little line of her name and phone number at the top seem to glare at her, scolding her for her stupid question about emergency contact changes. She can hear Jake quietly laugh before she looks up.

 “What, did you genuinely think you weren’t my first pick for emergencies?” Jake is still smiling at her, and she realises he obviously didn’t go down that little trip down memory lane with her. Maybe he was even still at the point of their conversation where Stevie Schillens was a viable option for an emergency contact as well. “Like, even without everything else going on with us… You love filling out forms, you’re responsible enough to actually take care of an emergency situation, and you know about all my stupid medical info better than me, because you keep driving me to the hospital from work.”

 “You’re saying you made a serious decision like this based on actual logical evidence instead of one of your ‘gut feelings’?” Amy’s eyebrow raises almost involuntary. Present-Jake, maybe. Past-Jake? Definitely not.

 Present-Jake can only shrug before scratching his nose, a subtle tell that she's identified by now for when he’s embarrassed, as if he’s trying to hide his face before speaking again.

 “Might’ve also liked the idea of having you in the ER with me... instead of a freaked-out Charles or something.”

 She smiles at what sounds like only half-explained truth and decides not to push it. She knows what he means, anyway. She knows, by now, that he would always ask the nurses for her when he was being treated, would always ramble on about her when blissed out on extra-strong painkillers, about how smart she was and how much she would help him and how much he hated hospitals, but not quite so much when he knew she was outside the room waiting for him.

 “Okay, but when exactly did you put me in as your emergency contact?” She puts down the last file and maneuvers around the stacks of yet unsorted papers to get over to him and the couch.

 “Eh, ‘bout two months after we were partnered up.”

 “Two- we didn’t even like each other then!”

 “Wrong. You didn’t like me.” Another nose-scratch before Amy can sit down next to him, cradling his face in her hand and smiling again at how quickly he leans into it.

 “Aw, babe. I’m sorry, that was rude of me.”

 “I mean, I didn’t like-like you then. Just for the record. I wasn’t that desperate, okay? I just thought you were... neat. And really good to have around for emergencies. Probably should’ve asked you. For all I know you would’ve stranded your annoying new partner at the hospital and pretended like you never heard of me.”

 “I would have never done that!” Amy glowers at him. “Just for the record as well. I would’ve absolutely taken care of you, even though I didn’t like you or found you super annoying.”

 “I know you’re trying to be nice right now, babe, but you’re really not doing it well.” Jake grins at her again, and she can’t help but pull him towards her to kiss that snarky grin away. It reappears as soon as her lips leave his, unfortunately, but it is decidedly less snarky and far more dopey.

 “And I did show up when they called me after that drug addict attacked you, remember? I was so worried when I got that call, because I didn’t even know I was your contact, and I thought something horrible must’ve happened that they had to call me. And then it was just a fist fight.”

 “Sorry.” He mumbles. “It was a really stupid reason to call an emergency contact. Shoulda filled my forms out better.”

 “Maybe.” She smiles as she strokes across his cheek, noting the tiny scar that is still there from the stitches he had to get. “But I’m glad they did, anyway. You would’ve tried to drive yourself home and clean your wounds with mouthwash, or something.”

 “Maybe.” He echoes with an equal smile. “You do make a better home-nurse than I would, I guess. Even though you were missing the sexy outfit.”

 He earns himself a punch to the arm for that before she goes back to playing with his hair, soothing him enough that he drops the joking facade.

 “I was really happy you showed up, by the way. And took me home. And didn’t leave.”

 “Again: I would’ve never left you or not taken care of you. We’re partners, for God’s sake. What would the Captain have said if he found out I left you home alone with a concussion after you asked me for help?”

 “Yep. Holt’s imminent disappointment. Definitely the only reason I hoped you’d stay.” His smile is crooked, but Amy only continues stroking through his hair, and it quickly turns the uncomfortable smile into a content sigh. “I was so… nervous. Because... you can probably guess that I did like-like you by then. Like, you were right here in my apartment, and I wasn’t out on painkillers, but I also wasn’t awake enough to like, entertain you or anything, and I was so worried that you were already annoyed because of the whole situation and I would do something or say something stupid, but you were still there, and then you helped me with the bandages, and the, the lotion, and I think I remember the worst invitation to my bed I’ve ever given anyone, and when I woke up I thought you’d finally left, but you were just in the kitchen, and I-” He sighs again, closing his eyes and leaning forward to rest his forehead against her shoulder. “I was always torn between wanting to kiss you and wanting to apologise for being so much trouble.”

 “God, we really were hopelessly lost on each other, weren’t we?” Amy chuckles, her hand now carding through the hair on his nape rather than the curls on top.

 “I was definitely hopeless, in every sense of the word. I think I’d rather describe you as oblivious.”

 “Ooooh, good word!” She happily praises him, before realising just how sad that statement of his actually was. He lifts his head again to look at her. “I... actually, I wasn’t really oblivious at all. I’d say I was just as hopeless as you. I just hid it a bit better.”

 “But you were always there.” He smiles at her, his head sideways now, leaning against the back of the couch, and it’s so soft and comforting and homely she wants to sink into him. “For every hospital trip I needed. Maybe that’s kinda why I made you my emergency contact too. I knew you’d come no matter what, and I knew you wouldn’t leave. Whether I annoyed you like crazy or we barely knew each other or we were already good friends or we were not quite on speaking terms due to all the awkwardness.”

 She leans her head next to him, her hands wrapping around his folded in his lap.

 “I’ve got your back. Always.” She whispers, and it’s a lot more than the supportive, yet simple promise of work partners. She thinks of the many times people had left him, the many things he’d been through alone, the lonely walks to an empty house or quiet cab rides back to a dark apartment, the dinner’s in the microwave notes and the sorry, can’t tonight texts, and the few times she has actually left him alone too, not knowing yet that when he was running off scared, what he really needed was someone to run after him and tell him it’s okay.

 Their relationship is only a month old, officially, but she knows that it’s far older than that. She knows that it’s been growing and changing for years, and she knows, in that moment, that it will grow for many, many years to come. For forever, maybe, if they’re lucky. But no matter what it will change into in the future - she also knows, without a doubt in her heart, that she’ll be there. The way he knows she would, the way he’s known since two months after they met.

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Empires on the Horizon V

Jason is a CEO: Part V

Here’s my masterlist for the next part and my other stuff

But the most beautiful things in life are just not things.

They’re people and places, memories and pictures.

They’re feeling and moments and smiles and laughter.

-unknown

“Charles Beckendorf,” Jason answered the phone with a smile, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Hello Grace, how are you?”

“Absolutely wonderful,” And he was, he hadn’t felt so calm in a long time. “What can I do for you my friend?”

“I need your help with the wedding. I’m planning an outdoor structure with video screenings of all our favourite memories and you have two things that’ll make my dreams come true.”

“Anything for you Charlie.”

“The gorgeous meadow on the far side of town, you own that right?”

“Yep, you want to set up shop there?”

“Yes please,” His eagerness carried through the phone, “And can you send me any pictures or videos you have of us so I can add it to the slideshow.”

“Of course, is that all?”

He could hear the excitement in his friend’s voice, “That’s it, unless you know anyone who’s willing to look after the shop while we’re on honeymoon?”

“I can’t say I do but I can ask Hazel to hire a temp if you want?”

“I’ll suggest it to the ladies and tell them to get back to you.”

“Sounds great, and good-luck with the project. I’m excited for the wedding.”

“Me too man, me too. It’s still surreal to me that I’m getting married to my best friends.”

“You deserve the world Charlie.”

“No way, I am crazy emotional these days.” He sniffled.

Jason laughed, “You’re always emotional Beckendorf.”

“Screw you,” He snorted, “See you soon, and thank you again.”

“Bye man, have a good one.”

He ended the call with a smile. It was unbelievable to think he would be going to his friends’ wedding in a couple months. Just the other day he was sitting in a lecture hall laughing at Beckendorf’s impersonation of their business lecturer. Just the other day he was helping Silena and Drew paint the walls of their boutique. It was strange to face the reality that they were all grown up now– moving on with their lives, living them.

“Ready to go Boss?” Hazel’s head popped around the door.

“Yep, you have the files?”

“All in the room already, anything else we need?”

“Maybe some coffee and a miracle?”

“Unfortunately I can only provide one of those things, and it’s not the helpful one.” She gave him an apologetic look.

“Well I guess wish me luck then,”

“You don’t need it Boss, you’re gonna kill it today.”

“What would I do without you Miss Levesque?” He sighed gratefully, walking to the elevator.

“Forget which day of the week it is, and which shoe goes on which foot,” She grinned.

“Hey, the shoe thing was one time.”

“That only works if you’re a toddler, not a grown man.”

“No excuse for the elderly then?”

She shook her head solemnly, “None I’m afraid.”

The elevator doors slid open.

“Meeting Room A5.”

“Let’s do this.” He took a deep breath and pushed the glass door.

“Hello Jason Grace,”

“Hello Octavian.”

Jason always felt some level of life seep out the room when he me with the head of Titan Industries. The man felt…synthetic; chalk white hair gelled down flat and calculating pale blue eyes that missed nothing. Gods even his skin looked unnatural, pasty and veined.

He reached out a small, bony hand in greeting.

“You look as incredible as ever Miss Levesque,” He lifted her hand to his mouth.

She gave him a tight-lipped smile, “Octavian.”

He didn’t seem to notice, or care for her discomfort and simply turned to Jason.

“So,” They sat down, “Have we come to some agreement?”

“With all due respect Octavian I don’t feel this contract is justified.” He glanced between the man and the folder.

There was silence, as if he were waiting for Jason to continue but two could play at this game. He was not willing to be taken for a fool, fumbling over himself to bow to this man’s whims. So he met those cunning eyes, a smile playing at his lips. The only sound was the scratch of Hazel’s pencil as she set up her notes for the meeting.

Moments passed, frozen in time, and then a sigh, “What can I do to ease your concerns?”

He struggled to reel in a smug expression. “Let’s start with the supply times.”

And they went back and forth, pulling and pushing, cunning and stead-fast, a fox and a wolf. Two hours later the contract had been amended to both their liking and they were once again shaking hands.

“I will ask my assistant to send over the revised contract, once my lawyer has looked over it.”

“I will do the same. Thanks for the meeting.” He guided the door open and waited for his guest to move through it.

“Until then, Grace.”

Without waiting for a reply Octavian snapped at his bodyguard and they disappeared down the passage.

“How do you feel about this?”

“There’s something not quite right Hazel, I just can’t figure out his angle.”

“Fully agree,” She shuddered, “He gives me the creeps.”

“Have you managed to find anyone else that could potentially take over this project?”

“Not yet Boss but you will be the first to know when I do.”

“Thanks Levesque, you truly are my saviour.” He gave her a grateful smile.

“Better put that on my gravestone,” She raised a brow.

“Done,” He laughed, “Any other requests?”

“Let’s get subs for lunch. I could do with some bread.”

He shook his head in amusement, “You drive a hard bargain but I’m willing to sacrifice for you.”

“Oh what was your plan Mr big-shot?” She pushed open the door to their offices.

“Today is burrito-bowl day and you know it.”

“I did forget,” She scrunched her nose, “But I’m extra grateful now.”

He snorted at her, ready to give a snarky remark before he was cut off by the shrill ring of his cell phone.

“Talk to me.”

“What’s up Grace, how’s your lunch hour looking?” Leo Valdez greeted.

“Levesque and I are going to get subs at Garden Girl, want to join?”

“I’ll meet you there.” And then he was gone.

“Ever the efficient caller isn’t he,” Hazel chuckled.

“Most days, which is weird since he’s a rambler face-to-face.”

They got to the contemporary restaurant on eighty-fifth avenue, spotting Leo outside.

“Hello,” His smile was wide as he hugged them.

“Who decided to give you a break? Don’t you have lectures right now?”

“Nah,” He grinned, “Guest lecturer teaching my slot this week, so I got two hours free.”

“The beauty of teaching postgrad, I assume?” Hazel asked.

“You know it Levesque!”

“What are we getting?”

“Don’t know about you but I’m getting the ‘Jazz It Up’ sub, got to stick to my New Orleans heritage.”

“Good afternoon my favourite customers? Where’s the rest of the crew?”

Jason smiled brightly, “Hello Katie.”

“Annabeth is at work, she has some big contract finally closing up,” Leo said by way of greeting.

“Frank is doing the security rounds at the office,” Hazel offered.

“Thalia isn’t even in the country right now.” He shrugged

“There’s still someone missing,” She frowned, scanning their faces, “Piper! Where’s the pretty lady?”

“Oh,” Leo winced, “Yea that is a touchy subject.”

Katie gave them a sympathetic look, “Well what can I help you with today? The usual for you Haze?”

They all rattled off their orders and chatted with the owner of Garden Girl while they waited. Jason had met Katie when he was doing business courses for his urban and regional planning degree. Her forest green eyes and bright smile struck him stupid the first time he saw her in their Entrepreneurship and Business Management lecture. He never had the guts to make a move, but it didn’t matter because she had just entered a relationship with Travis Stoll. Now they’re married and expecting a child, as is the latest update.

“How’s Project Hestia going Grace?” Leo asked, pulling out a chair.

“Ugh I’m having a hard time with the outdoor center. I’m not gelling with the contractor, and I don’t know what to do,” He scrubbed a hand down his face.

“I know I can’t ask what exactly is wrong because of legal reasons but what do you need done?”

He motioned to Hazel to explain as he bit into his sub.

“Basically we want to create an outdoor recreation center for the community which includes a gym area, a kids’ area, movies, a park and picnic area, rock climbing, you know the usual.”

“Right that shouldn’t be too hard to draft up,” Dark eyebrows scrunched, “But this guy is what? Trying to fuck you over?”

“Essentially,” Jason nodded, “The problem is we don’t know how?”

“Okay give me the weekend and let me call up some people. I think I know someone who can help.”

