#but now i have some actual storage instead of fucking cardboard boxes

[nexus-nebulae]

oh my god for the past like two months i literally just Have Not Been Able To Rest like i've been just Doing Stuff all of january and this month like I've been going to the store a ton and cleaning a ton and just Not Resting like I know I've needed rest days but even when i Try to rest i just can't i Have to be doing stuff and like. finally getting this computer and a few more things for my room like. i've run out of Stuff To Do. I spent this entire month stressing that all this stuff was piling up too fast for me to take care of and. i think i've got it all for now. and i have nothing to do today. i think i can rest finally

[journeyman-tier-fibercraft]

Stash Organizing Day! I finally got all the furniture into my bedroom after a year of living here (long story) and came to the conclusion that it was time to Stop storing my yarn in trashbags (mostly, I have to get a couple more plastic totes). Photo dump and rambling under the read more.

Here is all my yarn that I don't consider an "active" project (MOSTLY, there's an active project in the pink tote bag (Shawl 13) but I wanted to put up the extra colours I was finished with and it was easier to carry the whole thing in).

The already filled plastic tote has all my wool yarns in it (also in ziplock bags because these totes aren't airtight). I'll eventually organize them better and lay them all out for a photo too but for now they're staying Contained. Instead I dumped all my acrylic yarn out of the trash bag it was in.

Before starting Blanket 10 my acrylic yarn took up about twice as much room as it does now. The big pile on the left is all the scraps from it that I'm undecided as to what to do with them. Other than that mess, along the top is some Lion Brand Jeans yarn I had bought for a striped sweater that I swatched for and never made. Below that is all my fingering weight acrylic, mostly Loops and Threads Woollike. The big cake is one of the 300 gram Lion Brand Mandala cakes.

Also acrylic but kept in the very cute Purple Hawaiian Hello Kitty Tote Bag(TM) is a metric fuck ton of Lion Brand Re-Spun. I knit one strip out of like 9 for a blanket before realizing I wasn't having fun and it hurt my hands and I didn't like it. I don't know if I want to frog it or not or what to do with this yarn so I've just kinda been sitting on it, I might end up with another granny stitch blanket.

For now my acrylics are all staying in the trash bag, I currently only have one other plastic tote and I'm going to use it for my cottons.

By weight the majority of my cotton yarns are Hobbii brand Cotton Kings Sultan. I like knitting with them, they're pretty, I'm using the bottom three as decor in my room. Right now I only have projects set out for two of them (the peachy orange one and the two rainbows (i bought them with the intention of using them together in a huge brioche project and still don't have a pattern picked out lmao)), but it won't be hard for me to find more lace doily patterns to make giant. Most of the scrap (middle bottom) is also from Sultan cakes, and directly above it is some fingering weight cotton also Cotton Kings brand.

On the right bottom is all that's left of my Knit Picks Dishie out of my original purchase of something like a dozen and a half balls. I did give a couple balls of it to my aunt but most of it I used, I really really Really like Dishie. Finally on the right top is my size 10 crochet cotton.

I didn't grab photos of all my bulky yarn bought for suffies because I'm honestly not sure what to do with it and for now most of it is staying in it's cardboard box. Bad Yarn Gets The Box.

There's also the pile of Shame. Some of them are completed projects I don't have a good storage place for, most of them are incomplete projects. There are several projects I need to either frog, finish, give away, or throw out and I just do not want to decide right now. There's also at least one shawl in that pile that I finished while living at my old house and never got to block because of space concerns and simply haven't. Blocked it even tho I have space now.

I Think that is all of my yarn that isn't currently being used for a project. It feels really good to finally get everything organized and out of my actual work area. I still have some things I need to find places for (the shame pile and all my sewing materials mainly) but I got rid of the Yarn Mess by literally hiding it under my bed <3

[emeraldspiral]

So, I have a lot of necklaces. For a long time I used to hang them off these hanging earring and necklace organizers. But at some point I got these 8" wall mounted racks with dowels and S-hooks so I could hang them up higher and make it harder for my cats to pull them down, since they weren't being held up by velcro anymore. But my girl cat Cara Mia is a real magpie who not only likes to bat at my jewelry, but chew on and destroy some of it it too. I have a mirror armoire that can hold some necklaces, but not nearly enough. So I wanted more closed storage, but I couldn't really find anything that could hold even half of what my dowel racks could while taking up twice as much wall space.

So, I bought a shadowbox big enough for the dowels of both racks to fit inside. I ripped out the canvas-wrapped stryofoam backing it came with and replaced it with some peel-and-stick black felt lining for jewelry boxes. Then I screwed in some J-hooks and secured them in the back with nuts.

Then I was able to take the dowels and S-hooks I had on my wall mounted racks and put them inside the shadow box. So instead of a standard jewelry cabinet that can usually only fit up to 20 necklaces, I have one that can hold 40.

For some reason the front panel frame was separated into two pieces. It clearly wasn't so the acrylic panel could be removed, because that was held in place by bendable metal tabs, not the frame itself. So I had to glue the frame together, but it seems like the glue that bled through can't just be scraped off. It seems to have actually tarnished the frame. So I bought some corners to cover up the glue stains and give the frame some extra reinforcement.

I also added a latch to keep the cats from being able to open it.

I wanted to put some art behind the front panel but I needed it to fill 16 3/4"x20 3/4", which is not a standard print size. It's also really hard to find art anymore that's for sure not AI garbage. Finally, I found something I liked that was made in 2015. I couldn't really get it in the size that I wanted on the site where I originally found it, but I figured out that one of the handful of sizes offered would work if I got a custom mat to go with it. But then it turned out that not only are photo mats ridiculously expensive most of the time, but every place that sells custom mats tacks on like $30-$50 to ship to Alaska. But then I realized the site the print was already on offered custom mats. But then it turned out that site also charged an insane shipping fee for Alaska.

But then it turned out the artist also had that particular piece available as a print on Society 6 in a 17"x21" with white borders I could easily trim a quarter inch off of, and they don't charge an arm and a leg to ship to Alaska.

So I got the print and then taped together some cardboard and covered it in more of that black felt lining to create a stiff backing. Finally pealed off the protective layer on the acrylic panel and it immediately scratched before I even had it all the way off.

Whatever.

Anyway, I put in the art and the cardboard backing and now the cabinet is finally finished.

Despite that stupid fucking scratch I'm quite proud.

And yes, that is another rack full of necklaces that couldn't fit into the closed storage I already have because I own so much cheap costume jewelry.

[americxn]

Promise (Tate x Reader)

word count: 1.2k warnings: noneee, just fluff (thank you @cleanup-aisle5 for the idea, you’re asleep right now but i said i would post something from my drafts tonight so here it is <3)

“Okay, there’s a step infront of you - yeah, that’s it.” You giggled as Tate guided you through the house, his hands tightly covering your eyes.  “Almost there.” He murmured in your ear and you grinned, reaching your hands out to make sure that you didn’t walk into anything. “What? Don’t you trust me?” Tate asked, his voice dripping with mock annoyance. “Not really no,” you giggled, allowing Tate to manoeuvre you to the side slightly. “I could let you walk into a wall right now, be nice.” He whispered, his breath hot on your ear.  “Are you excited?” He enquired as his hands fell onto your shoulders, halting your blind shuffling. “Yes, I am.” You squealed softly, your hands finding Tate’s and trying to pry them off your face.  “Hold on - geez. Impatient.” Tate huffed, a smile obvious in his tone.  “Alright, keep your eyes shut.” He ordered, his hands lifting off your face as he stepped away from you, the air at your back turning suddenly cold at the loss of his presence.  You squeezed your eyes shut tight as slight shuffling sounded in front of you. “Okay. Open!” Tate said gleefully. You eyes fell open, a broad grin already spread across your face as you beheld your boyfriend and the room before you. 

Your hands moved of their own accord to cover your mouth in awe as you surveyed Tate’s handiwork. You were stood in the small spare room on the top floor of the house, but it was nearly unrecognisable. The room was usually used for storage, a few cardboard boxes and old or broken pieces of furniture usually presiding here, but as you spun around in wonder you marvelled at how the room had been changed beyond recognition. The middle of the wooden floor was piled high with soft blankets, fluffy quilts and an impressive array of pillows and cushions. The walls were strung with an uncountable amount of fairy lights, all of them twinkling and softly flashing their golden light in sync. On the other side of the nest of blankets and pillows was a low table, stocked full of all your favourite snacks, two tall flutes of sparkling champagne completing the spread. You laughed, your hands moving to clasp beneath your chin, knowing full well that Tate absolutely hated champagne. On the wall directly behind the table, Tate had projected the Netflix homescreen onto the black space. You ginned, noticing the list of all your favourite movies that Tate had compiled on the screen, waiting for you to watch them.  And in the middle, Tate stood smiling widely, his eyes gleaming with pride.  “Oh my god.” You gushed, unable to find the words to express to Tate how lovely this was.  Instead, you opted to hurriedly pick your way through the piles of fluffy blankets, throwing yourself onto your boyfriend with enough force that he barely caught you, collapsing to the side and sending the both of you sprawling onto the mercifully soft floor.  Rolling quickly so that Tate was beneath you, you leaned down, raining little kisses all over his face.  “Oh my god, Tate!” You repeated, sitting back to look at him. “This is so perfect, I can’t believe you did this for me.” You gushed, shifting off him and pulling him up by the hand so that you were sat cross-legged on the floor, your knees touching.  “I’m glad you like it.” Tate replied, leaning in to land a proper kiss on your lips before you pulled away in excitement. “How long did this take you?”  “I’ve been collecting everything for a few weeks,” he began, his beam as bright as yours, “it was hard setting it all up with everyone around. But it didn’t take too long.”  When you fell silent, taking in the room around you once more, Tate ventured softly, “do you like it?”  Your head snapped to his, nodding profusely. “Yes, of course I like it. I love it!” You proclaimed, throwing your arms around his neck once more and squeezing tightly. Tate giggled, pushing you away slightly so that he could look at you. “I don’t know if you know this,” he began, his tone becoming slightly more serious. “But, today marks one year since you died.” He explained, watching as your face lit up with surprise and understanding, then amusement.  “We’re celebrating my death?” You exclaimed incredulously, laughter lacing your tone. “No! No,” Tate said hurriedly, his hands taking yours in earnest as he giggled slightly. “No, I mean more so that it’s been a year since we’ve spent every day together, y’know? I thought that it’s actually kinda special.” You nodded, your heart warming at his sincerity as he looked down at your joined hands, a little blush creeping onto his cheeks.  Leaning in, your pressed a lingering kiss to his lips. “I love it. I love you.” You expressed, resting your forehead on his, Tate sighing in contentment. “I love you, too.” He murmured, pulling away from you slightly and reaching into his back pocket, causing you to sit up straight and peer curiously at his hand that produced a small velvet black box.  Your eyes shot to his, eyebrows raising in confusion and slight concern. “Relax.” Tate smiled, opening the lid of the box and holding it between you so that you could see inside. Inside was a ring, it’s silver band shining bright in the gleam of the fairy lights, a small tear-drop shaped diamond resting atop it. “It’s a promise ring.” You took the box from Tate, examining the jewellery closely, your mouth falling open at its simplistic beauty.  “A promise ring?” You breathed mindlessly, your eyes filling with tears. “Yeah,” Tate plucked the ring out of the box, taking your left hand in his and sliding it onto your middle finger. “Just so that you know, and I hate being corny so give me a second,” he grinned as you titled your hand in awe, beaming at the way the light refracted off the stone, “that I am fully committed to you. I have been since you first set foot in this house.” You met his gaze, allowing your love to shine clear in your eyes. “I know one year may not seem that long to some, but I figured that since we’ve lasted in this house together for so long with minimal arguments, I doubt anything is going to happen that would tear us apart.” You nodded, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth and chewing it to stop it from wobbling as a few tears fell. “Thank you.” You whispered, pulling him into a gentle embrace. “It’s beautiful. Fuck, I love you so much.” Tate giggled, pushing you back by waist so that he could have access to your lips. His mouth was warm and soft on yours and you smiled into him, allowing Tate to manoeuvre you so that your back was pressed against the blankets, him coming to straddle you lightly, all the while keeping his lips connected to yours.  You opened for him, allowing his tongue to make a lazy sweep of your mouth, your own tongue timidly roving against his.  You forced yourself to pull away as Tate attempted to deepen the kiss, your own stomach fluttering in excitement. With a happy sigh, you took his face in your hands. “Later. I wanna watch a movie first.” You whispered sweetly up at him. Tate smiled softly as you reached with a thumb for his bottom lip, rubbing the pad of your thumb over its softness. “Of course, baby. Which one first?” 

[wastedyouth-wasteddreams]

@simnellVP art

“Seems we have trouble coming...or company at the very least” 

He didn’t falter from the delicate work around his patients shoulder, he was so calmly spoken, that the guy coming to on his chair almost didn’t absorb the meaning of his words. 

“uh?” came the baffled slow response as he looked to Vik, who was finishing up cauterizing near his clavicle. The patient heard a *thu-dunk* from the entrance to the shop. 

Vik didn’t even flinch as he heard the gate swung open and crashing into the storage cage. 

“Theres only one person who bombs down those stairs like a gorilla in heat”...he raised his voice, so it was loud enough to hear from the doorway, but still focusing on his work. Though if he were to look a little closer, his client would have noticed a restrained smirk creeping up on Vik’s  face. 

“Maybe I'll get paid this time though” He remarked as he spun around just in time to see her strutting over to his desk, as if she owned the place. She placed some things on his desk then turned on her heels and clasped the edge to pull herself up to a backwards perch. She arched her back and leant forward as she looked toward Vik to flash him a smile. *shit* 

“Sorry Vik” she stammered, eyes wide with embarassment. She wasn’t expecting him to be with a patient, usually Misty would tell her...*fuck* she thought to herself. Misty wasn’t even there to tell be able her, why didn't she consider this.

Her eyebrows knotted in her over thinking. *and now I'm just sat here like an idiot. An idot who owes him many many eddies. Some kind of annoying bag of crushing hormones* 

“Grab me that rag will ya, kid?’ He interrupted her train of thought, pointing past her.  