His eyes widened, “You are literally the best friend in the entire world. We’ve been looking for weeks, and we haven’t found anyone else who specialises in this.” 

Leo squeezed his hand, “I’m not letting you get screwed over, and my buddy would be more than happy to do it.”

“What’s his name?” Hazel had her phone out, the notes app open.

“Harley, he’s was the youngest kid in our engineering course. I think he graduated with his masters when he was like twenty,”

Jason choked, “What?”

“The kid is incredible. He beat us regularly in our weekly electrotech competitions.”

“Well tell him to give us a call and I’ll set up a meeting with Jason next week. We have until next Friday before we sign contracts with Titan.”

“Sounds good,” Leo plucked a pen he kept behind his ear and scribbled something on his hand, “So Jase,” His grin was trouble.

The blonde narrowed his eyes, preparing himself for trouble.

“What happened with you and Percy? Last I heard you were going on a date on Tuesday and then getting married.”

It was Hazel’s turn to choke, and after she recovered smacked her boss on the shoulder, glaring as if to say what the hell did you not tell me?

He rolled his eyes at his best friend, “I didn’t even get his number because I left so abruptly. And anyway I hear he’s dating Reyna now.”

Leo’s hickory eyes widened, “He’s what?”

“Yea I went by the school about a month ago and Nico told me they were dating.”

“How do they even know each other?”

“They met at the school. She was visiting Nico and he was wanted to become a sponsor cause he used to go there.”

“Yea sounds about right, he’s crazy nice.” Leo nodded

“How have I never met him before the dinner?”

“He moves around a lot,” Leo shrugged, “I’ve only met him a handful of times because whenever he’s here he makes a point to visit Annabeth.”

“Well he sounds like an angel,” His assistant mused.

“Looks like one too,” He muttered, “It’s okay anyway cause I uh–“ He scratched the back of his neck.

“Oh my gods,” Hazel’s earthy eyes glittered, “You met someone!”

Leo clapped his hands, a smile as bright as the sun on his face, “Who are they?”

“We’ve been on one date so no making a big deal about it.” He gave them a pointed look, “But Thalia set us up and she’s… wow.”

“Oh you are real caught up, aren’t you?” They raised twin brows at him.

“She’s just indescribable. She’s gorgeous and that’s the least impressive thing about her.”

“Well tell us everything.” Hazel prodded.

“Okay she’s a vet. She has four sisters, but she doesn’t talk to them much. She believes in order, oh it’s glorious. Everything in its space and a plan for everything.” He looked at Leo then, to which his friend flipped him off and then motioned for him to continue.

“She eventually wants to open her own animal clinic. And most importantly she gets along with Thalia.”

“She sounds like a dream Jase,” Hazel squeezed his shoulder, “I’m really happy for you.”

Leo nodded, eyes bright with love, “You deserve some happiness bud.”

“Thank you guys,” He found it hard to breathe as the overwhelming gratitude he felt for his friends swept through his body.

“Valdez, you’re going to the lake cabins in a couple weeks, right?”

“Oh yep,” Leo wiggled his eyebrows, “And guess what?”

“You are not!” He yelled, and then lowered his voice, “You are lying to me right now.”

“Oh gods,” Hazel caught on, “Are you ready? No wait of course you’re ready! When, how, what?”

“I bought the ring a couple weeks ago. We’ve been talking about it for a few months and this just feels like the right time.”

Jason whistled, “My best friends are finally getting married.”

“Oh gods I hope she says yes,” Leo looked a little sick all of a sudden.

“Of course she’s going to say yes. You guys have been inseparable since that first maths lecture when we all went to the wrong class.”

“There’s no way she turns you down, I’ve seen the way you look at each other.” Hazel agreed.

“The way we look at each other?” Leo frowned at her, confusion evident in his face.

“Like you’re the only ones in the room. Like she is the match and you are the striker.”

Jason nodded, “The moment you two locked eyes at the bonfire it was like the universe threaded two strands through the same needle.”

“Well now I’m emotional and feeling much more confident about it.”

They laughed then, getting up to hug each other. Jason felt the world settle, still, slow. The wind whispered softly, and beams of sun caught between them. If nothing else he had this, and he would hold onto it until his bones were dust and his soul was a star once more.

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

So many weddings!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Tags (if you want to be added to/ taken off the tag list just let me know, all my channels of communication are open): @lesbian-peanuts

@leydiangelo

@queen-of-demons-and-hell

@msdrpreist

@sparkythunderstorm​

@nishlicious-01

@lucyisblue

[prorevenge]

I'm going to hell, apparently.

Let me preface this by saying I've never posted to this reddit before, so pardon me if I don't format this very well. It's a bit long, so TL;DR is at the end.

As far as names go, there's really only one, and that's "GA" for "Great Aunt," my grandmother's sister.

GA liked to fashion herself as the family historian, and went out of her way to get all of my grandmother's family photos after she passed away, as well as many of the photos from her husband's family. This is about mid 2000s, so I'm a teenager at that point. We lived about three hours away, and my GA, not the most tech savvy person, called my mom to see if I would be willing to go stay over at her house for a week so I could show her how to scan and archive photos on her brand new desktop. She was very proud of it, and assumed she could easily upload and document whatever files she needed to share with family that way-- except the woman was 60 and had the technological knowledge of a wet paper bag.

While I would be staying with her, she agreed that she would take me regularly to see my grandfather, who lived in the same town. I figured it was a pretty good deal-- free food for a week, and regular visits to the man who half-raised me as my father figure stand in. We were really close growing up, so I jumped at any chance for me to go see him. Along the way, she also tried to get me to do all sorts of other things on her "brand new computer," like set up her free trial of Microsoft Word that had come with it, get her some fancy photo editing software, etc. I told her the most important part of it would be the fact she'd need to let me install a good Antivirus software, but oddly enough, she wasn't interested in that. "I don't go on nasty sites that give you viruses," she so sagely said, referencing mostly what her middle aged but also somewhat computer illiterate son had been telling her.

Already when I get there, I'm seeing some red flags. My Great Uncle was cool, but very much acknowledged that he'd married a bit of a control freak woman-- while I didn't mind staying at his house, there were a lot of signs showing up very quickly that she expected me to work every single day for her, archiving pictures and showing her what 'cut' and 'paste' meant with files, and how to make folders separating photos. This included me spending several minutes at a time labeling full photos, and generally doing a full time data entry job for several hours a day, at 15, with no real pay other than her feeding me.

Basically, I was kind of getting shafted, because every time I would bring up going and wanting to see my grandfather for a couple of hours, she would sing-song "That's not really what we invited you over here for, is it?" But she would begrudgingly take me over for an hour or two in the afternoon, even though I hadn't gotten to really visit with him in over a year.

Now let me preface this by saying I'm from the deep South. My entire family is very religious apart from myself, but due to personal reasons, I lost faith in religion when I was relatively young. While I wasn't open about this, I only mentioned it as a personal preference for not going to Church, so I told them I would not be attending with them on Sunday as I didn't bring anything to wear with me, and would much rather get the sleep in for the several hour drive home on Monday to prepare to go back to school (we were on Winter Break at the time, so I had spent my entire last week of Winter Break helping this woman.)

She starts pressuring me about it on Thursday and Friday, but Saturday she really starts to lay it on thick. Finally, with that kind of 'I'm getting tired of this but I can't be mean because this is family' sort of laugh, I tell her I haven't been to church in over four years and I didn't plan on starting it up any time soon.

In the most offended voice, GA gets really quiet and touches my arm. "You know, your grandmother (who had died four years prior) would be so disappointed in you. How will you ever get to see her or your sister in Heaven if you keep this up? Don't you ever want to see either of them again? If you keep this up, you're going to go to Hell."

Now, I never imagined she would bring up my grandmother, HER OWN SISTER, to guilt trip me, but she had gone a step lower and brought up MY sister, who also passed away a few years prior. It was immediately like a slap in the face, and since I never expected her to literally tell me that I, personally, was throwing away any chance I ever had of seeing two of the most important people in my life that I'd lost, I reflexively started crying on the spot. She started pulling out all of the guilt tripping "apology" cards of how she was only looking out for my best interest, and that she didn't mean to make me cry, and finally, I had had enough. I had enough of this terrible woman who constantly belittled her family members for not living up to her ideals and who had spent the last week treating me like a prisoner on visitation rights with my grandfather.

And so, I waited while they were at church, got on her brand new shiny computer, and went to every single virus-infested web page I could, made sure to download at least 3 trojans on her computer, and cleared the history like it had never happened.

I didn't touch the computer when she wasn't watching while they were there, and by the time they made it back from church, I was fast asleep in their guest bed like nothing had ever happened. She had no way of knowing I was behind the reason their computer freaking out, and she blamed my uncle for going to news sites she didn't like for the viruses For the next several weeks she tried calling my mom to get a hold of me, suddenly very, VERY interested in 'whatever antivirus I had suggested to her when we were doing pictures,' but of course, I always told mom that I was far too wrapped up with doing school work. After I told mom what my aunt had said to me, she was more than willing to cover for me so I wouldn't have to talk to her anymore.

Eventually I overheard that she turned to her equally computer illiterate son, who wound up paying a 'professional' $200 to reformat the computer entirely. Shame, if I would have known they had $200 to pay to someone to do a virus wipe, I would have offered to do it. Unfortunately the 'professional' also told her that all of the photos we spent that week scanning and documenting were irreversibly lost, so she had to do it all over again without me there to hold her hand.

TLDR; Aunt used visits with my grandfather to bribe me into helping her work on her computer, made a huge stink about taking me to see my grandfather, then told me to my face that I was never going to see my dead grandmother or sister again because I was going to hell for not going to church. I proceed to infect her computer with more viruses than a $2 hooker and let her deal with the aftermath.

(source) story by (/u/xinayru)

[silent-silver-slip]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the ask box of the last 10 people who reblogged something from you. Spread some happiness in the world :P 💕💕

I wrote a long answer to this and it all deleted. I am devastated, just quietly. I had written so much for it and I was so proud of it. So, I'm going to take a moment and then try to come back to it. It won't be as good. Won't be the same. But, well. It'll be something. Attempt 2 of this is a go! If this deletes, I may end up crying. Or just writing it all up tomorrow. The good news of this is that I already know what I'm about to write.

(More under the line since this got quite long in the end!)

Five things that make me happy in no particular order:

Music!! This is definitely a massive point for me. I’ll fully admit to having playlists that often serve as general mood boosters when I’m having a bad day or a bad week and so on. Maybe they don’t fix things, but I usually feel better for at least a moment. Like... Things just seem better. I can take a positive outlook for a little bit. Music’s just fantastic.

My friends!!! Both those I’m close to in real life and the amazing ones I’ve met online. Having people I can turn to and talk to about anything? Trusting them that they won’t hurt me. They definitely make me happy. Spending time with them and remembering hanging out with them. Here are a few select memories that I often find myself turning to when I’m struggling (and really showcase how happy they make me):

One of my friends was going away for a year at least and we knew it was going to be months before we saw her again (so far, it’s turned out to be even longer but thankfully we all message either and we video call and, honestly, we’ve kept in better touch than I’ve managed with some of my other friends). We planned to see her about four days before she left I think. She was spending the final day with her mum and brother. And then it’s 9.30pm at night right and she messages us like “hey, it’s a bit late, but who’s up to meet up?” And I’m in my pyjamas and a hoody and they’re also ready for bed. And we’re hanging out at one friend’s house playing Rummikub. We have no time and this could be the last time we see each other for months. But we’re smiling and laughing and grinning and god, I love them so much y’know? They’re amazing people and last minute plans are fantastic. But more than that, friends are amazing. 

Another story that I love (with the same group of friends funnily enough) is one that occurred prior. We’d just seen a movie at the cinemas - I’m not sure what movie, it doesn’t seem important anymore - and we were having lunch. And I don’t remember how we got onto the topic or what we were really talking about, but it had something to do with romance? And romantic partners. I think. Anyway, one of them turns to me - and I don’t think I’d had much to say for the topic - and was like, “You don’t feel that way right?” And. It still chokes me up, even now. They don’t know the words aromantic or asexual, and yet they knew. And they accepted me straight away. I just agreed and- and it was easy. I hadn’t come out to them and it was so simply and they didn’t care. They just continued on because they knew me. And that’s amazing. And I will always be grateful to them for that. 

One of my friendships always makes me have a good laugh when I think about it, so I’d definitely say it makes me happy. This friend from high school and me, we’re not really close. I don’t meet up with her regularly or have conversation often. But our friendship is something I greatly appreciate. It’s pretty much entirely made up of me sending her things on Instagram about bees (can’t remember why anymore, I just know that I do) and quite a few things about French as a language (usually making fun of it for something or another - or French puns). And it’s not just one-sided and it’s so easy and it’s just lovely. Like. It’s something special to be able to have that friendship.

Alright! That’s two things down, so let’s move onto the third - nature, I think. Days when the sun is shining and its warm? Those often make me so happy!! Like it’s just so beautiful and the weather makes me feel good, if that makes sense. And the sky!!!!! The sky can look so amazing whether it’s sunset or sunrise or just during the day normally! The stars are so pretty and the moon can be so bright and it’s all so amazing!!! (I’ve put some pictures just below that attempt to portray how cool everything is.) And flowers can be so beautiful and so can the sea and lakes! And just- The world around us is so amazing and sometimes it’s so simple and it all just makes me so happy. 

The fourth thing is writing. Not my writing, but other people’s writing. I have fics tagged on AO3 for a bad day. They’re things that are usually short and I can turn to for when I just want comfort, for happy things and soft things and cute things. I’m so grateful to all the content creators who make these things. I can’t quite explain why it makes me feel the way I do, but I adore it. It makes me feel better about things. Like maybe there’s hope? I’m not sure. 

So a lot of the things I’ve spoken about thus far have been like massive topics, not simple easy things. The last one is probably the biggest group but it’s also one of the best things that make me happy. Or maybe it just inspires hope within me. Or maybe it’s both. It’s probably both. And that’s humanity - specifically, it’s people. I love people so much. I love the man who played the guitar on my bus one time, I love that people clapped when he got off. I love how bus drivers wave at one another when they drive past each other! I don’t know why they do it and I can’t quite say why I love it, but I do. And I love when one of the buses drops me off at a no-longer-active bus stop! They don’t have to do that at all, but they did, and it made my life easier and I was so grateful for that. I love how I walked past a physio on Halloween last year and they had a skeleton out the front with a tinsel scarf. They didn’t have to do that, but they did!! I love the guy at the park who’s dog laid down, so they sat down next to it and just petted it. I love the fact someone posted a picture of a spider seen in the overstock section in the work group chat and named it Jerry. I love the fact that someone posted a message saying ‘Jerry spotted buying swimwear’  as well! I love people singing in groups whether they know each other well or not or if they’re total strangers! I love people reaching out randomly and saying, hey, are you okay. I love strangers saying, if you need to talk I’m here. I love the fact we can lean on each other. I love the fact we can tell so many stories of little things that have helped so much. And I love the stories of big things to. I love seeing people doing dumb things and falling in love with that. People being people are amazing. I love that people can be kind, even when the world seems to try and beat it out of us. I love that it reminds me that people can be good. There’s a reason I have stories saved about people doing nice things and people saving lives. It’s the small things and the big things. It’s just people being people. It’s humanity. And it makes me so happy that I can’t even convey it all. 

I’ve spoken about the five things and whilst it’s nowhere near as good as it was originally, it’ll do. Since there doesn’t seem to be a limit on what I can write, I’m going to add a few other things (and memories) that make me happy and I thought of as I was doing this:

My pets! And animals in general! Funny animal videos! Cool animal videos!!! 

How many things people can create and come up with! Art! Writing! Poems! The list goes on. Content creators are amazing and they can weave magic into the air. People can so easily see magic and find it and I love that. We don’t have to see it the way we do, but we choose to. I love that fact.

In my final year of high school, we did this thing. We each had a piece of paper taped to our backs and we each had a pen. All of us went around and did our best to write something on everyone’s piece of paper. We didn’t stick to friends only or people we knew well. We wrong something on anyone who came near us. We wrong in corners, on the back, scribbled slanted messages and wrote in capitals and drew smiley faces. I remember someone missing that session and everyone working together to write messages out on a piece of paper the morning before they came in. But more than that. More importantly, I remember seeing those pieces of paper hanging up in lockers. I remember seeing them hung up like a reminder. A reminder that we were good, that we were kind, that people liked us, that we mattered. I know I still have mine, carefully placed in a folder. I look at it sometimes, when things aren’t great. There are so many messages there. From people I was friends with and from people I wasn’t friends with. People I’d spoken with at length and people I’d only had a few conversations with. I love that we used our words on kindness so easily. I love the fact that so many of us depended on those pieces of paper. I love how it makes me happy, even now, a few years later. 

You know what else made me happy? This ask. I initially started writing it (the first time) feeling... not great. But I’m happy now. Things feel better. So thank you, anon, for sending this in and making my day better. This is definitely spreading happiness around and I’m gladly going to pass on the message to anyone who’s willing to receive it. 

[loquaciousquark]

Hey, all, I’m probably not going to be around much for a few months aside from queues & TM posts.

Work stress has taken over my life in a way it never has before. A very long story short, my closest coworker (both friend-wise and workload-wise) took another job that began at the end of April. While she knew from November she was going to take this job, she did not inform administration until the very final contractual required moment of 30 days out. This means there has been no chance for admin to be looking for long-term qualified candidates to replace her position, since to get hired on at the school even on a temporary faculty basis takes about six-eight weeks.

(She told me about this job in November, but made me promise at the time not to tell anyone because she was going to tell them soon. Then, as schedules were being planned out for this summer and her time was being allotted under the assumption she would be there, she deliberately said nothing and made me answer the emails so she wouldn’t be “lying.” I have known this hell has been coming for me for five months and haven’t been able to do anything about it because I gave her my word.)

In addition, while not her fault, three other administrative support employees and two other faculty members have left/will be leaving in less than a month as well. One employee’s family member died unexpectedly, one employee was grossly incompetent (although I can’t remember the last time we actually fired someone for that), and the other faculty members are leaving for really good jobs elsewhere. Just very unfortunate timing that means we are all spread excruciatingly thin for now.

This all comes at a time where I am actively beginning that Service Director position for the primary care clinic on top of everything else. This position, while I think a great fit for me, what else I teach in the school, and how I plan/organize/relate to the students, has come at a terrible time because it in and of itself is a massive amount of work, especially getting it off the ground. If I’m going to implement all these new policies and changes I’ve been dreaming of for years, I need to do it at the beginning of my tenure--to try and keep everything going the way it has been and change later once everything calms down would be infinitely more work at that time & have a bunch more pushback from both the students and the faculty I now lead as part of this clinic, many of which have decades of seniority on me.

I’m doing the work of two-and-a-half full-time faculty right now. I do still really love this job, but right now I can’t handle it.

I’m grinding my teeth at night and clenching my jaw during the day. My dentist suddenly wants me to get a bite plate when before a few months ago, I’d never ground my teeth in my life. I’m getting excruciating stress/tension headaches almost every other day from how tight every muscle of my face and neck is. I’ve gained over ten pounds in the last two months from eating like crap because anything that requires more than two steps of prep is mentally, physically, and emotionally impossible, which has the added effect of making me want to cry every time I look in a mirror and see my stomach so far away from my mental “normal,” because I was already seven pounds or so more than I wanted to be. I’m only getting three or four hours of sleep a night despite melatonin because my mind is just reciting checklist after checklist of things I need to do to keep all my sudden responsibilities on track.

I saw my psychiatrist today (which in and of itself was overwhelming--I thought until I was leaving for the appointment that today was my annual physical, and it wasn’t until I was checking the auto-filled address that I realized it was in the wrong building for that. Turns out I’d independently scheduled both the psych follow-up & the physical within a few days of each other, and I’d missed the text appointment reminders for the physical because the psych ones were more recent. I have never straight up no-showed an appointment in my life before this.)

I only had about thirty minutes with her, but part of the problem is that I haven’t taken my meds regularly in over a month because even such a little thing was too difficult. I’m going to try to start back on that, but...

I told her it doesn’t feel like I’m trying to keep plates spinning in the air. It feels like I have them all under control at the moment, they’re just excruciatingly heavy. The only way I’ve been handling this sudden pressure of doing basically two and a half jobs with no margin for error in any of them is being ruthlessly, relentlessly organized. Which is fine, except that I can feel how that changes my personality when I have to go so hard and regimented, and I hate how it feels to have both no margin and no grace.

I had a student the other day email me about a flight she booked for a Memorial Day vacation at 6pm on a Friday, not thinking about how clinic does not always end on the dot at 5pm. We (both students and faculty) are required to stay until the patient’s exam is complete. Sometimes that’s at five. Sometimes that’s at 6:30. On rare occasions I’ve stayed until 9pm in clinical care because that’s what was needed at the time for that patient.

She wanted to get out of clinic with an excused absence. We require three weeks’ minimum notice because when a student leaves without coverage, we have to reschedule all the patients they were meant to see. Her schedule was fully booked, and I had to say no, because right now I have nothing left to try to find an alternative for her. I hate saying no to students, especially when it’s something I truly could help them solve with some investment on my part, but right now--I’m sorry, but I can’t. Why on earth did you schedule a flight for 6pm on a day you have clinic until 5, especially when the airport is a 20-minute drive from the school even without traffic? I can’t fix this for you, not right now. You have to show up to clinic or find your own coverage. I don’t care how you do it, but someone has to be there, and I don’t have anything left in me to help you figure out how to do it.

My mom listens to a guy who sometimes talks about how you have to have a margin in your life to manage your stress. A margin in your work helps you enjoy your leisure time; if you don’t have that margin, even scheduled play feels stressful because you have work playing through your head the whole time.

I’m out of margin. I’m ten feet over the line in every direction I’m so out of margin, and I am constantly being asked by students and other faculty, “How are you doing now that the person who you shared 90% of your work life with is gone? Who’s going to help take over [year-long highly-intensive Methods course] now that Dr. So-and-So is gone? Who’s going to help you teach it since we all know what a gigantic course it is and how it’s always required two people to run full-time, and now you’re down to one who’s also taken on a bunch of other responsibilities at the exact same time?”

and they’re laughing when they say it. and i’m laughing when i tell them the truth, which is “no one.” and we all laugh together and inside my head i am ripping apart under the pressure.

Even if they hire someone by August, it’s not going to mean any relief until September due to onboarding, and even then it won’t be what I really need. This woman I worked with and I had both taught this course together for years, and before that we’d both taken it as students. We knew how it ran inside and out. We knew what the responsibilities were. We had the workload divided evenly and didn’t have to consult over every decision that was made--it just got done. Even if they do hire someone at lightning speed, I still have to train them. I have to show them where the group drive is on the faculty intranet. I have to teach them how it’s organized. I have to show them how to upload quizzes and how to grade them and how to edit the Excel practical documents and the timeframe we expect the grades back and why our grading standards are the way they are and what to say to guest graders and guest lab instructors and show them where the file folders are kept and where the .docx’s are kept and the way things are sorted and how the tests are written and how to extensively edit a PDF file and give them the contact information for faculty IT support (which still ends up being me half the time) and the manual printer and the woman who orders office supplies and the woman who orders clinical equipment and the man who orders building maintenance supplies and when you go to one and not the other and how electronic testing works and how to grade it and how to upload a document with all the specific little requirements the program wants to make sure it imports correctly and how to deal with the errors this program will inevitably throw back because it’s niche software for a niche school and that means it’ll never be user friendly.

It took me almost two years to really feel comfortable being co-coursemaster for this course because it is so unbelievably massive. Even if they hire someone by August, I still won’t have a full-time coursemaster pulling their weight until 2021.

The other metaphor I used with my psychiatrist is that I’m holding on to a cliff’s edge with my fingertips. Right now, I’ve got a pretty decent grip, but that doesn’t change the fact that if you put another pound on my back it might pull me right off the rock.

I don’t see practical relief coming any time soon. “What can we do to help? We want you to know you are very supported right now. You let us know what you need.” What can you do? Hire someone tomorrow who already knows how our computer system works, who can troubleshoot their own IT, who can look at a list of tasks that need to happen to get this Methods course fully ready every single semester of every single year and do them without any handholding from me. Hire someone with as much attention to detail as I’ve had to have because it’s the right way to do the damn job. Hire someone I won’t have to clean up after because to them “the cart in the closet” is the same thing as “the specific place on the labeled closet shelf where the equipment belongs.”

I’m clenching my teeth so hard they’re hurting, so I guess I have to stop. If you see me in-game somewhere, believe me, it’s not because I’ve caught up. It’s because I haven’t and I can’t bear thinking about how much I still have to do.

[purplesurveys]

641

Benddd...and snap! So have you had any bread today? Yeah, I had two slices of bread to go with my pancit canton. If so, was it good bread? If you haven't had bread, are you gonna eat some? It was okay. It’s the brand we usually buy so I don’t really have any complaints. Who sits in front of you in Math class? I haven’t had a math class since 2016, but I’m pretty sure I sat behind Audrey, back when my blockmates and I were classmates in all of our classes. Tell me about the last time you spit (spat?). Why did you do it? I forgot what food it was, but I spat it back out because it was still hot. Who do you think makes the best surveys? I don’t really rank the people I get my surveys from but I do have an entire bookmark folder filled with links to surveys I eventually plan on taking, haha. It’s really useful especially when it seems like some surveys are getting recycled.

How many cars can fit in your garage? Technically there’s only one slot for the actual garage, but we’ve made use of our driveway and some of our yard so we’ve been able to fit all three of our cars in the area, and yet still have room for one more should we ever get another car. Do you know anyone who plays the harmonica? Hmm I don’t think so. How high do you have to be to 'touch' the sky? I’m not really in the mood to come up with a witty resonse to this right now lol. Are you currently facing a wall or a window? I’m facing a mirror, which was put up against a wall. What was the last flavor of Doritos you ate? Cool ranch, which I quickly realized I did not like. Have you ever been hypnotized? No, and I’d like to see someone try. How long do you tend to hold grudges? For life. Do you say 'panties' or 'underwear'? I say underwear. Do you know who Groucho Marx was? Yes. What is the least Japanese animal you can think of? (ex: roadrunner) ...I didn’t know animals could have nationalities... Do you always sit at the same table at lunch or do you switch it up? We never actually went down to the cafeteria to eat because the groups that were in there were either the super popular but annoyingly loud cool kids, or the basic local kids lolol. Since our school allows us to stay in our classroom to eat, that’s where we spent recess and lunch. My favorite question: Do you like Aerosmith? I respect them as a band but I wouldn’t call myself a fan. Have you ever gotten to the center of a Tootsie Pop without biting? I’ve never even had a Tootsie Roll. What do you think of slang? I think some of it is useful. Some I don’t get and are signs that I’m getting old. Which accents can you imitate pretty well? I’ve watched almost all the Beyoncé interviews that exist so I can imitate her well lol. But accents are generally not my thing. Have you ever hit an animal with your car? (I hope not) Unintentionally. I was driving in Tagaytay when a crazed dog was running around the highway. Unfortunately it was my car driving up ahead when the dog decided to run straight into the middle of the road. Thankfully my reflexes are A++ so I was able to hit the brakes and not run him over, but he was going a little crazy so he still ended up running into the side of my car. I heard a little whine, which killed me, but I couldn’t stop because we were in a hurry to get somewhere. I’m just glad I didn’t seriously hurt them, or that they didn’t break any bones. Do you remember what you wore yesterday? I had on a green floral sleeveless top, a denim jacket to cover up, and culottes. Do you believe there is such thing as unrequited love or is it just longing? Both exist. What is your favorite sport to watch on TV? Pro wrestling. Would you consider your voice high, low, or in the middle? It’s a little on the high side. Have you ever been on a gondola lift? No. Do you know anyone who's been on TV? If so, which show? Haha that rhymes Most recently it’s been my girlfriend’s dad, who was interviewed about his new restaurant on a local lifestyle show. My college batchmate Yani was also regularly on TV last semester because she was courtside reporter for all UAAP events. Nacho’s dad is a government official, so I’d occasionally see him on the news. Do you make a lot of typos or are you pretty good with the keyboard? I’m decent at the keyboard. What is your favorite color gumball? They all taste the same but whenever I use a gumball machine I’m always hoping I get a pink one haha. When you see a pinecone, do you kick it, step on it, or leave it alone? I don’t think I’ve ever even seen one of those. Are you ever tempted to step on the crunchy leaves? Yes. I did this a lot in my old school. Did you ever have any unreasonable teachers? Still do. Any songs that make you laugh out loud when you hear them? I answered the same question on a past survey and I’m giving the same answer – Gives You Hell by the All-American Rejects. Have you ever had pie smashed in your face? No, but that’s a prank that I hate so I would absolutely go after anyone who tries this with me. Do you have any lockets with pictures inside? Nope. That’s a gift I’ve given my girlfriend though. Have you ever been used as a 'rebound'? How did it go? Again, opposite situation – I haven’t been the rebound but I *almost* used someone as mine. I’m glad I didn’t go through with it because I would have hated myself after. What is your favorite joint to crack? Knuckles. When it comes to rappers, do you have any favorites? Not really. I’m biased towards Jay-Z as a person in general, not just as a rapper, because duh Beyoncé. Do you have any favorite rockstars? If everyone in Paramore counts as rockstars, then I’d go with them. Is music a big part of your life in any way? I wouldn’t say it’s a big part. I’ve definitely had other more important influences, but I love music nonetheless. Have you ever fallen for someone purely based on looks? Nope. Which sport are you better at: basketball or tennis? I’d say tennis, but only because I’ve reflected on how I played basketball in high school aka terribly, and because I’m pretty good at tennis in Wii Sports hahaha. Would you rather babysit someone weekly or tutor them weekly? Babysit! I like taking care of kids.