“we’re about finished up anyhow...to what do I owe the pleasure?”  

He spun back around and started to turn off the monitors on his patient, who was now fully awake and tracing the steps of the unknown visitor.

He always knew how to calm her. Even when he didn't know that she was berating herself internally, he just knew that a few calmed words from his mouth would always bring her vibe back to where it should be.

“I wish lovely women brought me bottles of whisky at work Doc... “ He spoke softly at Vik, so that she didn’t hear as she approached. 

“You know what happened last time this brat brought me whisky? A half hour consult ended up with me elbow deep in hydrophobic grease for 4 hours...took me the better part of the next morning to recalibrate my exoglove. Its bribery is what it is.” He felt a hand grasping his shoulder and giving him a little squeeze, and a towel was left draping on his neck

“Chest plate looks nova. That what you guys did today?” She nodded at Viks latest work. Vik knew he did a pretty good job, and he was humble about it, but for some reason he felt proud when she said that. Not like she hadn't seen his work before, most of her chrome was introduced with her sat in that very chair in fact. There was something nice about hearing her praises though.

As he started to wipe his elbows and forearms, he caught his patients gaze, locked onto the jeans she was wearing, and how they hugged her ass. He was pretty sure he could see the guys eyes moving from one side to the next as her slow meander made her ass bounce ever so slightly with every step toward the desk.

"Steady on there choom. She could put you back in this chair quick as you can blink" Vik didn't realise he was even saying the words as they left his mouth. He felt himself blushing...wait. No. He wasn't blushing. He was feeling anger. This fucking guy. He was eating into Viks clock out time. He was sat on viks chair. He was staring at viks girl. *fuck vik* he scolded himself for feeling possessive of her and lightly shook his head to himself.

"Sorry man...didn't know you guys were a thing." His client chirped back at him. 

"Nothin' like that. I just know her. Pretty well actually" he said as he stood up and walked the client away from the halogen lights.

Vik carefully watched this guys every move as he got closer to her. 

"Thats a good whisky you bought there" the client tried to earn her favour and Viks new hatred grew with every word coming from his gonk mouth. 

"Hands off champ. That one's mine" vik almost growled the words, but was hoping they came across more jovial than they were ment. His anger built as he saw this gonk lean over her shoulder. He pulled a card from his jacket and Vik heard his next attempt.

"if you ever fancy dropping whisky at my office, or you wanted to get dinner or something". She didn't even hear his dodgy come on, her heart had started flutters when she heard Vik note his displeasure. She imagined for a moment that he meant SHE was his, instead of the whisky. She played the loop in her head *that one's mine*.

Vik stood up, unaware of what he thought he would do. His left hand closed into a fist, and his face started to burn. In his mind he was giving this fucker a count of 3 to start walking out, before he ushered him out.

3....

Nope. Still there

2...

Gonk was now reaching to touch her hand

1...

"OK, off you go. If she wants, she can call, but I'm clocking out" 

She could hear his boots stomping the ground as Vik strode toward her. It took him long enough. This dick was seriously trying to hit on her in Viks surgery.  She wondered if this was some sort of brotherly affection, or if it could possibly be jealousy. Whatever it was, it certainly perked her mood up to see him have such a strong reaction.

"Oh that there is mad Vik!" She smiled and nodded to the gate "if he doesn't get fed soon , he's likely to get real angry" she laughed out as the customer walked as swiftly as possible through the gates.

Viks heart fluttered back into his chest when he saw her throw the card into the waste. He couldn't believe that feeling. The guy was a nice customer, but as soon as he saw that guy staring. It just shook him, he felt like he used to before a fight. Adrenalin surged through his muscles, but this time with no where to use it.

His thought was interupted when a whisky bottle was thrust within a foot of his face, a cheeky smile hidden behind it, sat under bright wide eyes and a raised happy brow.

"Happy Birthday Vik. Legal to drink now finally?" She smirked at his frown, knowing her jibes at his age were always a sure way to bait him.

He had forgotten it was his birthday. Intentionally.

"My favourite. How did you know?" He cooed jokingly. She bought it. Every. Time.

"I just buy it 'cause it says 'Dickin'" she shrugged and handed him a box with a bow that she had been hiding behind her back. The box was just brown cardboard, with a velvet black bow barely keeping the flaps closed but it sort of reminded him of how her apartment smelt, and how she was kind of like a brown cardboard box, with a velvet ribbon...or some shit. He had no idea but he knew there was a metaphore there somewhere. It just reminded him of her for some reason. 

"Whats this?"

" Well it's just a box until you open it Doc" she took it from his hands and laid it down on the desk. He was still gloved up and she was cautious of him dropping the box. She frowned softly at him. 

"Take off the scissorhand first. Then you unwrap. Then we drink."

He let out a heavy breath through a contented smile, and found himself looking forward to slumping on the couch out back with such wonderful company. 

"Ok." He really didn't know what could be in that bloody box though. It was a rectangle, about the same length and width of his hand about 5 inches high, and it was a little heavy, but didn't make a noise when it moved. It's probably something for surgery, he thought to himself as he turned to the back.

"Come on then kid. I ain't drinking stood up" he reached out and threw his right arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his chest tightly. He could feel her warm breath through his shirt as he playfully lifted her from the ground with one strong arm.

His muscles flexed around her and she felt her toes lifting to the air. Her inner eye brows raised and she let out a near silent giggle into him. She felt a soft kiss on the top of her head before he dropped her back to the floor. 

More to come....

[set-phasers-to-whump]

secret

prompt: secret

whumpee: kurt wallander

fandom: young wallander

hey! it’s been a sec since i did a fic for this month lol, so here is this one. hope you like it! 

It’s so stupid, Kurt thinks, afterwards. Of all the dumbest ways to get hurt…

--

Kurt has just come back from a quick morning trip to the store. He’s walking up the staircase to get to his apartment (the elevator is broken again) when there’s a loud clang from somewhere outside. It startles him, and his foot misses the step, and he trips. He’s holding a bag of groceries in his right hand, so he sticks out the left to break his fall.

His hand hits the ground hard, and the wrist folds under him, pinned between his body and the ground. There’s a crunching feeling and he swears he can actually hear a snap and then his wrist, all through his hand, is white hot with pain. He screams and his eyes fill with tears and fuck, he really can’t do this now. He has work today!

He allows himself a few seconds of pain before forcing himself to his feet. He picks up the single apple that had fallen out of his grocery bag, replaces it, then gets moving. His wrist hurts like it’s been smashed with a hammer or something similarly horrible, and it feels hot with the pain. He imagines flames licking up his arm and hopes that he’ll have enough time before work to fix this up - he’s got an ice pack and some painkillers and maybe he can even find something to brace his wrist with. Anything to lessen the pain of his almost-certainly-broken wrist without going to the doctor. 

He can’t go to the doctor. If anyone finds out that he’s hurt, he’s sure Rask will bench him and he’ll be left filling out paperwork while everyone else is out in the field. This sounds like a fate worse than death, and certainly worse than a little bit of discomfort. So it’s decided. He’ll just keep this little injury a secret from everyone he knows, and he’ll take care of it himself, as best as he can. 

Back in his apartment, Kurt quickly downs a few painkillers (though he doubts they’ll do much for him - there’s only so much pain that they’re capable of killing). He checks the time and groans. He’d hoped that he might have time to put some ice on his wrist, maybe even wrap it, but no such luck. He must’ve wallowed in his pain in the stairwell for longer than he’d thought. He needs to leave for work now if he wants to be on time. 

--

By the time he arrives at work, his wrist has started to swell. It’s also sort of floppy and weird-looking, and he adjusts it with his right hand as best as he can, hissing sharply when the movement sends a jolt of pain through his entire lower arm. 

Fortunately, no one had been around to witness this, and Kurt quickly gets to his desk before anyone can notice him. He is definitely not in the mood for conversation right now. 

He sinks down at his desk and eyes the fresh stack of paperwork sitting atop it. He sits there and looks at the papers and tries to get himself to focus, but no such luck. His wrist is throbbing and aching and just plain hurting and it takes all of his effort to make himself sit there and not whimper or cry or scream or do something similarly unbusinesslike. 

“Morning,” comes Reza’s voice, and Kurt looks up from the paperwork. Reza is just sitting down at his desk, opposite Kurt’s, with a steaming cup of coffee and a smile on his face. 

“Morning,” Kurt replies, voice strained. 

“You good?” Reza asks. Kurt nods. 

“You sure? You kind of look...I dunno. Off.”

Kurt tries to make himself not look off, and aims for a smile. It must not come across very well. 

“Are you sick? Did you get hurt?”

He shakes his head. Reza can’t know, because then he’ll want Kurt to go to the doctor, and then he’ll get stuck behind this desk for several weeks, and probably die from a lack of things to do. 

Reza raises his eyebrows at Kurt’s response, but doesn’t push any more. “Alright. Well, listen, Rask said she wants me to get some of these old files from the evidence storage. There’s like, at least 20 boxes. Wanna help?”

Kurt can’t exactly say no to that without sounding like he’s got something to hide (which he has), so he agrees. He stands up, acutely aware of the positioning of his left arm, and follows Reza to evidence storage. 

As soon as they’re in the room, Kurt realizes that he’s in trouble. The shelves are lined with cardboard boxes, none of which look small or light enough to be carried in one hand. Maybe he can balance them on his arms instead…

“First one,” Reza announces, and Kurt hurries to join him. Reza is pulling a box off a shelf that is labeled “Files - 2018.” He holds it out to Kurt, who takes a deep breath and then extends both of his arms. 

Reza looks at him quizzically when Kurt doesn’t reach out to grab the box. “Hello?” he says. “You gonna take it?”

“Put it on my arms,” Kurt instructs, and Reza looks at him like he’s crazy, but sets it down as Kurt had asked. 

He manages to avoid hitting Kurt’s injured wrist, and for a second, Kurt thinks, I can do this, but boxes aren’t really meant for sitting atop human arms. The cardboard slides against the fabric of Kurt’s jacket, and before he can stop it, the box is tumbling to the floor, lid flying off, files going in every direction.

He doesn’t have the energy to be upset. He just looks at the spread of papers for a few seconds, sighing, before slowly crouching to the ground and grabbing a couple in his right hand. 

Reza, who had been in the middle of retrieving another box, sets it down and comes to help. “What happened?” he asks, and Kurt shrugs, carefully setting the papers into the box. 

Reza reaches out and grabs Kurt’s wrist - the right one, thankfully - and Kurt turns to look at him. 

“Seriously, man, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Kurt says stiffly, pulling his wrist out of Reza’s grasp. He resolutely goes back to his paper-gathering, and Reza silently goes back to his other box, taking it out of the room. 

A few minutes later, Reza returns. Kurt is still in the process of picking up the loose papers, which is taking him much longer than it should due to his only having one usable hand. He’s trying very hard not to keep glancing at his unusable hand, which has begun to bruise around the wrist and all down the back. 

He hears Reza sigh behind him, then speak. “Did something happen to your hand?”

Kurt quickly pulls the sleeve of his jacket down to cover his hand. “No.”

“Kurt.”

Reza crouches down in front of him, staring at his face until Kurt has no choice but to meet his eyes. “Kurt. What’s wrong.”

“Nothing,” Kurt insists, reaching for another file. 

Reza sighs again. “Fine, then come here,” he instructs. Kurt can tell that he doesn’t have much of a choice, so he obeys, carefully pushing himself to his feet with his right hand. 

“Take this,” Reza says, and he holds out another box of files. Kurt swallows nervously, thinks, this is about to go terribly wrong, then reaches out both of his hands and grabs the box. 

Which promptly drops from his grasp with a cry of pain. Trying to move his hand and close his fingers had been bad enough, but adding on the fact that his wrist is trying to support a weight - the pain is so intense that his vision goes blurry, and he sits down hard, nearly collapsing. Out of instinct, he cradles his left hand to his chest, wanting at once to touch it and keep it secure and to leave it alone so he doesn’t hurt himself even more. 

He doesn’t even realize that Reza is still there until something touches his left hand. He winces and tries to pull away, but there’s nowhere for him to go. Reza’s hand gently pulls Kurt’s own hand away from his body, his fingers light against the tender skin. It hurts a lot anyway, and Kurt kind of hates himself for the hot tears that have started gathering in his eyes for the second time that day. 

“Kurt…” Reza says, and Kurt closes his eyes. He can’t do this, it hurts so much, he doesn’t want to be here, god, it hurts…

“Your wrist is broken,” Reza continues, after a beat. Kurt had been expecting anger, but Reza’s voice is decidedly calm. He can’t decide whether he likes this or hates it. 

“Yeah,” Kurt agrees, because there’s really no point in lying now. 

“You need to see a doctor.”

“I don’t want to,” Kurt says, and he’s aware that he probably sounds like a child, but it’s the truth. 

“You need to, Kurt. I will force you, if I have to.”

He definitely doesn’t want that. He is unfortunately well aware of the fact that Reza is capable of picking him up, and further, that Reza has no qualms about picking him up. He doesn’t exactly feel like being bodily removed from the police station and forced to the doctor, so he acquiesces. 

“Fine.”

“Good decision.”

Reza helps him to his feet, being overly careful to avoid his left side completely. He keeps a hand on Kurt’s shoulder as they walk out of evidence storage, leaving behind several files still strewn across the floor. 

“We’re telling Rask first,” Reza says, the hand on Kurt’s shoulder guiding him towards her office. Kurt groans, but it’s too late to back out now. Reza knocks on the door and Rask waves them in. 

--

In the end, it’s not so bad. Rask gives him a stern talking-to that is half anger, half concern, and the doctor gives him an x-ray and then a cast and then some painkillers which work a good deal better than the ones from home. He also instructs Kurt to take a few days off of work before returning to desk duty (instructions that Kurt - and probably Reza, too - knows full well he’s not going to follow).

When it’s all done, Reza drives him home (Rask had been quite firm that he was to take the remainder of the day off). He insists upon Kurt settling himself onto the couch with an ice pack on his wrist and the painkillers in easy reach. He won’t leave until he’s satisfied that everything is in order, and even then, Kurt has to prod him with reminders that he still has 19 boxes of evidence to remove from storage. 

“And whose fault is that, I wonder,” Reza says, making his way to the door at long last. “I’d be done with those boxes by now if it weren’t for you.”

“Sorry.”

“I’m not mad. But would it kill you to occasionally tell other people about your problems?”

Kurt considers this. “Maybe,” he decides at last. Reza shakes his head and laughs as he opens the door. 

“See you tomorrow,” he says, and Kurt actually manages to smile at him.

“See you tomorrow.”

thanks for reading this! hope you liked it :)

[n0-eyedtaissa]

Five Long Days (Serpent Siblings!AU)

A/N: In follow up to Christmas Kids, the day after the Southside kids have themselves a Christmas party, Ruthie and Romeo wake up before anyone else and need a caffeine fix in order to quell the hangover. They share more than just breakfast and coffee, and are both counting down the days until New Years. (featuring literally all of @hughstheforcelou​‘s OCs)

Word Count: 3,028

The day after Christmas was a testament to how fast everything had the ability to change. None of the radio stations in town played any more Christmas music. All of the storefronts were abandoning their themed displays and the flashy, holiday tackiness. All across town families were discarding crumpled wrapping paper and big cardboard boxes that shiny new toys came in, beginning to repack decorations back into the plastic storage tubs to be pushed away into the rafters for the next eleven months. It was as if when the clock struck midnight on December 25, the fog was lifted and the harsh reality of the real world sank back in unclouded. Usually, the day after Christmas felt disappointing, a let-down after all of the build-up from the weeks before. This morning, though, was quite the opposite of disappointing.

Romeo Fogarty wakes up with a sharp pain emanating in his temples and when he squints his eyes open, it takes him a minute to realize where he’s at. The pillow that his head is pressed into smells clean, like cheap laundry detergent and lavender scented shampoo. The blankets are warm but not scratchy and old-feeling like the one’s in Abuela’s guest room. The curtains over the window are gauzy and paper thin, doing little to stop the bright morning sun from streaming inside. He tries his best to blink away the sleep and rub away the sandpaper feeling from his lukewarm eyes. His joints ache from being bent at odd angles to compensate for his height and his awkward frame against Ruthie’s, trying to keep as respectable of a distance as one could manage with the two of them tangled in her full size bed. They didn’t kiss last night or even touch, but it was something different. It would always be something different between the two of them. Romeo closes his eyes and wills himself to go back to sleep just a little bit longer to savor the moment, but like most things, sleep never comes easy when forced. He tries not to move too much and wake Ruthie up, rolling onto his back carefully and continuing his survey of the surroundings because Romeo realizes he’s never been inside her room. In the year and a half that he’d known Ruthie, he’d only known her bedroom as the second door on the right, a frame that she ducked through here and there to grab extra blankets or her glass pipe. Ruthie’s room is simple and it looks like it hasn’t really been redecorated since she was a kid. Romeo liked it, though. Thought it felt right for her. The comforter on the bed was purple and printed with flowers and there were more than enough pillows for the two of them. There’s a white wicker dresser that’s covered in what Romeo would call “typical girl stuff”: strewn clothes, Ruthie’s favorite pair of heart-shaped sunglasses, bright-colored bottles of lotions and sprays and polishes. There’s a bookshelf piled high with books and mix cds stacked in their colorful jewel cases — probably all of the ones she made for Spyder — Romeo thought, even though he didn’t like that he did. 

Romeo slept in his jeans last night, not wanting to do anything to make Ruthie uncomfortable. His belt buckle has been digging into his skin for hours now and Romeo finally decided to do something about it, holding his breath and doing a barrel roll out of Ruthie’s bed, pulling the purple blanket closer around her shoulders. Romeo stands in the middle of the room for a moment, taking it all in, not knowing the next time Ruthie would open her doors to him. There’s a long piece of string tacked to the wall with pictures clothes pinned to it, Romeo steps closer and investigates, rubbing his eyes: There’s  picture of young Ruthie and who Romeo could only assume was her dad, sitting in one of the booths at Pop’s, blowing out candles on a birthday cake. There’s a handful of pictures of Ruthie and Sweet Pea, a picture of Ruthie and little Queenie showing off their orange-peel smiles on the sidelines of a junior league soccer game. Romeo likes one picture specifically. He doesn’t know who was the one to take it because Ruthie, Dante, Spyder, and CD are all in the picture…a rare and momentous occasion. Ruthie’s head is tilted back and she’s laughing, her eyes crinkled like Dante had just told one of his shitty jokes. In the picture Ruthie looked carefree, comfortable, and unworried. Romeo wondered about the last time she smiled like that. Stopping in front of the bedroom door, Romeo takes a look at Ruthie who’s fast asleep, her hair covering her face and her mouth open only a little, and he feels a sort of deep tug in his chest but pushes it away as he turns the doorknob quietly, leaving her to sleep. 

“Bro! Oh no you fuckin’ didn’t!” CD whisper-shouts from his spot on the ratty green couch as he watches Romeo make his way up the hall. Romeo puts is finger to his lips to signal to be quiet but it’s no use because soon CD was rolling out question after question. 

“You dirty dog!” CD whisper-shouts again, smacking at one of the deflated couch cushions with an excited palm. “Man I’d like to be a fly on that wall!” 

Romeo rolls his eyes, “Watch your mouth, nothing even happened, fool!” He smacks CD’s leg as he sits down on the carpet with his back resting against the couch. There’s a baggie of weed on the table, leftover from their little event the night before, so Romeo starts breaking it up with his fingers so he can roll a joint. 

“They always say nothing happened when something actually happened” CD wriggles his eyebrows suggestively but Romeo is adamant. 

“Nothing happened, dude, be respectful” 

“Man she likes you, you know that right?” 

Romeo raises an eyebrow. “How do you know that, she say something?” He tries not to sound as eager as he feels but it’s obvious, especially to CD. 

“She ain’t gotta say shit, you can see it on her face, man” CD explains “I’ve known that girl for years and she doesn’t act like that with just anyone.” 

Romeo wants to ask like what, not being able to see these things since he hadn’t been around long enough, but instead he asks again, “How do you know?” 

“I’ve tried that door like a million times, man, that shit’s been locked…”

“Will the two of you shut the fuck up!” Spyder squints one of his eyes open and chucks a rolled-up sock at CD’s head before closing his eyes again, his hands folded over his chest as he laid back in the reclining chair. 

Romeo chuckles softly and goes back to rollin up his morning joint. The clock on the wall tells him that it’s finally nine o’clock and his stomach rumbles as if on command, he was in dire need of some breakfast and his morning coffee. Spyder falls back to sleep and so does CD, Dante’s such a deep sleeper that a hurricane couldn’t wake him up so he didn’t even budge to begin with. Soon the living room is quiet again, the only noises being the idle sounds of steady breathing and the occasional car horn or bird sound from outside. Time seems to move slower that morning, as though time stopped after Christmas and the five of them had yet to catch up. Romeo doesn’t know how long he was sitting on the floor in front of the couch, could’ve been twenty minutes but it could’ve been an hour. Yet still, sometime after he hears the doorknob turn. 

Ruthie is still wearing her tights and her socks from last night, though she elected to trade her hand-sewn party dress for something more comfortable. Her big sweatshirt dwarves her frame and Romeo can’t help but think she looks cute with that sleepy look in her eyes. “Morning” she mumbles, like she was surprised that Romeo was awake. 

“Morning, Shorty” Romeo smiles and tucks his tightly rolled joint behind his ear for later.  “Sleep okay?” Ruthie nods noncommittally and looks around the living room to survey for any open spots she could sit in. Spyder was snoring in the recliner, Dante was sprawled out on the love seat with his long legs bent over the side, and CD was taking up all of the space on the big couch. 

Romeo gets up quickly, “You hungry? Angel’s definitely at the coffee shop by now, lemme buy you breakfast.” It wasn’t really a question — he wasn’t going to take no for an answer even though he knew that Ruthie was more than capable of paying for herself. It wasn’t that he was trying to buy her affections, Romeo simply wanted to spend more time with her that wasn’t clouded by knowing glances and the immature comments from his cousin and their friends.

Ruthie is quiet for a second, half drowsy and contemplating. She looks down at her sock covered feet and then back up at Romeo, “What about these guys, though?”

Romeo kisses his teeth and waves a noncommittal hand, “These fools sleep like they’re dead, I guarantee you we could leave and come back and they’d all still be out cold.” Ruthie cracks a sleepy smile because she knew Romeo was right. “Go grab a jacket, Ruth, it’s cold out…” 

Ruthie and Romeo bundle up in their puffy winter jackets soon Ruthie is pulling the front door closed quietly behind them, trying not to disturb the three boys still sleeping inside. The two of them make their way down the front steps of the house and hold onto each other as they try not to slip on the icy gravel in the driveway. It feels eerily silent outside and the cold only made it more apparent. That false sense of warmth that the holidays can bring on was starting to fade, and by the stroke on midnight on New Year’s Eve, anything left of that so-called holiday magic would be gone without a trace. The December air is the kind of cold that stings their noses as they inhale and Ruthie finds herself taking the corner of her sweatshirt sleeve to dab at the corner of her watery eyes. Neither one of them say a word until they’re outside the confines of Sunnyside Trailer Park, as if everyone in the neighborhood had their ears pressed to the doors waiting to hear their secrets. 

“Remember that thing I said yesterday, Shorty?” Romeo pipes up, slowing his pace in order to compensate for Ruthie’s shorter legs. 

“Which part?” Sure a lot of word were exchanged between Ruthie and Romeo yesterday at the Christmas party, but even more was left unsaid.

“About, you know…” Romeo feels his face heat up as he finds himself shying away from an honest declaration of his feelings. It felt more real today, like it held more weight. Last night things felt easy because it was Christmas and they were carefree and happy and under the influence of more than just the Christmas spirit. Romeo sighs and decides to spit it out: “About me thinking you’re pretty and like…wanting to do something about that.”

Ruthie stops in her tracks, smirking at she shields her eyes in order to look up at him. “And what do you think you’re gonna do about that, Fogarty?” Ruthie hopes that she sounds flirtatious but she thinks it might’ve actually come across as mean. 

He smiles down at her and thinks for a second. “I don’t really know yet, Shorty but I think I’ma start with this” Romeo reaches for her hand and interlocks his fingers with her own. Ruthie squeezes his hand and they keep walking. “That okay?” 

“Definitely okay”

They hold hands for the entire rest of the walk to the coffee shop although neither one of them were talking all that much. Silence was comfortable between Ruthie and Romeo, they didn’t feel the need to fill the empty spaces in conversations only for the sake of talking. It sounded cheesy to admit, but it felt like the two of them were on the same wavelength; always somehow able to understand one another without having to say anything. Romeo opens the door for Ruthie like always but this time it feels different. Both of them are painfully aware of the fact that Angel Abrejo is staring at their entwined hands from under the dorky visor he had to wear while he was working.

“Looks like the Christmas party was pretty exciting?” Angel raises his eyebrow and Romeo’s neck gets hot. 

“You could say that” Ruthie laughs and squints at the menu above his head. She didn’t need to look at the menu, she’d been a consistent enough presence at the coffee shop that she already had her usual…she just didn’t want to meet Angel’s gaze right now. Angel had been finding reasons to push the two of them together since they met and neither one of them wanted to give him the satisfaction of an I told you so.

“All right man, lemme get a large black coffee and a slice of that banana bread…and I assume Shorty over here wants her usual?” Romeo smirks down at Ruthie, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand. 

Ruthie gives an emphatic nod yes and Angel looks at both of them like he’s on the verge of throwing up. Romeo takes his coffee with no milk but lots of sugar and Ruthie crinkles her nose in distaste as he pours another sugar packet in his ceramic mug. He laughs at her and steals a bite from one half of her chocolate chip bagel. The two of them finish their breakfast and leave the coffee shop feeling more energized and much less hungover. Both Ruthie and Romeo were unofficial caffeine addicts who weren’t afraid to admit it — that was another thing they had in common. 

They don’t say it out loud but they both start heading the long way home. Romeo remembers the joint he has tucked behind his ear and retrieves it and his lighter, sparking it up and handing it to Ruthie who politely declines. 

“Sometimes, when I get too high I think people can’t hear me so I start talking really loud…” She shrugs, somewhat sheepish. 

Romeo laughs loudly, puffing away, “Believe me Ruth, I’ve realized.” Ruthie shoves him playfully and Romeo runs a few steps away from her, whooping as he bobs and weaves out of her arms reach. 

Ruthie runs after him, giggling, and suddenly it’s a full blown race: Romeo’s holding onto his belt as he runs, his puffy jacket billowing out behind him as he tried to catch up to Ruthie a few paces ahead of him. She may be skinny but she’s fast, her freshman year of high school Ruthie was almost a star of the girls track team before it lost its funding. Shortly thereafter she decided to dedicate more of her time to smoking cigarettes and consuming her weight in french fries from Pop’s. Ruthie might have been out of running shape but she wasn’t going to lose to Romeo. Her lungs are burning because of the cold air and she can feel her breakfast churning in her stomach but she looks over her shoulder and keeps running all the way to the street corner Ignacio’s bodega was on, smiling the entire time.

“Jesus—“ Romeo leans over and puts his hands on his knees as he regulates his breathing, “—why did I do this — I hate running!” He wheezes and Ruthie laughs, pushing her windswept hair out of her face. 

“It’s not your fault, the oxygen is much thinner up there” She winks, joking about his height. Ruthie’s about a head shorter than Romeo but she’s all long, skinny legs. 

“Yeah, maybe that’s it” 

They sit on the front steps of Ignacio’s and catch their breath, taking a moment to sit and pet the bodega cats. Ruthie gives them scratches behind their ears and Romeo tries his best not to sneeze. Ruthie holds Romeo’s hand hight as she pulls him up from the stairs now that he’s caught his breath and they continue their way home, wondering how much damage they would be met with having left Dante, CD, and Spyder unsupervised for a handful of hours. 

The two of them stop short in front of the Sunnyside Trailer Park sign and Ruthie looks over at Romeo, confused. 