[soundrooms]

Soundrs: DJ CYBERDAD

My name is John Verchot, I’ve released music under several names: J-chot as well as DJ CYBERDAD. Locally, I’m usually just billed as DJ Verchot. I feel like the first thing I should tell you about myself is that I have severe ADHD, which seems to be the single most consistent force guiding my art and existence. I often get distracted and always get ahead of myself when I try to explain things. DJ CYBERDAD started out as a funny pseudonym to release more profane songs that I didn’t want my son to hear, but changed into an outlet for my smoother dance jams as well as more introspective music. 

What are your inspiration sources?

It varies from project to project. Often times with tracks, the inspiration to work on them comes in two or three different phases. Inspiration to create sounds is one thing, as inspiration to finish and structure tracks, create moods/themes, or even package them into a finished project, all feel like different driving forces/processes that need to happen in order for me to get anything done. However, whichever one of those forces I am able to utilize when I sit down at my laptop often seems to be beyond my control.

Most times I’ll hear a sound, loop or phrase, I’ll start to wonder what I can do with it, or how I can change and manipulate it. It might be the timbre of an old instructional video’s narrator, or an odd metallic sound I’ve managed to coax out of some equipment. Occasionally I’ll think of a concept, either of overall sound or thematic content and before I know it, I’ve got half a track planned out in my head. Many times I’ll hear other tracks or songs, and want to use just one part/concept/sound or re-do the whole track differently. With “Emotional in Destin”, I was trying to convey moods or feelings I felt during an unexpected trip to Florida in the middle of a crushing depression. It sounds bizarre, but I've never channeled personal experiences into my music before.

Overall what inspires me to create different sounds is the novelty of technology and bits and other people’s music.

What makes me want to sit down and make music is personal or professional success.

What inspires me to finish tracks and projects is the distant white noise of overwhelming anxiety and dread setting in as the ennui of the imminent collapse of western society fades giving way to the dark, almost imperceivable thrumming of the void drawing nearer, and is definitely getting louder. Your “time” is almost up John. Did you even do anything, or are you too skiddish and feeble of heart and head to make any clear decisions, impulsively flitting from one animal urge to another bad habit, clogging the chemical receptors of your brain for simple stupid pleasure. It’s night now and your eyes and fingers grow weary…

What was the question again? 

Tell us something about your workflow.

Most times, it starts with just noodling around. Sometimes, it’s with synths and sequencers, either recording sounds or looping notes and tweaking/loading patches (virtual or real synths), sometimes I’m browsing potential sample material, but what happens next is the same regardless of how I’m making sounds or what I’m doing:

…I think hear something.

…And I STOP noodling. Basically, I either hear something I like, or I hit a riff or whatever and it’s like a tiny, tiny light bulb that blinks barely. Occasionally it’s like a hundred watt, and other ideas quickly fall into place. Most times, it’s a process of trial and error, but I’m making sure to document or isolate the little pieces that click and then attempt to refine or improve on those ideas. Ideas can quickly diverge, multiple sets with different names get saved, and I often jump around and get lost. I use color coding on clips and pieces in Ableton to help me sort those ideas. Some ideas form by running one sequence I’ve had already through a whole different synth/patch.

Very rarely, I’ll get a concrete idea while I’m driving, maybe I’ll make some notes on my phone (text to speech notes, voice recording).

When I get a spark that makes me imagine a full concept (“Charles Nelson Riley”, or that “My P**sy tastes like Pepsi Cola” remix for example), the track is formed VERY quickly (four to eight hours working time) and I finish the mix, structure, everything. This is rare, but these tracks are almost always my better material.

The next step is always the same: Let the track “cool-off”. Leave it alone. Do something else for a few days, or weeks… or in some cases, years… Then I’ll fuck around with it even more, or move on to:

STRUCTURE & MIXING: 

I look for/experiment with arrangements that compliment my DJ style, or allow someone to do a rough edit if they want, (breakdowns at the end), or I’ll load a track that I like to DJ that’s similar enough and I will STRAIGHT UP copy the song structure in terms of intro, (drums or keys?) repeating bits, breakdowns, outros… Most times I fuck with it until it sounds okay, which is kinda bad because I end up drastically overscrutinizing it.

When it comes to mixing, something that I should do more often but don’t is load a reference track (someone else’s track) and try to get my mix to sound like theirs… This technique REALLY helps stop “nasty surprises” when you listen to it on a big system, or in the car.

Most of the time, I’ve been tweaking the mix the entire time I’ve been working on the project. 

TL;DR

The “Emotional in Destin” EP is almost entirely soft synths, but lately my flow is:

1. dick around on hardware

2. “oh that sounds good, let me make another sound to go with it” (see step 1)

3. record a few pieces to an Ableton project.

4. “I don't know what to do now.” …maybe mixing or structure…

…almost ALL THE TIME, however I jump around and do everything very non-linearly. Hardware helps me not spend so much time tweaking patches or EQ-ing a snare drum for an hour. Texture is SUPER important to me, so I’ll often get hung up on EQ and compression before I even start on structure or mixing. 

How would creative rituals benefit your workflow?

The hardest part for me is ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS getting started, or shifting gears from other activities (resting after work, reading tumblr, goofing off…) and going to sit down at my desk and start music stuff. I’m certain it’s an executive dysfunction thing. The less I think about doing it before I do it, the better.

Animal sacrifice SIGNIFICANTLY speeds things up. Try not to get blood on the gear/laptop, and make sure never to clean, but regularly sharpen the ceremonial dagger (VERY important). 

How do you get in the zone?

I don’t really try…

As soon as I start to approach a task as “a thing” I get nervous and anxious. If I go “okay, I’ve got this task to complete…” my subconscious hijacks my higher functions to make me look at memes or tumblr for three hours instead of do what I “should” or “want”… The problem with me in the past has been how do I get OUT of the zone? 

How do you start a track? 

Oh jeez, I really jumped the shark with that question earlier, didn’t I? A technique I’ll sometimes employ is load up an old track, keep the drum sounds/patches but delete all the data, and make an entirely different genre of track… or one that's very similar… That’s kind of a fun exercise if nothing else. Also it often winds up getting tweaked and adjusted to hell and back. 

Do you have a special template? 

Nope. I make TONS of drum, EQ, and effects presets though. And they all have terrible names like “gooddrums”, “$GOODrums” and such.

Even though I’ve started with carbon copies, they ALWAYS end up sounding completely different by the time I’m finished with the track, because I can’t leave em well enough alone. 

What do you put on the master channel? 

Sometimes EQ, but always a phat ass compressor (limiting). I’ve been thinking about investing in a nice non-free one lately, but for some reason I am not comfortable with purchasing software plugins… I also have learned recently, that I’ve been using compression on the individual tracks way too much… which makes final-mixing a pain in the ass. 

How do you arrange and finish a track? 

DAMN IT. I really did go too hard with the first couple questions. The “finishing” of a track for me (arrangement, mixing) is usually done much later than the rest of the process. I try not to force stuff, but lately I’m realizing more and more that I need to not do this as much.

I can’t stress enough how using a reference track for structure or mixing can very often break up stagnation on a project. 

How do you deal with unfinished projects?

Several ways. The first step is to judge an old file and see if it's worth finishing. If there is ANYTHING of creative/sonic merit, I put it in a folder with the other “sketches and ideas” (project graveyard). Otherwise, I have been trying to delete the “junk” projects… this can make it easier to focus. Another thing I often do is to make presets/patches/Ableton instruments from the parts I like, then drop it in a folder called “meh”. Or I drop them into several categorical folders, i.e.: “uncircumcised electro bangers”, “abrasive techno”. 

How do you store and organize your projects?

Aw jeez. Oh gosh-oh darn. (See above answer.) 

How do you take care of studio ergonomics? 

Trial and error, trial and error, trial and error. This year alone my studio has been restructured and moved about my downstairs room at least five times. I’ve finally settled on something that feels very useful and productive. I am also this way with my work station at my job. CHANGE IT UNTIL IT WORKS GREAT. This can also help with creative stagnation, or can trigger it, so be careful. I keep my “electronics laboratory” close at hand so that more of that tinkering can find it’s way into my music… no such luck, YET.

I’ve currently decorated my space with all the crap I’ve saved up over the years, that for some reason, I’ve looked at this and thought: “This makes me happy” …SUUURE, my studio now looks like a fourteen year old decorated it, but I gotta say, I feel pretty phenomenal. Soon I’m gonna try to put this “stars and space” wall paper on my ceiling… I’ll update with a photo when that’s done.

Also I would like to say:

Minimalist spaces and studios are bullshit, y’all look like sick baby birds in empty shoe-boxes.

I mean, NOBODY LIVES THAT WAY, right? Maybe some boring rich people do, but damn… I mean, I try to clean and stay organized… and it helps, but I also try not to get to hung up on it. 

Tell us something about your daily routine, how is your day structured, how do you make room for creativity?

**LOUD SUCKING SOUND THROUGH TEETH** I don't… at least, not very well at all… but I’m working on that.

I am not the person you should ask this question, because THIS RIGHT HERE is the BANE of my existence… 

Share a quick producing tip.

MAN, I’ve already dropped like… seven, but okay, here goes:

BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY, FINISH THE TRACK. For me, this means ghetto-rigging, DIY, using the same goddamn audio interface from 2002 for f****ng fifteen YEARS… (recently fixed) don’t get hung up on “proper” ways, or ways that are outside your current means. Also, get a set of decent monitors… or use several pairs of headphones/speakers to double check mixes.

Recently, I’ve had less time, but a little bit of money, which is the opposite of how I’ve ALWAYS operated… it’s been difficult to unlearn “time consuming but cheap”. Also difficult not to impulse buy synths. 

Making music with just a mouse and keyboard may be the least sexy thing ever… it works tho… cheap MIDI controllers CAN work faster however. 

Share a link to an interesting website (doesn’t have to be music related).

My son just showed me this ➜ https://dddance.party/ and I have to say, this is an outstanding achievement of mankind. 

List ten sounds you are hearing right this moment : ) 

Traffic outside my window, gentle hum of laptop cooling fan, dog snoring, fingers typing, birds chirping… that’s it.

John has a lo-fi house EP out on UltraBold Records as DJ CYBERDAD. It’s called ‘Emotional in Destin’. Stream it ➜ here, audio cassettes are available ➜ here.

Thanks John! If you want to get featured next, send a message here on tumblr or email soundrooms@icloud.com.

[c-j-writes]

Fictober 2019

Prompt #12 “What if I can’t see it?”

[Untitled Gay Mess]

Rating: T

Warnings/Tags: Will involve drug abuse in some chapters

Chapter Twelve

The office was colder than I expected. It had been blisteringly hot outside today, so I thought it would be fine if I wore a tank top and shorts to my checkup. But no, this place had to be at most fifty degrees. I was sitting on my hands to keep them warm while I waited for the doctor to come talk to me. My father had work, so this checkup was thankfully solo. It was a good thing because, with the way my head was still spinning from earlier today, I didn’t think I’d be able to keep up a nonchalant facade with him. 

Everything was getting too confusing. I was supposed to be leaving my relationship with Mack in the past. It was over, the less I thought about it the better. We couldn’t just go around pulling stunts like we did today and expect not to get caught. We got so lucky that no one walked in. Besides, hiding wasn’t Mack’s style and I wasn’t about to risk my entire life by coming out. That could wait for college. Or after college. Or never. Whichever was farther away. 

Not to mention, I’m supposed to be Kloe’s friend. Kloe, the one who has a huge ass crush on the girl that I just made out with a few walls away from her. Also Kloe, the one who makes me forget how to speak when she looks at me. But how can I be that affected by her? Obviously she’s attractive, but it’s pretty apparent from lunch today that I’m not over Mack. So why is my heart doing this to me? And why now? I’ve gotten through three good years of this secret not being an issue, why is it becoming so hard to keep in now?

Then there was Sophie. It had been years since we’d gone this long without talking. Even over the summer, why kept up on social media and text messages. Now, it was radio silence. I didn’t want to be the one who gave in, but I had to admit, I missed having something to do after school. Somewhere to be when I was bored and lonely. Not that I’d tell her that, I was supposed to be the strong one anyway. I didn’t need anyone. She could take my status and all my so-called friends away and I’d still hold my head high. 

But who was I kidding? This hurt like hell. 

“Andrea Faultz?” 

I snapped my attention back to the present and looked up at the doctor. 

“Yeah, that’s me.” He smiled, walking in with a clipboard and a folder. He’d taken Xrays when I came in, I’d been waiting for them to develop I guess. I’m not sure how it works. He started pinning the Xrays up on the board and lit it up. “How’s it look?” I asked, squinting to try and make out where exactly the break was.

“It’s healing well, but we’ve still got a ways to go. The progress is remarkable though, you’re doing a great job taking care of it.” I grinned, swinging my legs from where they hung off of the checkup table. 

“So, do you think I could get this cast off and start practicing soon?” The doctor gave me a stern look.

“Don’t let this go to your head. As I said, you’ve still got a lot of healing to do. Don’t push your luck, kid.” He gestured to the scans and continued, “But you’re on track, so a little over a month from now, you should be able to get the cast off and start physical therapy.”

“Where exactly is the break?” I was staring at the scans, but all I could see was noticeable bones and dark areas that looked normal. 

“The fracture was right along here.” He ran his hand along a particular part of the bone, closer to my foot than my calf. 

“What if I don’t see it?” Maybe it was my eyesight or my lack of a medical degree, but it looked completely normal to me. 

“Well, I assure you, it is there. Now, let’s go over some information on your painkillers, I want to make sure you’re using them correctly.” I rolled my eyes because of course, he’d think the teenager was abusing the prescribed drugs. I mean, apparently, I was one of the only ones who didn’t regularly do illegal things like that. 

The checkup took longer than I thought it would. Two hours after I walked in, I was sitting at the bus stop having missed the bus I was going to take home. The next one would be another forty-five minutes. I was lounging on the bench, scrolling through social media, when my phone started buzzing in my hand. Soon enough, the Caller ID popped up. 

I shouldn’t answer it.

“Why are you calling me, Mack,” I answered it.

“I know you don’t want to talk about this or think about it, but it’s all I can think about and I can’t just keep pretending what happened between us was some dream.” I shouldn’t have answered it. 

“Mack, we’ve had this conversation.”

“Yeah, then you kissed me.” She had a point. “Look, can we have this conversation in person, can I meet you somewhere?” 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” It’s a terrible idea, given what happened the last time we were alone together. 

“Please, don’t you trust me, Andrea?” 

She pulled up to the bus stop ten minutes later. I got into the car and stared ahead. I ignored the smell of cedarwood and pine needles. I ignored her burning gaze. I ignored the gentle words that left her mouth. Okay, those I didn’t ignore, but I ignored the gentle part. 

“Thank you,” she started. It was quiet. Before she continued, she merged back into traffic and started driving. I had no idea where we were going, but I guess she did because next thing I know she’s pulling onto the ramp for the interstate. 

“Are you taking me somewhere to kill me and dump my body?” She laughed and I ignored the sweet sound of it. 

“I thought you said you trusted me.” Technically, I just gave her my location, but I guess in a way it was an admission of trust. 

“That’s not an answer to my question.” She sighed.

“I’m not going to kill you, Andrea.” 

“Andy.” I definitely did not glance over to catch her smile. “Then where are we going?”

“You’ll see when we get there.” I rolled my eyes, looking back out the windshield. We drove for a few more miles until she got off at an exit that was too familiar. I kept my mouth shut as she pulled off onto a dead-end road and parked the car in front of the entrance to the pier. 

“Mack,” I started, but she didn’t let me continue. 

“You said this world wasn’t real. Well, here it is, real as ever.” She wasn’t looking at me anymore, she was staring ahead at the sand and the water and the blue sky. 

“This can’t be my real world,” I whispered, not wanting to disturb her but knowing I had to say it. She closed her eyes and let her head fall a bit. I didn’t know what I was supposed to say. We’d had this same conversation about my world and how this part of my life couldn’t fit into it. There was nothing else to debate about it, nothing that hadn’t already been debated. 

“Why can’t I be real for you?” She asked, turning to look at me. “I know you’re scared about your reputation and everyone’s opinion. I know, I get it, that shit scares me every day. But I can’t let myself live by it. This is what’s real to me. How I feel about women is real to me. This summer was real to me. Staying up until the sun came out, just talking was real to me. Driving around aimlessly for miles just to be together was real to me. Waking up with you in my arms was real to me. Your eyes and everything they do to me is real to me. What those assholes back at school have to say about any of it? That’s what’s not real.” 

I didn’t know I was crying until the tears were dripping down my face. Mack reached over and brushed them away with her thumbs. Then she gave me the weakest smile and I fell apart.

“I’m not forcing you to come out,” she said. “That’s not what this is. It just hurts so much to look at you and see something amazing and have you look back like you don’t even know who I am.” When I met her eyes again, I didn’t ignore how they made me feel. I fell into it. The way my stomach swirled and how my heart beat faster by the second. I let it all consume me. 

And I kissed her. We were both tear-stained and emotionally wrecked, but for that moment we were together and it was okay. I kept telling myself it was only for now. It was just this moment and when we left, it would go back to normal. I’d still have my secret and we’d still be strangers in my real life. But the divide between this world and mine was getting smudged beyond repair. And let’s be honest, nothing was going to be the same.

[beringpark82-blog]

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[speedsterimagines]

LADYKILLR (PART 2)

A/N: I got really into this part, I don’t know why. Also the thought of Sonny having a tattoo? Ugh. Part three will be out sometime soon, not sure exactly when but I’ll update regularly.

Summary: Dating a detective certainly has it pros and cons, but when a disheveled criminal is looking to settle a score, he goes after what Detective Carisi loves the most… you.

Word Count: 1494

Warnings: Serial Killer, Murder Victims, Stab Wound, Blood, Violence

<< Part 1 >><<Part 3>><<Part 4>><<Continuous Version>>

Sonny had been sitting at his desk for what seemed like the past 72 hours which wasn’t too far from the actual time elapsed. His normally organized work space was scattered with evidence and photos along with old chinese take out and an ice cold cup of coffee. SVU had been knee deep in a serial killer case for almost a month now, but from the beginning it seemed as though they were fighting a losing battle.

Someone was loose in the streets of Manhattan brutally attacking and murdering women at random. None of the victims could be linked to each other in any way, not their jobs, neighborhoods, or friends. The only thing the women had in common was the way they were killed. Each victim was found in her own home, no sign of forced entry, as if they knew the killer or they were welcomed in with a single stab wound to abdomen.

A couple of weeks ago, they came across a lead that seemed promising. An elderly woman claimed that she saw a delivery man at her neighbor’s door the night of her murder. Even though she claimed he had a neck tattoo, her eye sight wasn’t what it used to be and there was no way of knowing what the tattoo was. There were thousands of delivery men with neck tattoos walking the streets of Manhattan, b t there were only a handful that had previous charges, including one man who was on parole. 

Hector Beckett, 37 years old, was out on parole after being charged with battery and attempted rape and had been working as a delivery man for the last few months. And as the sole eye witness describes, on the left side of his neck in old-fashioned tattoo font was the word, LADYKILLR. When Sonny came across his name and put all the pieces together, he got the approval from Olivia and made the arrest. During his interrogation he informed Hector that there was a witness that put him at the scene and his violent criminal past wasn’t going to help the situation. 

“You know, when I turned eighteen I told my ma I was gonna get a tattoo,”  Sonny smirked from across the metal table. “You would’ve thought I said I was gonna have a limb cut off by the way she reacted. In hindsight, I’m glad I didn’t get it, those things are forever y’know? I wanted the name of my favorite scripture, Proverbs 16:9, in his mind a man plans his course,” Sonny paused for a moment putting emphasis into his words. “But the Lord directs his steps.” 

Hector sat straight faced, not interested in the slightest by the detective’s small talk.

“Still would be a pretty good tattoo, come to think of it. But yours? Wow, LADYKILLR? It’s moving, truly touching. How did you choose that one?” 

“What can I say? The ladies love me,” he sat back in his chair making himself comfortable. 

“I’m sure you love them too,” Sonny spoke sarcastically as he opened up the folder on the table. “I bet you really loved them when you made your way into their homes and stabbed them to death.” 

“You got an old lady, detective?” He laughed watching Sonny’s muscles tense at the thought of such an malicious person even thinking about the woman he loved. “Who am I kidding, you’re not really my type, but I know a handsome man when I see one. Maybe I’ll give her a visit when I get out of here.” 

“Too bad you’re going to be here for a while,” Sonny stood up exiting the room before he lost control of his temper. 

Olivia knew Hector wasn’t going to admit to anything and when he requested a lawyer, they were informed there simply wasn’t enough solid evidence to keep him, and within half and hour Hector Beckett walked out a free man. 

Which put Sonny in his current situation now, sitting at his desk, looking over every last detail hoping something would stick out like a beacon that had previously gone unnoticed, hoping to find to anything that would incriminate Beckett. He was tired, he’d had a headache for the last three days, and truth be told, he just needed a break. And as if it was a sign from God, he’d received a text from his girlfriend saying she was stopping by the precinct for a visit. Sonny stared at the clock on the wall watching the hands move so slowly, for a moment he was convinced the battery must have been dead. Knowing that a watched pot never boils, he made his way to the break room and replaced his ice cold coffee with a fresh cup.

“What’s got you smilin’ Carisi?” Fin teased as he held out his mug for a refill. 

“My girl’s stopping by,” Sonny grinned, proud to show you off. “And she’s bringing cookies.”

“Oh word, those one’s from the Christmas party?” 

“Those would be the ones.” 

“It’s about time we got some good news around here,” Fin’s eyes lit up like a child in a candy store.

Sonny put the coffee pot back and returned to his desk, starting the paperwork he’d been avoiding, hoping that busy work would make the time go by faster and it did. By time he’d put his signature on the last sheet, he checked his phone for the time, noticing that you were almost twenty five minutes late. He unlocked his phone and clicked your name to call you but it went to voicemail. He wasn’t sure if it was his own impatience or genuine worry, but he began typing out a message and stared at his phone waiting for a reply. 

Are you on your way? Fin’s asked about the cookies twice already.

A few minutes passed, still no reply. Sonny was never the one to double text, he didn’t want to feel like he was bothering someone, but it had now been almost 40 minutes since your intended arrival.

You’re starting to make me nervous, do I need to come over?

When his phone finally vibrated, he practically knocked over his coffee cup reaching to grab it. His brows furrowed as he read the words displayed on his screen.

Sorry I’m L8, got 2 reschedule

He read your words a few more times and couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. If his instinct was wrong, he was worrying about nothing. But it only took seconds to make up his mind and he wasn’t willing to risk your safety in any circumstance. He hurried towards Olivia’s office making sure to knock a couple times before letting himself in. His red scarf was already draped around his neck and he held his tan coat in his hands. Sonny prided himself in knowing you completely, so when he had a gut feeling that something was wrong he wasn’t willing to waste any time. 

“Hey, Lieu, I need an hour.” 

“Right now? We’re in the middle of an investigation, Carisi.” She looked up at him through the black reading glasses that were rested on the end of her nose.  He was never the kind of person to leave work for a non-emergent reason which caught Olivia’s attention.

“I know, but it’s about- it’s a personal thing.” Sonny was flustered and it showed as he ran his fingers through his perfectly styled hair, not worried in the slightest if he messed it up. 

“Anything I can help with?” 

“I’m not sure, (Y/N) was supposed to stop by today, but she was running late so I texted her to see where she was.” 

“Well, Carisi, that’s not exactly out of the ordinary,” she crossed her arms across her chest. 

“I know, but this is.” He handed her his phone allowing her to read his text messages.

“She’s never used an abbreviation in her text messages in the entire time I’ve known her. I also tried calling her and it’s going straight to voicemail.” 

If it was one thing Olivia prided herself in, it was trusting her detectives completely. So she handed back the phone and nodded, Sonny’s signal that he was free to go. “Call if you need anything,” she said before he all but ran towards the exit. 

“Hey babe, it’s me again. You’re making me nervous please pick up the phone.” 

He hung up and shoved his phone in his pocket and made his way through the door, choosing to walk rather than drive. If somehow you were still on your way to the precinct, this is the route you would’ve chose and eventually he’d cross your path. With no luck, he’d made it to your building not seeing you once. The walk hallway towards your apartment felt longer than usual and instinctively he held a hand on his gun. He counted the golden numbers on the doors until he reached yours, noticing the door of 3G was slightly ajar. 

He removed his gun from the holster, using it to open your door and scanned your apartment. Flowers and milk scattered were across the floor, signalling that his suspicions were right, and he held his gun at attention. Alone in the middle of the apartment, you were duct taped to a kitchen chair. The sweat had caused your hair to stick to your face along with your grey t-shirt. Standing out, was a large crimson stain on your abdomen, which trailed downwards and formed a small puddle by your foot. You looked up when you heard the footsteps walking through the door, finding Sonny with his gun pointed towards you.

You furiously shook your head, trying to signal to him that it wasn’t safe for him to enter as the intruder in your apartment had positioned himself beside the door. Not heeding your warning, he took another step forward before Hector Beckett quietly walked behind him.

“SONNY, BEHIND YOU,” you screamed as you saw the man launch towards your boyfriend. “SONNY!”