“You know I wanna kiss you, right Shorty?” Romeo sighs. He’s nervous for lots of reasons. One being that he’s never kissed a girl before and he doesn’t wanna fuck it up somehow, the other being that he was nervous about overstepping Ruthie’s boundaries or taking her too far out of her comfort zone. Hell, it had taken them a year and a half to even hold hands, how long would it take for something like that to happen if both of them were too scared to be honest and make a move. 

“Really?” Ruthie was just as nervous as he was. 

“Yeah…is that okay?” Romeo asks and Ruthie nods in response, taking his hand. Definitely okay. “I know you don’t like surprises so I wanted to tell you and all.”

Ruthie quirks up an eyebrow at him. “Okay…so are you gonna do it?”

Romeo’s face heats up. “Well, uh, not now, no—” he sputters, feeling thrown off guard. “cause I just told you it was gonna happen and like, I dunno. Gotta let the tension build…”

“Oh-kay” Ruthie says with bemusement, pulling Romeo into the grid-work labyrinth of trailers and motorhomes. 

“I’m gonna kiss you on New Years, Shorty, just you wait” Romeo smiles at her, pulling her closer to him and slinging his arm around her shoulder. 

“That’s a whole five days away!” She protests.

“Tension, Shorty. Gotta build some tension!” Both of them would find those five days to be the longest ever. 

[howaminotinthestrokesyet]

Radio Friendly Unit Shifter: The Complete Nirvana Videography

Heart-Shaped Box

Nirvana had originally wanted Kevin Kerslake to direct this video, who had written the initial treatment in July 1992. By the summer of 1993, he had written at least five treatments, which included a shot of Kurt Cobain kissing William Burroughs and another of the entire band hanging by their necks from trees. Yet by the end of August, the band decided to go with Dutch photographer Anton Corbijn. The director seemed initially apprehensive about agreeing to do the video as he had heard Kurt Cobain could act overly detailed in production. He would say, “But then I looked at it and I thought that actually it was pretty good. I was very amazed by somebody writing a song and having those ideas as precise as he did." The video begins with the band standing in a hospital room around an old man receiving an IV drip, then moves to a surreal Wizard of Oz type of outdoor setting. The same old man in a Santa and later Pope hat climbs on a crow infested cross as they sing the song. The video also includes a young girl reaching for fetuses in a tree, while at the same time an overweight woman appears with human organs painted on her chest with a pair of wings. Many of these ideas were actually conceived by Corbijn, not the band as he always came up with the ideas on his own for any of his videos. Upon the promotion’s release, Kevin Kerslake sued the band for copyright infringement, as the case would be settled out of court. Upon its release, the clip became the most played video on MTV eventually garnering two video music awards for Best Alternative Video and Art Direction. Dave Grohl, Krist Novoselic, and Pat Smear accepted the awards as Kurt Cobain had already passed. New Musical Express named it as the 11th best music video of all time, while Time magazine called it the number 10 music video ever saying it was both “beautiful and terrible.” In 2016, Dave Grohl reunited with the young girl from the video, who had this to say about the reunion. “Today reminded me that I peaked at 6 years old but I was the most badass kid on the playground. Today was the absolute coolest. Or in Dave's words seeing each other today was a 'historic moment'! What a legend!”

Sliver

A music video for the song was released in 1993 to promote the compilation album, Incesticide. The video would be directed by longtime collaborator Kevin Kerslake. The clip begins with Kurt Cobain holding his young daughter up behind some cardboard as she dances along to the first few seconds of the track. The video moves to Cobain’s garage, where it shows the band performing the song. Dave Grohl is playing on the drums, even though he never played on the original song. Cobain only sings into a microphone, but he's never seen playing guitar. He is wearing a red mohair sweater that Courtney Love had purchased for him from a fan at a Nirvana show in Belfast, Northern Ireland. His whole garage is filled with toys and decorations the singer had placed in storage just before the release of Nevermind that he had collected over the years. The collection included a Chim Chim toy monkey that was given to him from the Japanese band Shonen Knife.

Come As You Are

This video would actually be the first one directed by Kevin Kerslake, who was hired after such a negative experience with the director on Smells Like Teen Spirit. The concept would be developed by Kerslake as Cobain could not come up with any ideas, so he let the director develop the video. The singer’s only requirement was that some kind of reference be made to the cover of the Nevermind album. The clip shows the band in a dark room as water falls around them obscuring their form. Other images include Cobain swinging from a chandelier, a dog wandering around the room, a baby swimming in a pool, and a pistol falling underwater. The end of the video shows the entire group lying on the ground as Cobain kisses the camera.

Lithium

This video originally had a concept of doing a short animated story about a female girl named Prego. This girl lives in a forest, when she finds some eggs and takes them to a king in a nearby castle. Unfortunately, both Kevin Kerslake and Cobain discovered that it would take four months to produce the video, so they abandoned the idea. Kerslake instead created a collage of concert footage for the video made up of their 1991 Paramount Theater concert and other footage from the 1992 film, The Year Punk Broke. Biographer Michael Azerrad would make this critical comment about the clip. "Although [the video] was enlivened by Kerslake's neat trick of using more violent footage during the quiet parts of the song and vice versa, it was something of a disappointment from a band and a song that promised so much."

You Know You’re Right

Chris Hafner directed this video released in October 2002 to coincide with the single of the same name. The clip shows a montage of The band in either concerts or interviews, but giving the impression that they are actually performing the song. The video would reach number two on Billboard’s music videos chart. New Musical Express would go on to nominate it for Best Music Video in 2002.

In Bloom

Two versions of this video exist. The first one showed clips of the band walking around New York City and performing at Maxwells in New Jersey. In the clip, one can see Krist Novoselic in some shots has hair and others a shaved head. The reason for that comes from the fact that he had to shave it as punishment for a mediocre performance during a show at the Pyramid Club. They made this alternate version for a compilation dvd on the Sub Pop label, Sub Pop Video Network Volume One. The second version, which most people remember is called the Nevermind version. This promotional clip would be directed once again by Kevin Kerslake and released in November 1992. Kurt Cobain’s original concept for it was to tell the story of a young girl born into a Ku Klux Klan family until she realizes the evil nature of her parents, but the concept seemed much too difficult to work out. He then switched it into a parody of 1960’s television shows like the Ed Sullivan Show. The entire video was shot in original cameras of the period in Kinescope, while the band did the entire song without a script. The actor playing the host was Doug Llewellyn, who had worked as the reporter interviewing people after their case on the People’s Court. Cobain wanted to make a funny parody video to show that there was another side to Nirvana. He felt “so tired for the last year of people taking us so seriously . . . I wanted to fuck off and show them that we have a humorous side to us.” The entire band would wear suits during their performance, while the Nirvana frontman had glasses that eventually made him quite dizzy. He would later say in a Melody Maker interview that they wanted to parody groups like the Dave Clark Five, but not the Beatles. He would never mock the Fab Four due to their influence on his songwriting. In the clip, Novoselic is wearing short hair, which he liked so much that he never changed it. They eventually destroy all of their instruments and the stage by the end of the song. In Bloom would go on to win the 1993 MTV Music Video Award for Best Alternative Video.

Smells Like Teen Spirit

This video would be directed by first timer Sam Bayer. The director believed that he actually got hired because the work on his résumé seemed so below average that Nirvana thought that it would represent the opposite of anything remotely corporate. The concept developed by the band was to stage a school concert that ended in a riot. The idea had been based on the films Rock ‘n’ Roll High School starring the Ramones and The 1979 film, Over the Edge. The clip begins with the band playing the song during a pep rally in a high school gym as cheerleaders wearing sweaters with the anarchy symbol on them cheer along. Every so often, the camera cuts to a janitor dancing alongside his broom. The video ends with the apathetic students going from the bleachers to the gym floor in a full-scale riot. The apathy from the students was actually real as they had been sitting on the bleachers all day. Cobain was finally able to convince Bayer that the students should be allowed to mosh at the end of the video. The singer said, “Once the kids came out dancing they just said 'fuck you', because they were so tired of his shit throughout the day.” The Nirvana frontman hated the directors final edit of the video so much that he went in himself creating what became the final version. Upon its release, Rolling Stone’s David Fricke would say that it was “the greatest gig that you could ever imagine.” The video would go on the win MTV Video Music Awards for Best New Artist and Best Alternative Video. In 1999, the video was named the number three music video of all time on a list put out by MTV. VH1 named it number 18 in the greatest television moments in the history of music as alternative music now became a “commercial and cultural force.” At the end of 2019, the video had been viewed 1 billion times on YouTube.

[marueonmain]

WINDFLOWER

part one ~ caught sight of her ~

(part one)

A/N: I wanted to write this for awhile. It’s the first fanfic I’ve ever written so it might not be amazing, but I hope it’s good and that you enjoy it! I will be getting some of the English aspects wrong (sorry).

Summary: Alex is not the kind of man (if given the chance) to steal another man's girlfriend. Or is he? 

Pairing: imallexx x reader

Warning: Set in 2020. Mentions of the Budweiser Bug. (Sam is an OC)

Word Count: 2.5k

It was a warm and late afternoon.

There was a short break in the clouds and the sunlight streamed through to bounce off his sunglasses, as he walked the pavement.

It was a warm and late afternoon – teetering on hot.

Alex wore his white Gucci button-up which was fantastic for not attracting heat. Still there were noticeable wet spots under his arms. For each street closer he was to his apartment building he quickened his pace and rolled his shoulders back. Adjusting – so that the cloth might peel off from his skin without him having to directly pinch it out from his armpits. Alex did not like being sweaty – but who did?

Despite how he might have felt about crowds or said crowds looking at him, he more often than not enjoyed the loudness of his expensive shirts, his california twink shorts, even his odd hair colours (if applicable). What these preferences said for his personality was anyone's guess.

Maybe he was secure enough in his identity to enjoy things that are deemed as classically feminine. Maybe he was making a statement on the gender binary, or the expectations of traditional masculinity.

Maybe he had stared into the darkness inside long enough that he could not bear having to see it outside as well. Or maybe he liked pink – thought it complimented his cool skin tone or his lip colour.

Which it did.

One street from his building, Alex picked up his feet and sped up. He reached the front entrance; his hand went for the door handle and – WHAM!

Alex grasped at his nose, which had connected first with the glass of the door as it swung out. There was no red on his hands as he drew them back to check, but there was a general throbbing radiating out from the middle of his face.

From above him, a man asked, "Shit, you alright there?" His voice was rich like a slice of peanut butter cheesecake drizzled in a chocolate sauce of genuine concern. While he spoke, the man dropped the large cardboard box he was holding – it hit the ground like it weighed well over seven stone – and sidestepped out from the other side of the door.

"No. Yeah. Fuck, give me a moment."

"I could get you ice or something, maybe?" The man held his hand out in the air at an odd distance from Alex’s left shoulder, hesitant it seemed to touch him.

"It's fine." His eyes spotted the hand, then the discarded box. It was wrapped tight in tape, across the top was written STORAGE in permanent marker. Alex gestured to the building and asked, "You moving out?"

"Moving in actually, I just grabbed the wrong box by accident. Maybe one of these days I'll learn how to read." He bent over and picked the box up.

"Well, I'm Alex. 205"

"Sam. 305." (a floor above) "Everyone calls me Sammy."

How to describe Sammy. Picture an elk – a blond elk. A majestic beast for sure. Picture that and then make it stand on its hind legs and also be a person. He had a naturally muscular build and an evident dedication to a workout regimen – not too intense like three or four times a week.

Everything about him appeared likeable, charming. Certainly, it was his voice. As well as the goofy smile, how he carried himself ~the confidence~ and how he held a comfortable amount of eye contact.

Alex gave a polite smile. In the pit of his stomach something was building – he had not eaten in at least ten hours – a feeling like optimism. Surely, if he were courteous and pleasant now, perhaps this new neighbor might be less willing to lodge noise complaints against him later on.

"You look strong." Sammy cleared his throat before continuing, "There's a couple-three more boxes left I got to bring up. And a sofa. I'll never be able to get that thing up myself. You're heading up, right? You wouldn't mind helping, would you?"

"No. No—I mean, yes. I will help you." It was a class rendition of George's commentary stutter.

"Great! I got to get the truck unloaded before the game. You're really doing me a solid." Sammy's smile widened to be a bit open-mouthed – like that of a dog after being told it was a good boy. He led Alex to the other end of the car park, to the truck, the sofa, and the boxes.

Alex stood waiting – as Sammy crawled into the truck bed – to help ease the sofa out. He tried to get a good hold around the back of it as it sprung out at him. Sammy pushed on his end, putting a lot of unjustified faith into a stranger.

He did not hear a complaint from Alex, just a string of strained grunts.

Sammy hopped out – boots hit the ground, and he took over the lifting part of moving furniture while Alex acted more as a guiding hand.

Walking toward the building, Alex shouted across the sofa, "Who you cheering for tonight?"

"Newcastle! Who else? Best there is in the whole sport far as I can tell."

A bark of a laugh shot from Alex's mouth. "I've got someone you have to meet."

Hanging around Sammy – for the time it took to maneuver the sofa in/out of the lift and to retrieve the remaining boxes and haul them up – was not not enjoyable. It was comfortable.

Alex did not think about the manual labor he had been tricked into doing; instead, he was preoccupied with chattering on and on as both rode the lift up. He answered all Sammy's questions – about the building, the people, the area.

He rinsed the other man for his team preferences and his truck – despite Alex himself not being able to drive. And while there was a lot of damning material for Sammy to 'fire back' with, he did not.

With arms shaking slightly under the weight of the last medium-large sized box, Alex went on with his lighthearted ribbing. And Sammy just laughed along. Even snorting once.

"Not even joking – are you a comedian or something?"

Alex beamed. "Or something."

Both men had a chance to rattle off some horror stories of the absolute shitholes they had rented in the past.

DING of the lift doors opening interrupted a rant on neighbors who complained about the littlest of noises, which Alex continued after stepping into the hall.

Then, it was done. The last boxes were set on the floor of the bare-walled apartment. What was Alex meant to do now? Leave? Hang around? Ask for a drink?

It was not like he was desperate for friends, just that Sammy was genuine, and it never hurt to have someone to ring up to accompany him on a night out or if Alex ever got evicted again.