<< Part 1 >><<Part 3>><<Part 4>> <<Continuous Version>>

Request // All Dominick ‘Sonny’ Carisi Jr. Content // Masterlist

Tag List - @miraxo-xo-supernatrual   @barisi-esq  @super-calithehamm  @nophunleague @bitch-queen-of-sass @just-call-me-bitch

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Starcraft For Mac Os X

Blizzard EntertainmentUpdateUpdate1.15.21/17/200825.8 MB

6,88019,040

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StarCraft: Brood War Update 1.15.2 • Starcraft for Mac OS X should be installed on a hard drive that is formatted as Mac OS Extended. To find out how your hard drive is formatted, select your hard drive in the Finder and choose 'Show Info' from the File menu • For the best color quality, it is recommended that you run Mac OS X's Display Calibrator Assistant. You can find it by choosing Displays in System Prefs. Select the Color tab and click the Calibrate button. Then follow the on-screen instructions to calibrate your display • Networking over IPX, Appletalk, Serial and Direct Modem-Modem is not available in Starcraft for Mac OS X • UDP Networking added. You can now play on your local TCP/IP based local network by choosing 'Local Area Network (UDP/IP)' in the Multiplayer options screen. An upcoming release of the Classic Mac and Windows versions will also support this feature, allowing LAN play between these three versions • If the computer goes to sleep while you're in the battle.net chat screen, you may get disconnected from Battle.net. If this happens simply disconnect and then reconnect to Battle.net • If music is turned off in the game, you may notice occasional pauses while the CD-ROM drive spins up. You may want to leave music turned on to avoid this • Please do not lock any of the files in the Starcraft folder. This will prevent you from being able to connect to Battle.net StarCraft and StarCraft: BroodWar no longer require the CD while playing the game. To play without the CD, please follow the following instructions: - If you own only StarCraft, copy 'StarCraft Archive' from the StarCraft CD to your StarCraft folder. - If you own StarCraft: Brood War, copy 'Brood War Archive' from the nStarCraft: Brood War CD to your StarCraft folder. Classic and Mac OS X • StarCraft: Broodwar • PowerPC • Mac OS X 10.1 or later StarCraft: Brood War Update

mike(3/16/2007 - version 1.11b)kBes(3/10/2006 - version 1.11b)xzx(2/6/2006 - version 1.11b)GioX(10/5/2005 - version 1.11b)okDracula(2/28/2005 - version 1.11b)fantastic game.. what is this.. like over 7 or so years old? and there's still thousands of people playing it every day??? amazing game.

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StarCraft 2 has been announced. Blizzard pretty much rocks. I got seriously addicted to World of WarCraft, kicked the habit in Feb. 06, fell off the wagon for the Burning Crusade expansion, and time just ran out on the subscription, officially I am off the juice again on 5/18/07. I can't trash my install yet though, I tried on Thursday, but I hold out hope that an ala carte pricing model is introduced that is reasonably priced for those times when I need a fix. I just can't play WoW regularly enough to justify paying a monthly fee.

Blizzard Entertainment has announced the release of Mac OS X-native versions of the game StarCraft and its add-on expansion pack, StarCraft: Brood War. Mac gamers who use Mac OS X 10.1 or later. StarCraft is a popular real time strategy game that was released in the late 90s and that does not have native support for Mac OS X. If you still have the original CD of this Blizzard game, use Starcraft Installer to install StarCraft in Mac OS X. Iskysoft data recovery registration code. StarCraft: Brood War Update 1.15.2 Starcraft for Mac OS X should be installed on a hard drive that is formatted as Mac OS Extended. To find out how your hard drive is formatted, select your hard drive in the Finder and choose 'Show Info' from the File menu. Download games and applications from Blizzard and partners.

Data transfer for mac. But, the software wins both. To be honest, enabling data transfer between devices of different OS totally beats other tools down. By the way, you don't have to be afraid that you cannot use the software after switching to iPhone or back to Android. Well compatible with Windows and Mac OS.Who knows whether you might switch to a Mac or go back to enjoy WindowsPC someday.

This was about StarCraft though, and I have a confession to make there. I never did finish that game. I finished I think the Terran part of the original game. I didn't get the game when it first came out, I bought the Battle Chest after playing through the original WarCraft III. With this real-time strategy games I always get stuck on a mission and lose interest. Same thing happened to me with WarCraft III: The Frozen Throne. Doesn't mean though I won't get StarCraft II the day it comes out, I do have a lot of fun with these games, even if I can't finish them. The truly amazing thing though is that StarCraft has been updated to work on Mac OS X. This was a Mac Classic application, here are the original Mac OS requirements from the Read Me:

This is a processor architecture and major operating system revision away. This is all you have to do to get it installed on OS X:

Starcraft For Mac Download

Starcraft Free Download Mac

Download the OS X native installer.

Run it, which worked fine for me from the disk image.

If you have the original game and Brood War expansion set, pick to install Brood War. It will automatically install StarCraft once it needs those files. If you install StarCraft first though, and then pick Brood War, you can't upgrade, this Installer will ask you to put the whole game in a new location.

Install the latest patch, at the time of this writing it is 1.15. You have to follow the instructions at that link, since its a copy the files yourself install.

Run the game, the opening Blizzard logo animation will stutter for a few seconds, I imagine as Rosetta translates the PowerPC instructions to Intel, but this clears itself up very quickly and then it's smooth as silk.

Starcraft For Mac Os X

Download Starcraft For Mac Os X

According to the release notes for StarCraft on OS X, a bunch of files were updated to use Carbon, the Mac OS Classic API that is available on OS X, which Mac OS Classic developers could adjust their applications to use to quickly have a working OS X application. The games system requirements are so low and runs so well in OS X (in my limited testing) using Rosetta, I don't imagine Blizzard would ever update it to be a Universal Binary.

[feynites]

*sneaks some Haninan fic for @scurvgirl‘s new Miss Honey AU onto the pile and flees*

Haninan is thinking about Kassaran’s recent venting on the subject of bad fathers, when one of his students - Venavismi - accidentally spills a carton of pencil crayons across the classroom floor during the middle of art time.

 Haninan heads over, of course, as Vena drops to the floor and starts picking up scattered pencils.

 “I’m sorry!” the boy says. “I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry!”

 Something about the way Vena apologizes always makes Haninan worry. Most of the time, Venavismi is the sort of child who would prefer to joke and lighten the mood. But every once in a while, when he gets tired, he starts apologizing, and there’s always a frantic edge to it that makes it clear he expects some kind of disproportionate retribution to rain down on him. An edge that lends itself very readily to tears, which only seem to provoke more apologies.

 Vena’s parents are the wealthiest that Haninan regularly deals with, apart from his own wife, of course. Ireth doesn’t know much about them, herself, except that they run in different circles. The last conference, Haninan talked to them about Vena’s extra curricular activities, because he’s been worried for a while now that the poor child has too many. He has the same piano teacher as June, and he’s in gymnastics, and one of the elven language classes, and beginner’s fencing. Haninan’s pretty sure he’s in more, too, given some things he’s overheard, but Vena’s parents are very… adamant that he’s only ‘meeting his potential’ and not being over-extended.

 Bad parents come in all shapes and sizes, Haninan has learned. Violence and neglect are by no means easy to deal with, but at least they have answers - even when those answers are difficult to actual reach. There’s very little anyone can do about parents who veer too strongly in the opposite direction, though.

 “It’s alright, Vena,” he assures the boy, reaching down to ruffle his hair and, when that gets a little sigh of relief, plucking him up to put him back in his seat. “This isn’t too big of a mess, really. I’ll take care of it while you get back to your drawing.”

 He glances at the paper and sees that Vena was in the middle of filling in a blue sky, and picks up the blue pencil crayon, first, to give to him. Vena clutches it with a look of concern on his face for a moment, before he calms down enough to manage a smile.

 “Okay,” he agrees. “Sorry, Mister Haninan!”

 “Apology accepted. It was an accident, after all,” Haninan assures him, before easily scooping up the rest of the pencil crayons. Fitting them back into their box is only slightly more challenging, but he manages it. He’s had a lot of practice; June enjoys drawing, but cleaning up after himself is an entirely different matter.

 Class manages to get all the way to the end of the drawing period without anything more dramatic than Vena’s spilled pencil crayons, which Haninan counts as an overall win. There’s a bit of a struggle during Quiet Reading Time, when Ash gets impatient with her book and starts whispering with her seatmate, but Haninan is expecting it and comes over to help her go through a few passages and get her to settle down again. To her credit, Ash doesn’t try and get out of her seat this time, or ask to go to the bathroom again.

 When the day ends, Haninan gives his students their preferred high-fives or hugs, as the parents come to get them. Vena gives him his drawing from art time as a present, which Haninan enthuses over before he puts it in the special folder in his desk. Ash and June hang out with him and help clean up the classroom - when they’re aren’t busy chasing one another around the desks - until Kassaran arrives, with her usual bevy of thanks and apologies. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times Haninan has assured her it’s no trouble. His post-class wrap-up always takes longer than hers, if only because he has June for it, too.

 When Ash and her mother are gone, though, it’s time for Haninan and June to head home as well.

 “Papae?” June asks him, halfway back to the house.

 “Hm?” Haninan replies.

 “Are fathers different from papaes?”

 Haninan blinks, and wonders if he’s been neglecting his son’s word comprehension lately.

 “No,” he says. “Father and papae are different words for the same thing. What makes you ask?”

 He glances at his son in the rearview mirror. June shifts in his safety seat, and shrugs.

 “It just seems different,” he says. “Ash says her father wasn’t like you, but she didn’t want to talk about it. And I overheard her mama saying something about bad fathers. And Vena calls his papae ‘father’ and I remember he said his father doesn’t play puzzles with him, so I was just wondering if there was a difference.”

 Haninan sighs.

 “Not really,” he admits. “Their fathers are just different people from me, June-bug. So they treat their children differently, too.”

 June nods, and seems satisfied with that explanation. Haninan supposes the discussion is done with, and when they pull into the driveway it’s right after Ireth seems to have just done the same. So June hurries out of the car and goes racing off to her, giggling as she beams at him and scoops him up, and spins him around.

 “Did you have a good day, sweetheart?” she asks him.

 “Wellll, yes and no,” June tells her, and then he’s off, listing the ‘good’ (got to read out loud to the class at the end of Quiet Reading Time today) and the ‘bad’ (didn’t get to use the monkey bars at recess because some of the other kids were playing Fortress on them). Haninan scoops up his bag from the backseat and wanders over a more leisurely pace, feeling the familiar swell of affection in his breast at the sight of his wife and son. He moves in to interrupt June so that he can steal a kiss, though. Which his son huffs at, until Haninan turns and starts peppering kisses on his own cheeks, too.

 “Ew, Papae, no!” he protests, laughing and squirming. “Go back to kissing Mamae.” So saying, he plants a hand on Haninan’s cheek, and pointedly turns his face back towards Ireth.

 “Well, if you insist,” Haninan jokes, before leaning in and doing just that. June makes more protests and squirms until Ireth puts him down. She smiles against Haninan’s lips, and, with her arms free, settles them over his shoulders, before giving him a proper full-on kiss.

 “We probably shouldn’t make-out in the driveway,” she tells him.

 “As if our neighbours haven’t seen it all by now,” he scoffs, which gets an amused snort from her, before she finally lets him go. June is at the front door, rolling his eyes and looking so exaggeratedly impatient that Haninan wishes he could take a picture. His phone’s in his bag, though, and by the time he’s got it unzipped, Ireth has taken pity on their poor child and is letting him into the house.

 “I want peanut butter cups for my snack!” June announces, dashing inside.

 “Oh woe is me,” Haninan gripes, lurching his own way through the door and making a show of lugging June’s bag as if it carries a hundred pounds. “I guess I’ll just make my own way, here, carrying everything. If only I had a son who could help me. Alas, alas…”

 His theatrics earn an aggravated sigh, as June reluctantly turns and heads back towards him, and gives him a very Ireth-esque look before taking his bag.

 “My hero,” Haninan praises.

 June gives his mother a beseeching look. She just shrugs at him, though.

 “Go put your bag away, and I’ll see if we have any peanut butter cups,” she instructs.

 “It’s not even heavy,” June says, but does as told, kicking off his shoes and then rolling his eyes again when Haninan reminds him to put them where they go, please and thank you. He settles his own bag by the door, while Ireth kicks off her shoes in a near-perfect imitation of their son. Haninan raises his eyebrows at her, and she sheepishly puts them on the rack, too.

 “I still can’t believe I’m the tidy one in this family,” he muses, ruefully.

 “Organized, not tidy. I’ve seen you cook,” Ireth reminds him. “And dress. And who still has a fifty-billion piece puzzle taking up the better part of the dining room, hm?”

 “June does,” Haninan shamelessly insists. Which is half true, considering that they’ve been assembling it together. It’s been slower going than he expected, though, since June keeps getting frustrated, and then they have to stop. Not that he minds it - June seems to mind it more than he does - but… well, anyway. They’ll get it done, and then they can seal it and put it on June’s wall, just as Haninan promised.

 “MY BAG IS AWAY!” June announces, before pelting into the living room to turn on the television.

 “Two shows, then you have to start homework!” Haninan reminds him.

 “Choose wisely, my son! I’ll get your snack,” Ireth adds.

 “Are you sure? I can get it for him,” Haninan offers, eyeing the work clothes that he knows his wife hates. Ireth just waves it off, though.

 “I want to,” she assures him.

 With a nod of acceptance, Haninan veers his way up to their bedroom, and sets about changing his own clothes. He pulls on a comfortable sweater and exchanges his trousers for leggings, letting out a breath as he gets his socks off, and then wriggling his toes in the carpet a little. He heads for the bathroom to wash up, and hears the distinctive theme song of one of June’s favourite shows drift up from the floor below.

 As he runs the water, though, his thoughts sink a little as they drift towards the subject of Ashokara’s father.

 Haninan knows the patterns that can often lead people to become monsters. Parenting can be stressful, and thankless, and demands endless patience, and he’s intimately aware of that even as he loves it beyond measure. But for people who don’t have that drive? That love for being a parent, for looking after their child? He can see where it brings out the worst of them. Especially when they have no tools to cope well with even adult relationships.