Sammy dragged out a dramatic sigh as he straightened up, leaving the last box he had carried up – labeled DISHWARE – next to the sofa. Raising his arms above his head, he stretched out his back. Alex might have done the same, but he was conscious of the absurdly damp state of his underarms.

"I'm having friends over for drinks and to watch the game," Alex began. "Maybe a few rounds of FIFA afterwards. You should come – if you want, or not. There'll be money on it, and I tend to lose a lot."

"You just helped me move a sofa up three floors, shouldn't I be the one offering you something?" Sammy slapped Alex on the shoulder perhaps harder than he meant, perhaps not taking into consideration the size difference.

"There's nothing I need."

"Well, it sounds fun. I'll be sure to come round! And I'll—"

KNOCK. KNOCK.

A young woman stepped through the apartment door while her gaze held an intense focus on her wristwatch for too long. Like it does not take anyone who knows how to read a manual clock that long to figure out the time. She was looking at it just to look at it – to look preoccupied.

Shoulders a bit rolled in and posture a bit poor, she took five steps in and closed the door before even looking up. She pulled her head up from her wristwatch.

Upon seeing the space, her eyes brightened and shined. She gasped a small (not surprised but delighted) gasp, smiling big. And—and—oh.

OH.

OOOHhoho. Oh.

Oh, no.

Alex caught sight of her, and he was gone.

And it was not that she was perfect. No, she was not the airbrushed model of the advertisements on the tube. No. She was her, and it was ~ugh~ it was almost indescribable. It was the fit of her clothes and her hair and the cute ears. It was all of those separately and all of those at once, at the same time.

Seeing her was like living in a significant moment in history. Like attending a World's Fair, holding a piece of the Berlin Wall as it was being torn down, or standing on the frontline of a revolution.

It was having an inkling – a fervent gut feeling – knowing that what was happening was momentous and would leave an everlasting impact. But, for the time being, he was just in it: living it. Experiencing everything with the understanding that millions of different pieces had to have fallen into place for this one thing to happen and he. was. there.

"Hi, Red." Sammy caught her in a tight vice-like embrace.

"Hello." It was muffled a smidge from having her face buried in his shirt. She broke apart from him first.

"Alex, this is my girlfriend. Y/N. We call her Red." He said, keeping her close with an arm snaked around her middle while she gazed up at him.

In their brief time hanging out together, Alex had not considered that Sammy might have a girlfriend, nor did he consider that Sammy might not have a girlfriend.

He had not thought about it at all. Not in the slightest.

"Nice to meet you." Alex reached out his hand.

Y/N tore her gaze from Sammy and stared at the hand in front of her; she pondered it. Not moving. Her face flushed like she was going to be ill.

"Um...I..." He retracted his hand, shoving it deep into the pocket of his shorts.

"She won't shake your hand, mate, nothing against you – just a germaphobe. That's on me for not telling you beforehand."

"That's alright. I guess we're not meant to be shaking hands anyway." An awkward chuckle drippled off his tongue to which he did not receive a reaction. "With the Budweiser Bug and all."

"Oh, I'm not scared of that. People overreact." Sammy switched gears and moved to stand at Alex’s side.

Alex continued smiling as he considered how that might have been the most ignorant thing he had heard all month. But not everyone had the opportunities to take higher education courses as he had.

Y/N kept quiet during their exchange and after looking over Alex once more (avoiding his face), she flickered her gaze to Sammy.

It was like standing in the same room with someone on the phone and getting one half of the conversation. Alex was left guessing based on how confused and uncomfortable Y/N appeared to be as to what expression Sammy was using to respond to her questioning gaze.

Whatever he must have signaled or mouthed, it worked.

"Hello," Y/N addressed him simply as she set sail those dazzling eyes of hers into the peaceful seas of Alex's blue set, "It's nice to meet you as well."

It was a voice to tune-in to over the general hum of a group of speakers. A voice that might be complimented as being good for radio. A voice clear and crisp like water (from anywhere but London tap).

Alex wanted to keep her talking – to hear her mind and her thoughts. Hear her present a speech, putter a nervous ramble, or just word vomit. Hear how she pronounces each consonant and vowel. And if there were specific words that carried a different accent than the rest. Where did those come from? Where did she come from?

Notwithstanding his questionable reputation in a few corners of the internet, Alex was not a complete and utter irrational weirdo. He did have a brain which he would use part of the time.

It was not unlike him to be struck with crushes on young women and men he met in passing—he was human; it happens. If he was feeling extra alone, that crush might linger longer.

Might stumble into his dreams.

That is all it was—a crush. Right? Then why did it feel different? Not like that of a sudden burst of flames but of a washing-over sense of relief – an unquestionable assuredness in something new.

New or not, Alex was determined not to be weird about it.

"Why go by Red?" ...when Y/N is so fitting, so beautiful. Mission: Don't Be Weird Status: Failed

"What do you mean?" she asked with her head cocked to the left.

"Come on." With a clear sense of boredom in the direction of the conversation, Sammy strolled to the sofa and sat on it. He ripped into the cardboard box labeled DISHWARE and began emptying plates and mugs onto the cushion next to him. Speaking a bit louder to be heard over the tearing of tape, he offered, "Isn't it obvious?"

"Guess not. Or I might just be a little thick."

Everyone ignored his comment.

"You know, if you want to stick around some, Red's making quiche."

"Quiche?" Alex walked toward the back of the sofa – stopping a few meters short. "More of a breakfast food, don't you think?"

Bringing a hand to his chest in mock shock and offence, Sammy declared, "Food does not have curfews!"

"Except at hotels...and McDonald's."

"No. No, not McDonald's. Not for a while now; where have you been?"

Alex rolled his eyes; while searching for some support in the conversation, he turned to find Y/N had disappeared in the single second she was out of his sights.

A disappointed frown formed on his pink lips.

Perhaps it was a cue for him to leave as well. "I got to run. I'll be seeing you then?"

"Right," said Sammy. "Go Newcastle! Yeah?"

Alex thumped his closed fist twice against his chest in an odd gesture (which meant nothing) and smiled a closed mouth smile as he stepped backwards out the apartment door to the carpeted hall.

Sammy chuckled and shook his head, "You're a funny guy, Alex."

[soyeahitsmiddleearth]

Dimension Jumping pt. 2

The Fellowship x Reader

Fluffy pants, creepy coworkers, and grocery lists. Fun times

Trigger warning: mentions of stalker.

After that kind of rocky introduction and confusing explanation of their quest and what they were doing exactly (also what happened to their wizard ‘Gandalf’) things began to work out better. 

At first, they were in a kind of panic since they aren’t able to destroy that ring thing if they’re in your world, but then you reminded them that they can’t destroy it, and this Sauron guy can’t get it. 

This seems to ease their worries a bit. 

It was very easy for you to get along with the two blond 'hobbit’ cousins Merry and Pippin, and Samwise is a wonderful help in the kitchen. Mr. Legolas kinda just awkwardly stands around most of the time (he doesn’t sleep apparently), while the 'dwarf’, Gimli, likes to bother said 'elf’ which you find to be quite amusing. The two actual human dudes seem to be the more authoritative figures here, so they help to keep everyone in check and ensure they don’t break anything.

Penny has, quite literally, fallen in love with that brown-haired bastard Aragorn, and you’ve sworn that if he breaks her little fluffy heart you’re going to fucking murder him. Lucky for him, it seems he is quite fond of her in return since he sometimes sits idly on your couch with her laying across his lap. This asshole must have dog treats in his pocket or something because there’s no way she would ditch you for some scraggly handsome stranger like in the movies. 

Of course, you don’t complain about it or anything, rather you just leave it and enjoy the fact that Penny is happy (while silently plotting his painful murder in your mind). 

You also had to show them how to work the bathroom, and after they got over their initial shock and awestruck, they all bathed (thank god for your poor nose) and you offered to go get them more clothes later on so you can figure out how to wash theirs.

Overall, it seems that everything is going smoothly and will continue to do so. 

You have yet to give them a chance to mess with your laptop or phone (or even the TV), but mostly because you’re afraid they’ll die of shock. 

Before you know it a week has passed, and not only are they still in your damn home but they’re so freaking well-behaved and polite you actually find yourself not wanting them to go. 

“Why do you wear those fluffy pants?” The sweet little Pippin asks. 

Everyone insists he and his cousin are mischievous little monsters, but you find them to be nothing but adorable and polite. “Because, my dear boy, they are really freaking comfortable. I’m gonna go to the store later and get all of you a pair. They will change your lives." 

His eyes grow wide at your overly dramatic description of fluffy pants and he suddenly seems excited, "Really? Some for all of us?" 

You nod your head with a bright smile on your face, lifting your leg up for him to touch it. "Feel how nice they are!" 

When Pippin places his hand on the soft, fuzzy fabric he looks surprised, "I don’t think I’ve felt trousers so soft before!" 

"Fluffy pants, Pippin. They’re called fluffy pants." 

"Fluffy pants.” He repeats in confirmation. 

His cousin, Merry, chose then to walk into the room, and when he sees the two of you he looks confused. “Pip, what are you doing?" 

"Oh! Merry, come here and feel these!” He exclaims, not bothering to answer his question. 

Merry does as he says, albeit hesitantly, but when his hands touch that miracle fabric he looks just as shocked, “You’ve got such peculiar clothing… I like it." 

"Well, I was just telling my buddy over here that I’m going to get everyone some and absolutely ruin your wardrobe since you’ll never want to wear anything but these ever again.” You tell him smugly, jumping to your feet suddenly, “Oh, I’ve gotta go do something. Keep an eye on Penny for me, won’t you?" 

Yeah, they don’t need to since she’s busy sleeping on a napping Aragorn, but you ask nonetheless. 

You retreat to another room and begin to organize the things you moved from your guest bedroom, wanting everything to be less cluttered while they stay here. 

The air mattress had to come out and everything because of how many there are, but you don’t mind a little extra work for some companionship in response. Heaven knows you need someone to keep you out of your own head.

While you’re neatening things, the blond elf guy walks in and observes you for a few moments, saying nothing and kinda just standing there. You turn after a minute or so and look at him questioningly, "Is there something I can help you with?" 

He doesn’t say anything right away, and so you grab a couple of books and straighten them while you wait. 

"What are you doing?” He asks instead of answering you (a very Pippin move). 

Despite your heart wanting you to be sarcastic in your reply you answer him seriously, “I’m cleaning up a bit since I had to take all of this stuff out of my guest room. It’s kinda messy if you couldn’t tell." 

You wipe your hands on your fluffy pants and smile at him. "I’m almost done. Did you need me for something?" 

He actually acknowledges your question this time with a shake of his head, "No. I wanted to see if you require any assistance." 

Ah, that makes sense. He definitely seems like the helpful type. 

"Oh, well some help would be nice. Maybe you could move those boxes,” you point to some cardboard boxes in the corner of the closet you shoved everything into, “over there.” You then point to a shelf that is mostly empty. 

He nods again and goes to do just that right away, and you go back to sorting through a box full of papers.

“What made you allow us to stay?” He suddenly inquires, lifting the boxes you asked for help with easily. 

You’re a bit surprised at his engagement in conversation and the topic he chose, but you answer despite that. “Well like I said before, I know a group of sad saps when I see it… I didn’t know you’d lost your friend, but I could tell something wasn’t right. And… I don’t know, your hobbits looked so hungry and tired, I couldn’t kick you all out and keep a clean conscience.” It’s true, but what you leave out is the desire you had for some company. Penny is more than enough, but recently you’ve been feeling lonely and inadequate, so you jumped on the opportunity to be useful in your monotone life. 

“There’s something you’re not saying.” He says it like a statement rather than a question, and while he’s right you only shrug. 

“My reasons are my own, but what I told you is my main explanation. Take it or leave it.” You don’t mean to act so cold and aloof, but the thinking about your flaws and recently depressive state only serves to dampen your mood. 

“I meant not to offend, I apologize if upset you. I was only curious." 

You smile at him over your shoulder apologetically yourself, "No, don’t say sorry. I’m just a bit cranky is all, haven’t been getting much sleep." 

He can tell that’s not the truth, but he nods anyway and lets it drop. 

Suddenly the sound of Penny barking reaches your ears, and you sigh knowing that someone is probably at the door. 

When she abruptly stops, you pause and decide to finish with the last small stack you have before going out to check.

Big mistake.

Once you walk out of the storage closet, you’re met with the sight of two hiding hobbits, and Aragorn at the  freaking  door. Your eyes widen in horror, and you turn and close the door in Legolas’ face before he can exit. 

When the door slams, someone pokes their head around the tall 'ranger’ and smiles. 

"Oh, Y/N there you are!" 

Uh oh, he’s not supposed to be there. 

"B-Brian, hey, what… what are you doing here?” You ask slowly, walking over to try and diffuse whatever situation is going on here. “I didn’t even know you knew my address…" 

He smiles brightly despite that and waves his hand, "Don’t worry about it, the boss gave it to me and told me to check up on you! You haven’t been answering your messages and this is the most work you’ve missed in the past, like, 4 years.” His tone is bright and cheery, but you can see behind that mask of pleasantries is nothing but a prying brat who has to know everything 24/7. 

You ignore your dark thoughts and simply smile at him in return, “Yes, well I’ve been very busy. And, actually, I texted Marissa about my absence for the week ahead of time, so I don’t see why she would send you. She told me that I can work from home until I’m ready to come back.” You never liked Brian. Much too nosy and too much of a snake for your liking.

You pull your phone out of your pocket and see that you have… holy shit, 43 missed messages? All from Brian? Ew, okay, that’s weird. 

But you decide not to comment on it.

“Right, well, who is this? I haven’t seen him before." 

Shoot. 

You look up at the brown-haired man sharply, then back at Brian. "W-Who, him? Oh, this is just my… boy…friend… Ara- Er, Aaron. He’s, uh, staying here because his house burned down.” God, you’re a horrible liar, but you try to keep your face straight either way. “Who he is doesn’t matter, I’m kinda busy right now so if you could just…" 

You go to close the door, but he only steps a bit closer, "Wait-! I didn’t know you have a boyfriend!” His expression is more panic stricken now, and dare I say upset,

Ughhhhh  fucking Brian . 

Suddenly a voice pipes up from behind you, “Is there an issue over here?" 

Oh great, another challenger has appeared, and his name is freaking Boromir. 

"Wait, who is this then?” His countenance goes kinda sour, “Your other boyfriend?" 

You face-palm and slowly drag your hand down your cheek, groaning internally at his horrible timing (also electing to ignore Brian’s bitter comment). "This is… Aaron’s druggie brother, Bo…Beau. He likes meth.”

Brian looks alarmed at your mention of him being a meth head, but you only smile and internally kick yourself for coming up with something like that . “You have crackheads staying at your house?! With how you’ve been recently?! S-Should I-" 

You only shake your head once and slam your hand on the wall, "Brian, I am a big girl, and big girls don’t need their  coworkers  to keep them safe. I’ve been nice, but what I do is literally none of your fucking business, so leave me alone or I’ll call Marissa and tell her about,” you pause and lean forward, whispering with a faux sweet voice, “The janitors closet…" 

His face goes pale at the mention of the horrid sight you’d walked into that one faithful Tuesday, and he nods his head in understanding, "R-Right, sorry to bother you! I’ll uh, get going now then. Enjoy your break!" 

He’s gone before you even close the door. 

You simply stare at the closed door for a few moments, trying to process what the hell just happened.

"Miss Y/N?” Merry calls from behind the couch. “What did he mean by 'how you’ve been’? Are you alright?" 

Unable to keep your cool, you reach up and bury your fingers in your hair and groan loudly from frustration, "Ugh! Fucking Brian! Why did you have to open the door to that loser!?” You yell incredulously, pulling on your hair rather harshly. You don’t even entertain the idea of answering that question.

Aragorn seems surprised by your sudden angry outburst, so much so that he steps back and bumps against the wall. 

“He’s always in my damn business! Acting like I haven’t caught him doing  unmentionable  things in that closet! Why him? Why did you think it was a good idea to open the door?!” You don’t mean to yell or to get so angry, but it’s almost like a splash of cold water in the face. A reminder that things are temporary and unexplainable to outsiders. “He’s such a stalker! God, this is going to come back and bite me in the ass!”

You drag your hands down your face and simply stand there for a moment, ignoring all the people gathering in your living room to stare at their mental brake-down having hostess.

“I apologize, I-I didn’t mean to-” Woah he actually trips over his words.

Before he can finish his apology you raise a hand up in a silencing motion. “No, shut up. Don’t apologize I’m not actually mad at you.” It sounds like you are, but you aren’t.

If you were looking at him, you’d see that he visibly relaxes. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell I just… he frustrates me. I’m not angry at any of you, I promise.” You drop your hands back to your side and stare at the door for a few moments before turning and walking back into the living room.

“You’re kind of scary,” Sam states from Frodo’s side at the entrance of the kitchen. 

You look over at the two and furrow your eyebrows, “Scary? Me? No way. Just a little irritated.” If anything they’re the scary ones, with their swords and evil ring and all that. 

You glance back at the dark-haired man still at the front door and bite your lip, “I’m really sorry." 

A small and forgiving smile creeps onto his face, and you feel relieved right away. "Perhaps I shouldn’t have opened the door." 

This earns a small laugh and nod from you, "Now that freak thinks you’re my homeless male friend and he’s your drugged up brother. Not a very good reputation.” You don’t bother going over calling him your boyfriend in a panic - if they even know what it means in the first place. 

Suddenly ever innocent Pippin asks, “What’s meth?" 

Lord save your soul. 

—

After explaining to everyone what meth is and how you straight up just called Boromir a doped up loser to someone none of them know, you all have a good laugh. And once you’re all done laughing, you join Sam in the kitchen and notice that he’s taken an inventory of your kitchen. 

"Hello, chef Ramsay. What can I do for you?” You ask with a cheery smile, watching him go through your cupboard while literally standing on the counter with Frodo watching from the floor. 

“Who is chef Ramsay?” Sam asks, looking down at you from his leveraged spot on the counter. 

Oh, right, the poor soul doesn’t know the meme. 

“Nobody, what are you up to?” You change the subject quickly, a part of you hoping he approves of your kitchen. 

“Well… your shelves are lacking a lot. And your… what did you call it, fridge? It is basically empty. What do you eat all week?" 

You don’t reply right away, staring holes into him at his obviously spotty memory. "Well, Sam the thing is, I am one woman, and this one woman didn’t think she’d need to buy groceries for 8 men who all eat like they haven’t seen food for the past week… every meal." 

"So then perhaps we should go shopping!” He exclaims, closing the cabinet and hopping back down to the tiled floor. 

Excuse me, did he just say 'we’? Uh, yeah no.

You shake your head quickly, “No, Sam there aren’t people like you in my world. I can’t take you." 

His face falls and he looks around at the kitchen, crestfallen, "But I can’t tell you what to get if I don’t go…" 

Aw… he looks so sad. It makes your heart pang uncomfortably, and you find that you wanna make him smile again. "Here, I’ll tell you what. I’ll get some paper and a pen, and you can write down everything you want me to get on that. How does that sound?”

Almost immediately he perks up and nods his head, “Oh, that sounds wonderful!" 

Bingo. 

"Did you hear that Mr. Frodo? She said she’ll get whatever we want! Come help me make the list!” Okay, maybe this wasn’t a good idea. 

You gather the things you promised from a drawer to your right, then hand them down to him. “Here you are, dear. Take your time, and I’ll go tomorrow. And don’t forget to ask everyone else what they want.”

Hopefully, you won’t live to regret this. 

Without further ado, he rushes out of the kitchen calling for Merry and Pippin. 

These fellas are going to bankrupt you… but if you get to see those happy smiles again, then it’s definitely worth it. 

[rhetoricalrogue]

Making a House a Home

I got hit with one of those ideas that come to you in the middle of the night.  What if the detective decided to move from their default apartment into different places around Wayhaven?  What would their love interests think?  Slight end of book 2 spoilers for Zoe’s ficlet.

Ava and Lucas

“It’s too exposed.”

“It’s a modern loft, it’s supposed to be exposed.”

She ran her fingers over one of the many windows, her mouth set in a frown.  “There’s a huge security threat downstairs. You never know who is coming or going at any point in the day.”

Lucas nodded. “One of the reasons I picked this spot.  Plus, a coffee house that’s open almost 24 hours right downstairs and a gym that is open all day directly next door? Ava, this spot was practically made for me.”

Her frown lightened as she made her way through the empty apartment. There wasn’t much of a kitchen, but what was there was made out of updated equipment. She could already see him using the concrete countertops to prep his weekly meals.  He was fond of entertaining, and the open area that made up the living room was large enough to comfortably host gatherings.

Climbing the stairs, she looked at the bedroom critically. There were massive closets on either side of a door leading to a spacious master bathroom that she had no doubt would fit his entire wardrobe and then some.

A singular thought occurred to her that there would be plenty of room for her here as well, if she wanted it.

“What do you think?” He asked, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist, his chin at her shoulder.

“The security concerns are going to need looking at,” she started, softly leaning back until his chest was pressed against her back.

“But…?”

She made a hrmphing noise. “It’s suitable. There’s a nice view.”

She could feel him smile against her cheek. “I like the view from here too.”

Adam and Aubrey

“Your commute to and from work should be shorter than it normally is.” Adam commented, standing at the window in the living room.  He could see the police station a half block away, quiet and closed off on a Saturday afternoon.

“It means that I’ll be able to get a good extra ten minutes of sleep in, plus maybe come home to grab lunch if I don’t feel like eating in the office,” Aubrey replied, walking around with a measuring tape in hand, already mentally deciding where her belongings would go in this new little townhouse.  

The garish pink walls would have to be painted over first thing. Judging by the way Adam had squinted as he stepped foot inside her new place, he wholeheartedly agreed. 

“It gets good light.  Your plants will be happy.”

“I’m feeling a but coming from you.  What are you thinking about?” Aubrey set her tape down at the kitchen counter so she could go over to him.  Adam was tense, his finger pressing down on the cheap plastic blinds so he could see out.  “I’m surprised that you haven’t said a peep about security.”

“Because security isn’t an issue.  I’ve already looked the place over and couldn’t find any faults there.  Besides, you now have a five minute walk home after work.”

She tipped her head. “Then what’s wrong?”

He flicked his finger, sending the blind springing back in place. “You used to have a fifteen minute walk before reaching your old apartment.”

Dawning realization hit and she smiled at him. “Adam, are you upset because our regular evening walks are going to be cut short?”

“That would be ridiculous.”  He let out a sharp sigh. “But it is a factor, ridiculous or not.”

Aubrey didn’t laugh, but she did wind her arm around his and press her head against his shoulder.  “Well,” she started. “I guess there’s only one solution to this dilemma.”

“And what would that be?”

“After you walk me home, you can just come inside to spend more time with me.”

He pretended to think her suggestion over before giving her a soft smile. “I believe that arrangement would be agreeable.”

Farah and August

“So, what do you think?”  August poked his head down from the lone bedroom in the tiniest house he’d ever owned.  Granted, it was the only house he’d ever owned, but that was neither here nor there.  He’d just signed the papers and the keys were his.

“I can almost touch one side of the wall with one hand and the other side with my other!” Farah exclaimed, looking in all the empty drawers where she could picture his things going. 

“This reminds me of a treehouse I had growing up. It was about this big and I used to love hanging out in it.”  He climbed down the ladder leading up to the little bedroom area and turned a crank that opened one of the windows overlooking a bare lot.  “And the bonus is that I can hook this up to my car and tow my house around wherever I want.  I’m not stuck in one location!”

“Maybe you could park it by the Warehouse,” she suggested.  “When it starts to get too busy in there, we could just hang out here, just the two of us.”

August grinned. “Actually, I was wondering what you thought about maybe getting something to commemorate the event? I was thinking about another fish.”

Farah laughed. “Auggie, you have a ten gallon tank for Mr. Fish already taking up some prime real estate. I don’t think you can fit another tank in here.”

He dug in his pockets. “Okay, so maybe not an actual fish, though I’m pretty sure I could persuade Mr. Fish to share his tank with one more roommate.” He held up a single key attached to a neon pink and yellow painted metal fish keychain.  “How about it? Wanna have a home of our own to hang out in?”

Farah didn’t say anything for a couple of seconds, her gold eyes as large as saucers.  Then she quickly closed the distance between them, her arms wrapping around his shoulders in a tight hug.

“Our home,” she breathed.  “I like the sound of that.”

Mason and Zoe

“Why are you moving again?” Mason asked, building another cardboard box for Zoe to throw her things in.  She wasn’t neat about it, just shoving what little things she owned into boxes and then scribbling what was inside in black marker on top.

There really wasn’t much to box up.  Mason had caught her in the middle of a cleaning frenzy one night right after the carnival, most of her belongings set in different piles.  He hadn’t questioned her when she asked him to take one pile out to the dumpster, though he happened to look inside a plastic crate to find numerous photo albums full of pictures with her and Verda’s family inside.

He’d tucked those away instead of giving them a dumpster burial.  He wasn’t certain what was going on between them, but knowing Zoe, she would regret doing something in anger sometime down the road.

“It’s too noisy here,” she told him, taking another box he built her and heading to the bathroom.  “Plus you hate my neighbors.”

“I don’t hate your neighbors,” he told her, watching as towels and toiletries got packed with a little more care before the box was labeled and carried to the now empty living room.  “Well, not all of them.  That lady one unit down is nosy as fuck.”

Zoe’s grim expression lifted for the briefest of moments. “That’s because she’s an old fashioned gossip who believes that men and women shouldn’t fornicate outside of wedlock.”

He grinned, pointed tips of his fangs showing. “Oh, so that’s why you made sure we were extra loud that one time I had you up against the wall you share with her.” 

“Maybe.”

“Still doesn’t answer me, Sweetheart.  What gives with the sudden move?”

Zoe stopped and looked around the place, then at the four boxes neatly stacked in the middle of the empty apartment.  Fuck, Mason thought.  Her life always feels bigger than just four measly little boxes, a guitar, and a few framed pieces of art.

“I need a fresh start,” she finally said, her voice low.  “This place…” her voice choked off when she noticed a small stuffed rabbit she’d missed sitting on a built-in bookshelf.  She went over to it and held it tightly to her chest, her breath coming out in a shaky wheeze.

“You already have a spot picked out?”

She shook her head. “Yeah. Harry’s got a place over his bar that’s coming up in a week or so that he said he’d cut me a deal on rent if I poured drinks during some of the busy weekend hours.”

“What about the meantime? Where’s all your furniture?”

Zoe ran her fingers over the stuffed rabbit and absently kissed the top of its head. “I put it in storage. Harry said I could couch surf at his place until my new digs were ready.”

He started to pull his packet of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket, but stopped and offered her a package of chewing gum instead. “You could always stay at the Warehouse,” he casually suggested, watching as she took a stick of gum, that first whiff of mint as she took off the wrapper stinging his nose like too cold air on a winter morning.  “No need to couch surf when you’ve got a bed of your own.”

Zoe chewed thoughtfully before crouching down to open one of the boxes and carefully, lovingly, placing the bunny inside.  Mason caught the smallest portion of the word Cara embroidered on the rabbit’s foot before she closed the cardboard flaps once more.  “Harry’s couch is super uncomfortable,” she reasoned.  “And best friend or not, the man snores so loud you hear it through two closed doors.”

“So, you want me to take your stuff back with me?” the question of are you coming home with me was unspoken, but lingered in the air between them.

She licked her lips.  “Yeah.”  She sniffled as her eyes went to the box with Cara’s rabbit in it but then she blinked and gave him a smirk, taking hold of his hands and drawing him towards the shared wall they’d talked about earlier.  “But first, let’s say a proper goodbye to Old Lady Jenkins.  For old time’s sake.”   

Nate and Morgan and Rowena

“So, what do you think?”

Morgan stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jacket and shrugged.  “Still smells a little like old people in here.  They should have aired the place out before they showed it.”