 Most of the time, he’s noticed, it’s about control. Abused children are often well-behaved children - until they aren’t. They’re frightened into obedience, neglected into maturity, starved into desperation for approval and dreadfully aware of their own vulnerability. And when they no longer have to be afraid, it’s always an adjustment for them to figure out where the boundaries of their world should even be. He’d noticed the signs with Ashokara, when she first came to his class. The way she would always hesitate when he asked her a question, as if she was trying to figure out what he wanted her to answer with. How she would watch his hands whenever he was close by, as if she was nervous that he might suddenly try and grab her. The way she froze up the first time he clapped to get the class’ attention.

 Kassaran had talked to him after class on that first day. Which was difficult for her, Haninan knew. She was ashamed - not of her daughter, not at all, but of the fact that her daughter had come to harm. And of having to explain some of what she herself had gone through, in order to explain what Ash was struggling with.

 Haninan hadn’t pried any more than was strictly required.

 They were getting away from it. And now, it’s rearing up again. A pattern that threatens to become a cycle, if it isn’t adequately broken. Haninan has every faith in Kass and Ash’s ability to push through a lot of hard things, but that doesn’t mean he wants to see them do it. Or stand idly by while it happens, either.

 He might understand the patterns, but he’ll never excuse someone who mistreats their child.

 The tap is still running when Ireth comes into the room. He watches through the mirror, and the open crack of the door, as she changes into a loose green dress, and then flops onto the end of the bed.

 “I’m on call,” she informs him, raising her voice a little until he turns off the tap. She pats her phone demonstrably, and then shoves it into one of her dress pockets.

 Haninan shuffles his way back out of the bathroom, and then slumps onto the bed beside her.

 “I’ll keep my fingers crossed that there are no emergencies, then,” he says.

 Ireth reaches over, flailing a bit until she finds his cheek, and pats it.

 “Helluva a day,” she says, letting out a gusty breath. “There was another chicken pox outbreak. Poor things.”

 Haninan makes a sound of sympathetic agreement.

 “What about you?” she asks him.

 He hesitates, for a moment. But then, he’s never really been good at keeping anything for her, especially when he’s not even certain he should try.

 “Ashokara’s father is suing for joint custody,” he says.

 Ireth sits up.

 “No,” she objects.

 “Afraid so. Kassaran came in and told me the other day.” They probably would have talked about it then, but there’d been a ten car pile-up some time around three pm, and Ireth had been out late helping with the sudden emergency rush. So Haninan and June had made toasties and worked on the puzzle together, and by the time she’d managed to get home, she’d had her own work woes to spill and had been in sore need of a shoulder to cry on.

 Which Haninan was more than happy to provide. On that thought he gives her another look-over now. But she seems to be bouncing back, and isnt’ giving the usual indications that she needs him to help. Her concern - verging on anger - looks like the normal kind, for this sort of situation.

 “You tell Kassaran that if worse comes to worse and he actually gets it, I will personally help her hide the body,” she announces.

 “I’ll be sure to pass that along, darling,” Haninan replies. “But the main concern for right now is that Ash is going to have to explain to a judge why she doesn’t want to live with her father.”

 Ireth frowns, and glares at the ceiling for a good long moment.

 “...Well what if we kill him before that?” she suggests.

 He sighs.

 “Ireth, beloved, light of my life, you don’t even kill spiders when they get in through the bathroom drain,” he points out. Not that Haninan kills them, either. But still. They are not exactly murderous folk. He still remembers the first time June went over to a friend’s sleepover and called for Ireth to come get him, because one of the parents had killed a moth that came in through the window, and June was convinced that the man had to be some kind of secret killer ‘like on television’.

 “Spiders don’t abuse people,” Ireth retorts, folding her arms.

 But after a moment, she gives in, and just slumps back down against him.

 “Poor Ash and Kass,” she murmurs.

 “I know,” he agrees, with a sigh of his own.

 “We should do something.”

 “We should.”

 "...Do you think they’d like a fruit basket?” she ventures, tentatively. “Or maybe one of those fresh farm hampers? I can’t imagine Kass will feel like preparing a lot of meals while she’s dealing with all of this.”

 “Couldn’t hurt,” Haninan reasons. He plans on doing his best to help Ash in her classes, to give some extra attention and support. But still. Sometimes it’s good to have a friend’s spouse who absolutely insists on sending fancy gift baskets, which she has no idea of the actual material worth of, except that they be ‘good’. He still remembers the look on Kassaran’s face the first time Ireth gave her a bottle of wine for the school district’s Feast Day party.

 “I’m going to send them something,” Ireth decides. “It’ll be a good distraction anyway. Should I put who it’s from on the card? Yes, I should, I wouldn’t want them thinking it’s from Quarth or whatever his name is.”

 “Qal, I think.”

 “Do you still have that card catalogue with everyone’s food allergies in it?” Ireth asks him, barely listening now as she gets up with a mission in mind.

 “In the study,” he confirms.

 She pads off towards it, while Haninan decides to remain on the bed, and chase the patterns in the ceiling with his eyes. They form a pleasant latticework that makes him think of beehives, and the strength of hexagonal structures. The children are going to do a unit on bees later in the year. It’ll be fun, and it will give him the chance to include some information about architectural shapes. June is into pyramids right now, but Haninan’s fairly sure it won’t take much to get him interested in hexagons, too.

 He’s chasing his thoughts down into matters of magical geometry when he hears soft feet pad into the bedroom. Lighter than Ireth’s. Haninan turns his head, and watches June climb up onto the bed. He slings his arm around his son as he settles in beside him.

 “Whatcha doing?” June asks.

 “Nothing much,” Haninan assures him. “You need something? I thought you were watching cartoons.”

 June shrugs.

 “I finished my snack, and then it was the clown show,” he explains. With the world-weariness of someone several times his age, he looks thoughtfully up at the ceiling. “I hate that show.”

 Haninan snorts.

 “It’s supposed to teach you math,” he says.

 June makes a face.

 “That’s what school is for,” he objects. “They moved my Superman show to dinner time instead. Can I still watch it if I do homework in between?”

 He thinks about it.

 “Sure,” he agrees.

 June fist pumps, and then leans in and smooshes his face against Haninan’s side. The ominous sounds of the dreaded Clown Show drift up from downstairs. Haninan can admit, despite knowing what they’re angling for - it is kind of an awful show. Most of the other parents aren’t big fans, either, and he thinks one of Kass��� students had a round of nightmares about one of the clowns climbing out of the television and trying to strangle them.

 “Papae?” June asks him, after a minute.

 “Hm?”

 “Parents don’t just… suddenly stop loving their kids, right? Like… that doesn’t happen, does it? Even if the kids are really bad or mess up a lot of stuff?”

 Haninan shifts around a little to look down at his son, and feels his heart crack at the worried look on his face. He leans down and kisses his head. It doesn’t take a genius to see his line of reasoning. Learning about bad parents, about parents who mistreat their kids, also tends to come hand-in-hand with thinking that there might be something that kids could do, to make their parents become hateful or resentful of them.

 “No,” he assures him, firmly. “That doesn’t happen. And it especially wouldn’t happen to you, June-o. Your mamae and I will love you forever, no matter what you do.”

 June wrinkles his nose, but he also looks relieved.

 “I wasn’t asking that,” he insists, at a mumble. “I was just checking in general.”

 “Oh, okay,” Haninan allows. “But still. For the record. I’ll love you forever.”

 June grumbles a bit about ‘mushy stuff’, but he also rests his head on Haninan’s chest, and relaxes a bit more as Haninan rubs at his back.

 There’s no difference between being a father and being a papae. Haninan’s not always sure he’s doing the right thing, that he’s being a good parent, that he’s done enough to look after June or that he’s pushing things in the right direction. But he’s pretty sure that if he was messing it up too badly, Ireth would tell him. He’s not alone in this grand scheme.

 Kassaran is.

 That can’t be easy. With all of everything that’s gone on, he knows for a fact that it’s hard.

 He makes a mental note to invite Kass over to dinner sometime soon, at least, and hugs his son a little tighter.

[a-taller-tale]

Float On

Summary: Grif said he was jealous of the way clouds float once, so he shouldn't be bitching about the lack of gravity. Notes: My Reverse Big Bang writing entry based on Emmujin's wonderful grimmons art. This was a really fun piece to work on.

Also on Ao3

“I miss retirement,” Grif said randomly.

Simmons frowned in concentration, taking another hallway according to the map on his helmet screen, Grif following behind him. He kept his voice low. “Really? You miss retirement? You said we were all driving you crazy, and then when we left you got so sad that you made a bunch of volleyball replacements of us.”

“I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“You had to give me some kind of context when you said you kept ruining Church’s balls.” 

They were also really shitfaced that night, and Simmons had felt both confused and some other dark feeling he couldn’t name. Grif was always saying how Church was a jerk, he had no idea they ever—

“Yeah…” Grif sighed. “But don’t you miss retirement?” They both paused to duck into a corner and avoid some random people in lab coats marching down the hall talking about planning an office birthday party.

“It was nice at first, but then it did get kind of boring,” Simmons admitted once the group had passed them. “And we were regularly in a similar amount of mortal peril during retirement as we were in active duty with Sarge and Caboose that bored anyway.”

“Okay, true. The robots vs. dinosaur war got a little hairy, but I’m not really a fan of this kind of action either.”

The remnants of Project Freelancer, and by extension Malcolm Hargrove’s Charon Industries projects, were still keeping them busy. Retirement hadn’t worked out with their imposters running around causing havoc, so they weren’t safe to try again, no matter how remote the moon, until everything had been taken care of.

The latest mission had been complicated when half the team was capturedagain by some sketch lab they had been investigating again. Sometimes it seemed as if their strange lives were just stuck in the same seasonal cycle over and over again.

“You have to make a deal with me,” Grif continued. “After we rescue the guys we need another vacation, a real one, without Donut to set things on fire. I’m thinking the Vegas Quadrant.”

“Deal, but you’re using your own credit cards.—Oh, this closet’s got what we need.” Simmons opened the door to reveal extra scrubs and lab coats folded neatly and ripe for the taking. There was even a lost and found box with various extra stuff to wear under the coat.

If Simmons thought about it too hard it would gross him out since the clothes were probably dirty, and it reminded him of when the gym teacher made him go through the lost and found when he purposely “forgot” to bring gym clothes hoping it would excuse him from participating—that bit him in the ass—but desperate times called for desperate measures. Sarge needed them.

Simmons grabbed a sweater and some slacks that looked long enough. There were nursing shoes of various sizes in the corner.

It wasn’t until Grif closed himself in with Simmons and started stripping out of his armor that Simmons remembered a similar situation in a similar closet last year. Simmons coughed and moved on to the coats so Grif could take his pick of the lost and found, and starting looking through the sizes, grabbing one that would fit Grif and tossing it back in his direction, backing deeper into his own corner to change out of his armor.

“Capers where we need a disguise. We really have been hanging out with Blue Team too long…” Grif grumbled, running his hand through his helmet hair and re-tying it back. “Donut and Lopez better show up soon. Donut will hate missing an opportunity to dress up.”

“Well they—” Simmons interrupted himself when he saw what Grif had put on his feet. “Are you wearing socks under your sandals?” Grif smirked in a way that Simmons knew meant he did it just to piss him off. “There are regular shoes right there!”

“Do you have a problem, Simmons?” Grif asked pleasantly. He definitely did this on purpose. He knew this was one of Simmons’ pet peeves!

“No. You know what? Live your life the way you want to. See if I care.” Simmons cared. He cared so much. And Grif knew it, that asshole. Grif grew up on the beach! Shouldn’t socks under his sandals be sacrilegious or something?

In their new disguises, they made their way to the labs area. It was definitely the night shift, and they didn’t even run into too many people on the skeleton crew. Which was great since they hadn’t been spotted yet, but made it more likely that when they were spotted, they’d be recognized as not belonging. They needed to get this done as quickly as possible.

Simmons was suddenly shoved forward into an empty room out of nowhere, and there was a large warm hand clapped over his mouth before he even had the chance to squawk at Grif. “Guards,” Grif whispered. “Guns.”

Simmons nodded—then remembered himself and whacked Grif’s hand off his face. “Ow,” Grif grunted.

Through the window in the door they looked out to see the two guards with their menacing looking rifles and white armor, like Storm troopers, or Wyoming, or The Meta.

Man, bad guys were always wearing white armor these days. It was becoming its own cliché now. They needed new “good” and “bad” colors. But what would a good color be? …Forget Blue Team, Simmons was hanging out with Donut too much.

Once the guards had passed, and Simmons’ heart had calmed down, he started searching the room. It was pretty empty. There were several empty tables, beakers, test tubes, and various scientific detritus littering them. An empty bookcase stood against one wall behind a desk. It didn’t look like this room was in use very regularly.

“Dude, we’re never gonna find anything cool in here.” Grif said, wiping some dust off a table. “It’s all nerd stuff.”

“Grif, do you even remember what we’re looking for?” Simmons asked testily.

“More snacks?” Grif replied dryly, putting an Oreo in his mouth.

“What the— Where did you even get those?”

“Secret snack stash. There’s one in every room in every workplace that has ever existed in the universe.” Grif pointed to the drawer he’d just opened and there were a lot of snacks in there. But considering that it looked like no one used this room there was no telling how old this stuff was–Oh, were those Red Vines? He hadn’t had one of those in years!—No,focus Simmons.

“Ugh, whatever. Just help me look for a computer terminal. Or a tablet, or datapad, or anything that connects to their network, so I can unlock the holding area and then we can get the hell out of here.”

Grif sighed. “Man, if Sarge wasn’t in there with the Blues we could just go. Not do any of this dangerous shit. I’m sure they’d be fine. Caboose has stupid good luck. We don’t. You remember some of these guys have guns, right?”

“You have a gun too,” Simmons pointed out.

“Uhhhh...” Oh no.