Rowena smiled, but moved towards the large picture window in the formal living room and opened it, letting some fresh air into the place.  In her mind’s eye, she could already picture a piano taking front and center stage.  No tiny upright electronic thing that maybe sounded like an actual piano, but an honest to goodness instrument like the one she’d been carefully saving up for years to buy but never had room to house it.  There was room for a few comfy chairs and she could easily picture Nate sitting in one, a book from one of the beautifully crafted built-ins in his hand. 

Morgan perched atop the bare window seat and looked out over the front yard.  “It’s quiet.  Not a lot of traffic.”

“It’s a bit of a drive to work,” Rowena commented.  “But I think it’s worth it.”

“Closer drive to the Warehouse though.”  Morgan flipped through the flyer that the real estate agent had handed them as they entered.  “A little big for one person, don’t you think?”

Rowena shrugged.  “It’s a four bedroom.  I figured that one of the spares could be an office for me, another could be a library for Nate, and the third…” she sat down beside Morgan.  “It could be yours, if you wanted it.”

Morgan slowly turned from the window to look at her.  “What, no sharing one room?”

Rowena rolled her eyes.  “Come on, you’ve stayed a night with the two of us on my Queen sized bed.  Nate nearly ended up on the floor and I was pressed up against a wall.  Even if we upgrade to a King, it’s still going to be a tad bit cozy.”

“I dunno, Sweetheart.  I sort of liked pressing you up against a wall.”

Rowena leaned forward, brushing her lips against Morgan’s.  “So did I, just not when I was trying to sleep.  And besides,” she leaned back when she heard the real estate agent’s heels clack against the hardwood floor, “even if you’re not coming over for sex, it’d be nice to have a place of your own to enjoy the quiet, wouldn’t it?”

Morgan cast her eyes around the room.  “You know, it’s not a bad place.  Old person smell is starting to fade after all.”

Rowena smiled and ran a hand over Morgan’s thigh before giving her knee a fond pat.  “I’m going to see where Nate went off to.”

She didn’t have to look very far to find Nate carefully inspecting the cupboards in the kitchen.  “What do you think?” she asked, leaning against the large kitchen island.

“I think this house is lovely,” he replied, moving to lean beside her.  “If you don’t put in an offer, I will.”

“What if,” Rowena asked, leaning against his arm.  “We both put in an offer?”

Nate moved until he could wrap his arm around her, sighing contentedly when she immediately snuggled up close, her head fitting perfectly in the crook of his neck.  “Are you suggesting, Detective Kingston, that we make a home here?  Together?”

“I am suggesting just that, Agent Sewell.  Does that sound like a good idea?”  A small part of her at the back of her mind was screaming that this was too soon, that what they had was still so new, that she had a perfectly fine apartment that she didn’t want to break her lease on.  The other part of her at the forefront of her mind was quietly encouraging her to take that leap of faith, that Tina had always loved her place, and that Tina’s lease on her own apartment was going to be up for renewal soon.

“That, dear heart,” he bent his head to give her a lingering, smiling kiss.  “Sounds like an excellent plan.”

“Wait!  I need to test one more thing.”  Before Nate could question, Rowena moved in his arms and began to sway.  “Just pretend it’s three in the morning.”

“Slow dancing in the small hours of the night in your own kitchen is a fantasy of yours?”  He rested his hand at the small of her back as he led them through some simple steps, the two of them barely moving.  “How am I doing? Passing your test?”

“With flying colors.”

“What did Morgan have to say?”

She snuggled closer, the two of them swaying more than actually dancing now.  “She didn’t quite say so, but the idea of having a place of our own outside the Warehouse has its appeal.  Even if we’re just here a few nights out of the week, the monthly payments are cheaper than what I was paying on my apartment.”

He laughed.  “You’ve been thinking about this for a while?”

She ducked her head, but he could still see the faintest hint of a blush across her cheeks.  “Would it be weird if I said that this house has been calling to me ever since I was a little girl?  I used to walk this street on the way to and from school and I always stopped in front of this house, wondering what it would be like to live here, what it would be like to run upstairs and downstairs.  Did it have an attic? A cellar?  Were the people inside happy?  When I was on regular patrol, I drove by here and couldn’t stop looking at the place.  If felt like it was waiting for me.”

Nate thoughtfully stroked his chin as he looked around.  “I couldn’t sense any sort of magic around this house, but it might not hurt to have some of the agents who specialize in that sort of thing make a sweep to inspect.”  He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.  “Or, it could be that some places are simply meant for people and this one was meant for you.”

She ran her hand over the front of his sweater, stopping over his heart.  “For us.”

He nodded.  “Yes.  For us.”  Taking her hand, he spun her around and joined in her delighted laughter.  “Shall we speak with the agent to draw up the paperwork then?  See what the timeline is for making this our home?”

“Yes.  Let’s.”

[littlemisswolfie]

into a place where thoughts can bloom

AO3

Summary: A few weeks after Darius’s departure from Las Vegas, Li Cheng discovers something that will change her life forever.

“Well, shit, that explains a lot.”

Usually when Yi mutters this to herself while she sits in the bathroom, it’s to the sight of a red stain on her undies and the feeling of someone punching her repeatedly in the uterus. Her periods have always been rough, and the PMS that precedes it turns her into a weepy mess.

She hadn’t thought anything weird of her intense emotions the past few weeks, with the whole Darius thing. She can’t even remember how many times she cried before she told Darius to go. It was only natural for emotions to be high during a crisis like that, right?

But then she started throwing up.

And, listen. Yi isn’t stupid. Sure, she dropped out of med school, but she got into med school before that, so she has some brains. And she got a year or two of schooling in before she dropped out, too, so she knows more about health than a lot of other people. She knew she didn’t have the flu (she had no other symptoms) or food poisoning (she hadn’t had anything new to eat and all her food was cooked the same way it always was) or anything other common thing that could be causing nausea like this.

So, she checked her period tracker.

And she’s two weeks late.

“Okay, Yi, calm down,” she says to herself. “Nothing’s definite yet. It could just be stress.”

*

It’s not just stress.

*

Yi can’t bring herself to tell her mom right away. After that conversation they had about Darius, curled up together on the shop floor, she feels like it would disappoint her. So, instead, she calls one of the only people she can.

Onyx comes waltzing into the shop with all her usual grace, but her face belies her worry. “Hey, sweetheart,” she says, hopping over the counter she could have easily walked around and wrapping her arms around Yi’s shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

Yi quickly flips the sign on the door to closed and turns back to her friend. “I fucked up,” she says, and she hates that her voice cracks a little.

“Oh, honey, it can’t be that bad.”

“I’m pregnant.”

*

The rest of the troupe arrives in short order, and Cal even brings Avi, which is a surprise to Yi. It feels surreal, meeting in the bike shop instead of at the circus or their apartment, but if Yi leaves the shop unattended again her mom may actually kill her, pending grandchild or no.

“And you’re sure it’s Darius’s?” Wrath asks after she’s done explaining.

Yi levels her with an annoyed look from the stool Onyx and Malakai insisted she sit on. “It’s not like I’ve been sleeping around or anything like that. Darius is the only person I’ve been with since college.”

Avi tugs on her jacket, and when she looks down, he has an astonished expression on his face. “There’s a baby in your tummy?”

“There sure is, bud.”

His small hands touch her stomach, and his face screws up. “I can’t feel it!”

Malakai laughs. “The baby has to grow a little more before you’ll be able to feel it.”

“You’ll be the first to know when it moves,” she tells Avi, very seriously, and this seems to appease him.

Cal is watching their interaction carefully but, oddly enough, he’s not glaring at Yi like he usually does. “You’re keeping the baby, then?” he asks, his voice soft.

The rest of the troupe sucks in huge breaths, like they’re waiting for an explosion. And, usually, they’d be right. Yi and Cal have never really gotten along, after all, and their relationship only got worse when he started fighting against Darius. But Yi can hear the real question Cal is asking. “Yes,” she says. “This is my baby.”

She never saw herself becoming a mother at such a young age, but as soon as she even suspected herself of being pregnant, she was in love. The thought of abortion or adoption never even crossed her mind.

Cal nods. Then, he kneels next to her stool and hugs her.

And she lets herself cry.

*

They decide as a group that Yi should move into the apartment with the troupe.

Part of it is so they can keep an eye on her. She’s having a demon’s baby, after all, and no one knows how that will progress. It only makes sense for Las Vegas’s premiere demon experts to keep her as close as possible.

Another part of it, Yi thinks, is that the apartment feels a little too big without Darius in it. No one says it, but it’s obvious they’re thinking it, because she’s thinking it, too. She only knew Darius for a few months before she told him to leave, but the troupe has been living and working with him for years, so the loneliness she feels, how she’s a little too cold at night without Darius at her back, how sometimes her fingers twitch like they’re looking for his hand… all those things must be even worse for them.

“You can have Darius’s room,” Wrath says as she and Onyx help her pack up her clothes. “You’ve spent enough nights there already, and I’m sure you would’ve moved in eventually, once Darius got back.”

Onyx rocks a little onto her toes, eyes sparkling. “We can even set up a nursery! We have plenty of unused rooms around!”

Yi makes herself laugh. “The baby isn’t even an inch long yet.” When she says “the baby,” her hand falls to her stomach. It’s still flat, for now. Most women don’t start showing until their second trimester, if she remembers correctly, and she figures she’s less than eight weeks along. “Let’s at least wait until we can tell the sex.”

“Are you gonna be one of those people that insists on blue for boys and pink for girls?” Onyx’s tone indicates she disapproves of this. “That’s so boring.”

Yi shakes her head. “No, nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?” Wrath asks.

“I’m not out of the woods yet,” Yi admits, her fingers curling on her stomach. “The first trimester is when a person is most likely to miscarry, and I’ve been drinking at the circus almost every night since Darius left.” Concern and understanding dawn in Wrath and Onyx’s eyes, but Yi barrels on. “I need to see an obstetrician and take it easy for another month or two before I start decorating a nursery.”

Wrath squeezes her shoulder. “We’ll take care of it,” she promises. “You won’t have to lift a finger.” Then a pained look crosses her face, and Yi wonders why, until she continues, “But first, you have to tell your mom.”

Oh, shit.

*

The troupe takes what they’ve packed up in the jeep and drive it to the apartment while Yi waits for her mom to come in. She’s out running errands right now, and Yi feels full of nervous energy, her knee bouncing under the counter as she waits. Her phone, now filled with the rest of the troupe’s phone numbers (and isn’t it just the weirdest thing, that after everything they’ve been through together, her getting pregnant is what prompts them to exchange phone numbers?) feels like lead in her jacket pocket, waiting for her text to say she’s ready to go.

A few customers come in, grumbling about her extended lunch break (how she explained away her packing), and whenever she has to pull a bike from the rack, she’s very careful to keep the wheels and frame and handlebars away from her stomach. She’s so not in the mood for customer service today, and every transaction makes her want to scream. All she wants is to curl up in Darius’s bed and go to sleep and pretend he’s with her for a little while.

God, shut up, she thinks to herself, annoyed. He’s only been gone a few weeks. You lived more than twenty years without him, grow up.

The bell above the door chimes, and Yi looks up, ready to be irritated by another customer, but freezes when it’s her mom, struggling with a stack of cardboard boxes. “Oh, Yi, good. Come help me with these boxes.”

So Yi does, grabbing the top few boxes out of her mother’s arms and carrying them to the storage room in the back. They’re not too heavy, thank god; she doubts her mom would appreciate her dropping merchandise. She’s still not carrying as many boxes as she would have a week ago, and from the noise her mom makes, her mom notices, too.

“So, what’s up?” her mom asks her when the boxes are safely stored behind the locked door. “There’s been something on your mind lately. Talk to me.”

Yi takes a deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth. Then, appropriately steeled, she turns around to face her mother. “I’m moving out,” she says.

Her mother, to her credit, doesn’t look too phased. “I’m surprised you stuck around as long as you did,” she jokes. “Most kids can’t wait to get away from their parents. Are you thinking of staying in Las Vegas or going somewhere else?”

“No, Mom. I’m moving out today.”

That, at least, gives her some pause. “That’s awfully fast.” Her eyes narrow like they always do when Yi is in trouble. She wonders if her child will see that expression from her, too. “Or have you been planning this and just forgot to tell me?”

“No, it was pretty last minute.” As in, just decided today, but her mom doesn’t need to know that. “My friends asked me to move into their apartment and helped me pack up my stuff during my lunch break.”

Her mom arches an eyebrow. “Are these Darius’s friends?” Yi’s silence must be answer enough, because her mom sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Yi, honey, I’m so glad you have friends again, but I think putting some distance between you and the people Darius works with is for the best. He’s been gone for a few weeks; maybe it’s for the best if you just let him go.”

Yi meets her mother’s gaze. “He’s going to come back, Mom. He promised me he would.”

“Why did he leave in the first place?”

“I told him to.” When her mother makes a confused face, she continues, “He’s been struggling a lot with his identity and he’s convinced he’s a monster. I told him to put some distance between him and his work, grow as a person, and come back a better man.”

“I told your father something like that, once,” her mother says.

Yi winces. “It’s a little like looking in a mirror,” she says, and her mom goes quiet. Pale. Well, fuck it. “I’m moving out because I’m pregnant, Mom.”

“Oh, Yi…”

Yi lets her mother gather her in her arms. “I’m sorry,” she says.

“What for?”

“For getting pregnant so young. I know you wanted better for me.”

Her mom cups her face with her hands, so gentle, so warm. “I want you to be happy, above everything else.”

“I love you,” Yi says, because it feels like a good time to say it.

“I love you, too.” Her mom kisses her forehead. “I would support you, if you wanted to keep living here.”

“I know you would, but the troupe has a lot more money than us, and I don’t want to be more of a financial burden on you than I already am.”

“Yi…”

“Plus,” Yi jokes, “they’re going to give me a card linked to Darius’s bank account so I can spend his money on his baby.”

Her mom laughs and, for a moment, her worries seem a bit farther away than they were a little bit ago.

*

Onyx offers to sleep with her the first night, but Yi turns her down. “I can’t make you stay with me until Darius comes home.” Then, she pauses. “Maybe, if Ripley doesn’t mind…?”

Onyx laughs. “Yeah, she’s a way better cuddler than me, anyway. I’ll ask if she doesn’t mind bunking with you tonight.”