“What the hell, Grif? Did you leave your gun with your armor? Are you serious?”

Grif at least managed to look a little sheepish. “These pockets aren’t very deep.”

Simmons looked down at his own coat, and admittedly where his pistol was bulging out from his pocket was both really obvious and ridiculous. He looked up to see Grif trying to store cookies for later. “But you have room for an entire box of Oreos.”

“Priorities, Simmons.”

“Ughh whatever." Simmons continued looking, with some help from Grif, which was better than zero.

Grif found an ancient looking laptop on a sliding tray under one of the lab tables. Simmons nodded grimly. It was shitty and old, but it could work.

Simmons pulled it up in a corner out of view of the window and prayed it would turn on. This was actually an ideal place for them to hack into the system if the guards didn’t come in very often. It was slow to boot up, but when it did, he was able to bypass the password protections easily and get into the system. “Yes! Score.”

Grif gave him a raised eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Good! Simmons was doing all the hard work here! He kept a look out at the door while Simmons went through the databases. Luckily they were clearly labeled. Environmental controls, locks, lights… “How long is this gonna take?” Grif asked, but Simmons could tell he was worried rather than impatient.

“Just another minute/ I’m working as fast as I can!” Simmons sniped. He should know Simmons didn’t work well under pressure.

“There’s another patrol coming this way,” Grif whispered.

“I’ve almost got it,” Simmons said, his fingers flying against the keys. It reminded him of high school and college, his fingers flying across screens and keys like he was made to do it. As natural as breathing or swimming or hiding in the computer lab from bullies until 9 o clock at night.

There were red lights on each of the cell blocks and on the third try the lights on cell block C went from red to green. “Got it!” Simmons said triumphantly. They had been getting along so well lately, Sarge might actually give him a pat on the shoulder for this one.

“I found them!” said a guard from the hall.

Grif dropped the Oreos. “Oh fuck.”

Simmons looked around for a weapon, but the room was pretty empty aside from some chemistry equipment, the laptop and Grif’s fucking Oreos.

Bang, bang, bang and the door flew open. Three guards came in, guns at the ready. Oh god.

Simmons suddenly felt practically naked without his armor on.

“Simmons,” Grif said nervously out of the side of his mouth, backing into the wall.

“I know, hang on, I have an idea!” Simmons threw Grif his pistol. “Try to hold them off.” Simmons turned back to mess with the computer. He went back a few folders. There. Environmental controls.

Score one for the nerds. Computer science can save the day. Screw the jocks!

The three guards marched in, armor gleaming menacingly. “Surrender and put your hands up!” The first guard yelled.

Grif lifted his gun as guard number two fired his gun, aiming at Simmons, but between the shot and the impact the world tilted on its side and suddenly they weren’t on the ground any more. They were floating. Holy fuck.

“This was your plan??” Grif asked in disbelief, feet above his head, arms pin wheeling as he tried to get right-side-up again.

“It’s a good distraction!” Simmons cried defensively, trying to figure out how to steer himself.

Grif managed to get upright just in time to miss being shot by the first guard. “Oh, holy shit.”

Simmons remembered some of his training in antigravity before he was shuttled into the Freelancer Sim Trooper program and managed to awkwardly swim close enough to grab guy number three’s gun. He looked like he was the slowest one—there was one guy like that in every team—and Simmons was right. Simmons reared back and slammed the gun into the back of the guard’s head as hard as he could. With a pitiful whine, the guy slumped unconscious, but he didn’t really go “down” because they were all floating. Huh. That was less satisfying than it should have been.

Grif fired his own gun and guard number two went down. Which left guard number one who was—Where was he?

Simmons actually saw stars, which he thought was more of a cartoon thing, when an impact hit the back of his own skull. Everything went dark before he even had the chance to cry out.

“I’m jealous of clouds,” Grif said, his eyes were half lidded in relaxation, the irises glowing under the light of the sun. He looked like he belonged there. Like his natural form was to lay in the grass and the sun.

That was a weird thought. Stop it, brain.

“Clouds?” Simmons asked. “That’s random. What do you mean?”

They were lying on their backs in the shade beside the ditch where the warthog was stuck. Normally, Simmons wouldn’t shirk his duties, but he was tired of being the only one pushing the Warthog while Grif tried and failed to get it started again. He knew better than to ask Grif to trade. If he tried Grif would talk him into knots until Simmons was hanging over his credit card information without realizing he’d been tricked. Sometimes Simmons hated that guy. But he didn’t today.

When Grif groaned, “Break time, use it or lose it,” and flopped down in the grass, Simmons only sighed and paced for a minute before joining him.

It was nice to take a break anyway—not that he’d tell Grif that and give him another excuse. But it seemed like ever since they’d gotten to know the Blues on a last name basis there had been non-stop running around and having adventures.

Grif had been so weird and tense lately too. This was a good break from the odd nervous energy he kept displaying around Simmons.

Decision made, when he had tossed his helmet off, Simmons followed suit.

“What’s that about clouds?” Simmons prompted him again when Grif didn’t answer right away. Sometimes when Grif got in a “deep” mood he got pretty insecure about it. And yeah, any clumsy mistake or slip of the tongue was currency to tease each other later, but Grif should know by now that the philosophy stuff was cool with him. Simmons wonders why they’re here too—how they got here, what it all means—a lot these days.

Instead of backing off of the subject like Simmons half expected him to, Grif looked at Simmons and smiled contentedly. Grif may have looked relaxed in the sun, but he looked a little flushed too. Right, the fan in his armor was broken. Which he only seemed to bring up when they were out on a mission. He never brought it up when they were just sitting at home watching TV and someone could actually repair it.

“Clouds don’t have to run around chasing Blues, or listen to Sarge or anything. They just float around.” Grif sounded so wistful and relaxed. Simmons was suddenly enormously grateful for this break in the shade.

“Clouds also don’t get to gamble or eat or drink alcohol and I know you love doing all those things,” he couldn’t help pointing out.

“Yeah, you’re right. Guess I just want the power to float. Can you imagine taking a nap floating in the clouds? It looks so soft.”

“Actually, it would be damp and cold. Haven’t you ever been in a plane in that area of the atmosphere?”

“Have a little imagination, Simmons,” Grif scolded him, but he sounded fond around a yawn. “You don’t have to think about everything so realistically all the time. Think about those clouds having the consistency of cotton candy and the sun hitting you just right and you’re floating like you’re in an inner tube and just letting the air take you wherever it wants you to go. Like a current…” Grif trailed off, leaving Simmons with the uncomfortable impression that they had maybe possibly somehow accidentally just had an intimate moment.

Simmons waited for him to continue, but when Simmons looked back at him, Grif’s eyes were shut and his breathing was already even, like his own story had lulled him off to sleep.

They really should have tried to head back already, but Grif looked so peaceful, and it was the most comfortable they had been together in a while. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so,” Simmons said quietly, and totally didn’t watch his teammate sleep like a creep for two hours.

“Simmons! Simmons!”

Simmons felt a flash of annoyance. What the hell was Grif doing waking him up. It took him so long to go to sleep. And his head hurt. Had they been drinking last night?

“Simmons,” Grif said again insistently. “Wake the fuck up, there could be more guards coming. We gotta get out of here. How do we get down?”

Simmons winced and opened his eyes into slits.

They were floating. “Oh my god,” he wailed. “Is that blood?”

He’d seen a lot of blood in his career as a soldier, and bled a lot too, but it was indescribably creepy to see it floating in little driblets around them.

“Yeah genius, its blood. You let some asshole hit you in the back of the head. I shot him back, but there could be more guys coming.” Simmons blinked and was able to take in more of the room. Grif was near the bookcase, trying to hold onto it and panting and flailing and looking a little panicked. The bodies of the three unconscious (dead?) guards that had attacked them were floating through the air.

“How do we get down?” Simmons asked himself, the pain in his head was making everything foggy, and the vision in his cyborg eye was flipping like a TV with a bad signal.

“I don’t know! You’re the computer guy.”

“Right. The computer... If I can find the computer I can…” He tried to adjust his position and his stomach flipped worryingly too. He did not want to throw up in front of Grif in anti-gravity. He had to find the computer. Did it float off? “I think I just remembered I’m afraid of heights.”

“—You are not. I’m the one who’s scared of heights, and I’m fine.” The sheen to his skin said otherwise, but Simmons chose to believe he was telling the truth. When Grif was calm it was easier for Simmons to freak out. Wait, no, when Grif was freaking out, it was easier for Simmons to calm down. Whatever.

“Come on,” Grif urged as if sensing his thoughts. “You can freak out later. Let’s get down and find everyone else now.”

Simmons nodded, looking around for the laptop, which was floating below them, near a beaker of ominous purple glowing liquid that he wasn’t sure he had seen earlier. Better not touch that. This lab dealt with some really sketchy stuff.

Simmons attempted to steer himself downward to reach it, but only ended up doing a 360 in the air and knocking himself into one of the bodies. “Shit!”

“Hey, calm down, dude. Everything’s okay. You took a big hit there, huh? If I get you to the computer will you still be able to undo what you did? I promise once we get out of here we can get your head checked out, okay?” Grif sounded gentle and he was babbling a little bit, and the injury to his head must look pretty nasty for him to sound that nice.

Simmons realized he was shaking a little and tried to take deep breaths to calm himself as Grif swam towards him, knocking some objects out of the way, and using one of the unfortunate guards as a springboard until he reached Simmons.

As soon as he was within reach Simmons grabbed at his hand tightly. The warmth of Grif’s hand calmed him down immediately. He was still dizzy and his head was still buzzing but Grif was right here with him and they were floating just like Grif wanted.

Grif’s face was flushed like it had been that day too, which was odd because it wasn’t really hot, and they were indoors so they weren’t in the sun, and Grif’s armor cooling system didn’t matter because they weren’t in armor.

“I got you,” Grif said, and Simmons felt like he was floating. –Oh, well they were floating. Simmons looked back down at Grif’s hand like he just realized he was holding it. “If I have a counterweight it’ll be easier for me to navigate,” Simmons murmured dazedly.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Grif said, and he squeezed his hand back. “That makes complete and total sense.”

Jeez, Grif was acting weird. “Yeah, so we’ll get to the laptop and then—”

The Oreos floated by along with the box in the opposite direction of the laptop. “My Oreos! They didn’t get destroyed!” Grif said. He was tempted.

“Grif, if you pull me towards the Oreos, and more guards come in and we die, I’m going to kill you,” Simmons said with a sobriety and certainty he totally felt.

“Fine.”

They side eyed the unconscious—or dead, or just napping—guards as they awkwardly flailed, attempting to figure out how to get closer to the laptop.

The first time Simmons got his hands on it, he accidentally batted it in Grif’s direction. Grif had to bat it back to him, and Simmons finally let his hand go so he had two to work with. He missed the warmth already.

“Do your magic, dude,” Grif said. “Just try to give me a countdown before we crash into the floor. A ‘prepare for impact’ works.”

“Mmm…” Simmons managed to get back onto the environmental control screen without too much trouble, though his head was feeling glitchy too now. Like his attention kept flipping channels. This is the code for—Grif’s hands—press Esc add three backslashes—floating like clouds it would be so nice to nap right here. Under the sun. Cotton candy. Grif’s eyes warm and glowing.

Simmons didn’t remember finishing, but gravity came back to them slowly. Grif was below him, bracing for impact. Simmons floated down, closing his eyes and clutching the laptop like the favored teddy bear his dad threw away when he was six. Instead of the rough landing he was bracing himself for, he landed on something soft and warm.

“Hey, uh… you’re a little close there.”

When Simmons blinked his eyes open he was looking straight into Grif’s deep brown eyes. They weren’t glowing because there wasn’t any sunlight. But they were still pretty. And he was still so dizzy. He was draped over Grif and there were no hard edges like there would be with their armor on. “Oh good, it worked.” He dropped the laptop and dropped his head into Grif’s soft chest.

When he lifted his head again, Grif looked distinctly redder in the face.

Grif could say all that sarcastic stuff all he wanted but his face showed… something else Simmons couldn’t really interpret it, but he looked…. Good.

Their faces were closer. Oh, good. Grif’s eyes were wide, but dilated. Probably from all the adrenaline. Yeah…

Grif’s heart—Simmons’ old heart—raced under him, even though time felt like it had slowed down. Gravity really messed with you. Space was like that.

Simmons’ eyes closed again. They were sharing breath. He still felt like he was floating, orbiting Grif, and being pulled closer and closer by some force. Grif inhaled sharply, and Simmons’ realized their lips were just about to brush, and that was like floating too.

“Guys, there you are!” The door slammed open and Simmons groggily pulled away.

Donut was standing in the doorway. Of course it was Donut. Perfect timing. Thanks a lot, Donut. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“Yeah, the getaway ships been revved up to go for ages! Bow-chicka-wow-wow.” And Tucker. Of course.

“[It looks like we interrupted something],” Lopez said in Spanish. “[They were about to make out. Finally. After years of sexual tension. Maybe we should just leave them here.]”

Simmons was distracted from watching Lopez speak Spanish at them even though literally none of them could understand it, to wonder why Grif was suddenly coughing and scrambling to get up. “We definitely weren’t doing that!”

“What?” Simmons asked. Was he… responding to Lopez?

“What? Nothing!” Grif said. “I don’t know any Spanish, stop accusing me!”

Simmons got up unsteadily. “Okay, whatever, jeez.” Grif wordlessly helped support him as they made their way back to the ship.

Sarge harrumphed and examined him and made the flipping in his eye and his head stop. There were a few stitches and some pain medication too.

Grif made a couple of half-hearted attempts to extricate himself from Simmons once they got to the ship, but oddly enough, most of their friends were leaving Grif and Simmons alone. Grif was so much more secure when they were left alone that he relaxed a little bit, and didn’t make too much of a fuss about Simmons leaning on him and dozing.

Simmons still felt like he was floating. A glow from the sun in his cheeks. Or maybe it was just the blow to the back of the head.