“Thank you.” Yi yawns suddenly, and, after a day of high emotions and packing and moving, is very, very tired. “I think I’ll crash early tonight. Good luck with the show.”

“Sleep tight!” Onyx hugs her, tight around the shoulders and loose everywhere else, and skips out of the room.

Though Ripley does decide to join her in Darius’s large bed that night, it’s still a little empty for Yi’s taste. Everything still smells like Darius’s cologne, and all his mementos and decorations are up. It’s almost like he’s going to come waltzing through the door any minute, and Yi’s mind, eager for him, keeps her awake far longer than she wants.

“It’s okay, baby,” she mutters, her hand on her stomach. “We have a big family, and your daddy will be back before we know it. We’re gonna be fine.”

Ripley grunts in her sleep and Yi lets herself bury her face in the abnormally good-smelling fur as she finally drifts off.

*

When Yi wakes up the next morning, she’s craving pancakes, so she decides to head to the kitchen and see if the troupe keeps the right ingredients for them around. “If they’re not charging us rent,” she tells her baby, “the least I can do is make some breakfast for them.”

As it turns out, they do have ingredients for pancakes, along with bacon and eggs, so Yi decides to make a big breakfast. Knowing the troupe, they got drunk after the show, so some greasy food would probably do them some good.

Avi joins her shortly after she’s done mixing up the pancake batter, his dinosaur hoodie pulled up over his head and sleep in his eyes. Yi is struck by the thought of a little boy or girl with monolid eyes and brown hair. Or maybe with her skin tone and Darius’s lips. It’s a little like a punch to the gut, only in a good way, somehow. “Good morning,” she manages to say.

Of course, Avi is not privy to her inner thoughts, so he doesn’t comment on them. “Are you making breakfast?” he asks.

“Yeah. Pancakes, bacon, and eggs. Do you want something to drink while I finish up?”

“Do we have orange juice?”

Yi sets her mixing bowl on the counter and opens the fridge to check. “We do!” She pulls the carton out, pours some into a small plastic cup with faded soccer balls on it, and hands it to him. “There you go, buddy.”

Sleepily, Avi hugs her around the knees. “Thank you,” he mumbles, and he wanders off to the living area to nurse his drink.

The rest of the troupe finally stumble out when Yi starts frying up the bacon, more than likely lured from their rooms by the enticing smell. Yi’s just glad the morning sickness is leaving her alone for now; she’s barely eaten the last few days because of how bad it gets, and she’s really tired of not being able to eat good food.

Wrath looks surprised to see her cooking. “You didn’t have to,” she says.

“You’re letting me live here for free, giving me access to Darius’s bank account, and, I’m sure, comping all my doctor’s bills.” Yi shrugs. “The least I can do is cook for you in the mornings after your shows.”

No one else has any protests to being cooked for, and they all sit around the big table and dig in. Yi looks around at her friends and has to blink back emotion welling in her eyes. Her hand lands on her stomach again, and she thinks, We’re gonna be just fine, baby.

[erintoknow]

hug it out

fallen hero fanfiction chargestep ~2k words [ao3]

leads to: [i wanna be your best friend]

–––

You’ve been taking it easy while your leg heals after that close call with Psychopathor. Busying yourself with things to think about that weren’t– Ortega’s hands. On you– pulling you up, pulling you in. Absolutely not thinking about holding her– holding her up. Holding her steady.

It’s bee a weird couple of months and Ortega’s new out-of-nowhere boyfriend didn’t make it any less weird. So it’s a good thing that you’re not thinking about any that, frankly, and it’s offensive of you to even suggest that. Stop it.

You’re thinking about how to fix this damn electric bass when you hear the call go out on the police radio. A direct attack on the Ranger Headquarter’s building. You sit up on the bed to a chorus of creaking rusted springs. That’s… that’s a bold move alright, to just go right for the Rangers like that.

But maybe not as bold as it seems. Middle of the day. Most of the Rangers are either off-duty or out in the city. If you were just looking to trash the place or pick off just one person…

Is Ortega out on patrol or at her desk this time of day?

Can’t recall.

Shit.

Sugar.

Alright.

Fine.

You stand up, scan for a place in the abandoned house you can stash your guitar. Give up and just drop it on the mattress. If you’re going to get there in time you’ll need every second.

———

The police have already cordoned off the block, flashing lights and yellow crime scene tape. You have to cover your mouth to stop stifle the shock. All the windows on the ground floor have been shattered and the sliding glass doors are just… gone. For a moment the old fear grips you and as soon as you see the police offers milling around outside you want to bolt. Then one of the men sees you, and you can practically feel his mind light up as he waves you over.

It’s not you they recognize, you have to remind yourself. It’s the suit. You haven’t been running with the Rangers for very long but… they’re happy to see you? An unlicensed vigilante? “Sidestep! Thank God you’re here?”

Wild.

“Uh–” You cough. Have to play a role here. Sound official. Like you know what you’re doing. Not some stammering child. “Officer! What the heck happened?”

The man, he sounds vaguely South African, shakes his head, a grim expression on his face. “Pennybags.”

You wait for an explanation. “The… bank robber?” He’s been menacing more than just banks, to be fair. But that’s what gets all the headlines. Pennybag’s magnetic powers have been… a challenge to deal with to say the least. For mods like Ortega or Steel especially. You’ve taken it upon yourself to puzzle out an answer. The Rangers always get their man.

“He took down two our guys on his way out.”

“J–jesus.” A knot twists in your gut. “Are– Is everyone okay?”

“Some broken bones.” He winces, rolls his shoulder. “They just left in an ambulance.”

“Where’s everybody else?”

“Anathema and Sergeant Steel are stuck on the other end of the city, and Sentinel…” The man trails off.

You take a step towards him, heart beating against your chest. “What. What about Sentinel?”

“He was on his way back but now he’s out looking for the Marshal.”

“W–what?”

“We can’t find her anywhere and no one’s been able to get in contact with her since the attack started.” The cop extends a hand outwards to the building. “The receptionist? Sarah? Said she came in this morning. But no one saw her leave.”

You stare at the man. In the space of an hour your whole world has been yanked out from under you. Again.

“We were actually hoping you might be able to help. I don’t know how you do it Sidestep, but you’ve got a knack for finding people.”

Cross your arms to hide the fact that you’re hugging yourself. A villain successful attacked the Rangers Building and now nobody can find find find her. You have been steadily building a reputation for yourself, working with Anathema and Steel as part of crises response. But it’s easy to find people when you can pick up their thoughts.

You can’t do that with Charge. Ortega. Whatever. 

But…

Where is she?

Why hasn’t she checked in?

Is Ortega okay?

“Sidestep?” The police officer is staring at you.

Take a breath. “I’ll see what I can do. Can I… go in?”

The man nods, waves to the rest of the officers, “Let Sidestep though, boys.” It’s not until they respond with a chorus to the effect of ‘sure thing, chief’ that you realize the man you’ve been talking to this whole time is the god damn Chief of Police for Los Diablos.

Oh.

Your stomach does a little backflip.

You manage to disentangle yourself from the conversation with a hurried ‘thank you, goodbye’ before you can embarrass yourself.

The interior doesn’t do much to calm your nerves. Little bits and pieces of metal scattered across the floor, glass shards. The receptionist is staring disapprovingly a painting of some previous marshal that’s been dropped up against the wall. She spots you and breaks into a weak smile. “Sidestep! I’m glad you’re here.”

Again with that???

“H-hi uh,” you hesitate, what was her name? You’ll just pull it from her mind real quick and–

“It’s Sarah, remember?”

Fuck.

“Y-yeah! Sarah! Sorry… I’m kind of… in shock?” 

“God. Yeah. I can’t…” She hugs her arms and shudders, a haunted look on her face. “The bastard tore through in a hurry.”

You stand there, incredibly aware of how much you don’t belong in this space. “I’m… I’m glad you’re okay.”

She gives a weak smile, “Thank you. Anything I can help with?”

“I’m… I’m trying to find Charge? No one’s been able to get in touch with her.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know. She didn’t leave by the front door, that’s for sure.” She gives a helpless shrug. “I’m kind of at a loss myself what to do right now. Do I just… go home?”

“I don’t think think anyone would stop you.” You rub your arm, unsure what to do with the numb distress you both share. “If… if someone does, come get me, I’ll punch them.” She gives you a faint smile. You try to smile back, but whether she can see it under your mask you’re not sure.

You’ve never actually had free reign of the building before, even if you’re worked to build as good a mental map of the place as you can. If Steel were here to see you poking through everyone’s offices he’d lose his mind.

Something you can rub in his face later, maybe.

Break room, conference room, offices… You can tell the path Pennybags cut through the building by the trail of nails and screws pulled out of the walls. Up the stairs, second story, it doesn’t come as a surprise to see the path lead straight towards Ortega’s office. Doesn’t help the weight in your stomach though.

Creek open the door, and your breath catches in your throat. Her office is a disaster. Papers scattered across the floor, the desk turned on the side, bookshelves broken. You keep expecting to turn a corner, look behind some overturned piece of furniture and find her. She’s probably boiling mad. Acting the Ranger’s head of operations in broad daylight? Spit in her face why don’t you.

God. You hope she’s alright.

If she hasn’t left the building yet then where could she be? You lean back against the overturned desk and close your eyes, run through the map in your head. Where have you been already? Relax your mental shields; where can you pick up minds milling around? Maybe…

Are there any gaps in your map?

You wander back out to the stairwell and make your way to the third floor. You’ve never been up this high but there’s never been any need. There’s the roof access and then… The door to the attic storage is unlocked. The lights are already on as you step in. Is that promising? Does it mean anything? The air smells of sawdust and the walls and floor are unfinished.

If Steel finds out you’re up here, he might start foaming at the mouth. You cover your mouth, trying not to giggle. This is… this is serious. Where is Ortega? There’s something off up here and you can’t place your finger on it but it’s making your hair stand on end.

A floorboard creaks as you step past a pile of cardboard boxes and you freeze.

No other sounds.

Pennybags… left right? People saw leave.

He couldn’t have… snuck back in, right? What would be the point of that?

You push past another wall of boxes, eyes adjusting to the dim sodium-yellow lighting of the overhead lightbulbs. Maybe you’ll look into night vision for your next upgrade.

Something in the building shifts and it’s not you.

You freeze in place, straining out for the touch of any other minds but only mange to scoop up idle thoughts from the floors below.

“Ariad– Sidestep?”

You snap your head in the direction of the sound, and there’s Ortega, leaning on a chest-high wall of boxes, with several more opened and scattered around. “What are you doing up here?”

She blinks at you, even in the bad light her eyes look red. Her hair is a mess, a cut across her cheek. “I should be asking you that. You… you know you’re not supposed to be up here.”

You take a step back and rub your shoulder. Why did you even come here? “I.. Everyone’s looking for you, they’re worried.”

“What?” She forces a laugh, “could have just radioed me.”

“They’ve been trying.”

She frowns at that, unclips the walkie-talkie from her ranger suit. It stays silent no matter what combinations of buttons she presses.

“C-Charge, I think it’s–”

“I KNOW IT’S BROKEN!” You shrink back, heartbeat in your ears. Ortega’s expression immediately softens and she drops the radio to the ground. “Mierda… Damnit, Sidestep, I’m sorry.”

You should… you should go. Leave. Get out of here. But–

You don’t move. Instead, pull your mask off, rub at your eyes. “Are you… Ortega, what happened?”

“You already saw,” she waves a hand at the floor, rubs at her face with the other one. She fires off a string of curses in Spanish and kicks the closest box to her causing the whole tower sitting on it to shift slightly. “He tore through this place like I wasn’t even here.”

There’s a pressure behind your eyes and you try to swallow it down. “Ortega, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Ortega hisses through her teeth. She won’t look at you. “Don’t worry about it.”

You bite your lip, rub your arms. “Liar.”

Fuck, did you just say that?

Ortega looks at you as if she’s thinking the same thing. “He… Mierda, what was the point of stealing it?” She leans across a box for support, hands are balled up in fists, shaking. “I can’t… why?”

You take a step towards Ortega, ready for the slightest indication to back off. What… what are you supposed to do in a situation like this? There’s a physical pain in your chest, watching her like this. “Julia…?”

It’s a split-second decision . One you don’t even realize you’ve made until your arm is around her, pulling Ortega towards you into a hug. There’s a passing look of stunned confusion on her face and then she collapses against you, head on your shoulder, pulling the two of your to your knees on the floor.

Feeling stiff, like you’re operating your body from miles away, you put your other arm around her, pat her on the back. “I’m sorry.” 

“Ari… I don’t have that much of him left.”

“We’ll… We’ll get it back. I promise.”

The two of you stay like that for a while.

–––

leads to: [i wanna be your best friend]

[tessatechaitea]

Review of The Twilight Zone, Season 1, Episode 18: "Back to the Past"

Having seen a near infinite variety of time travel stories, it's hard to be impressed by a time travel story told in 1960. I mean, Huey Lewis was only ten years old and even if he'd written a song about time travel which could have been used for this episode, he certainly hadn't recorded one. So how is the audience supposed to get excited about the out-of-time RAF pilot getting back to his own time? I had a really hard time caring if he made it back without hearing Huey singing "Gotta get back in time!" or Big Pig's sweet synth bass notes leading into the jangly pop lyrics of "All my life I've wanted to fly like the birds that you see way up in the sky, making circles in the morning sun flying high in the sky 'til the day is done (I can't break away!)". Hell, just typing those lyrics and hearing them in my head has me more excited than this episode of The Twilight Zone, "The Last Flight" (even if it was written by Richard Matheson). I suppose I could act like a proper critic and judge it by its individual merits instead of writing things like, "This was no Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure!" or "Timecrimes makes the version of time travel seen in 'The Last Flight' seem like one of those messy wipes where you didn't realize you still had a bit of shit clinging to your sphincter so instead of beginning with the pick and pull, you just wiped nonchalantly, smearing feces all over your own backside" or "If the guys who made Primer had been inspired by Richard Matheson's quaint little time travel story, Primer would almost certainly not be my favorite time travel movie of all time." Although now that I mention Primer, it has more in common with "The Last Flight" than I realized which is maybe making me feel a bit better about Matheson's story. In a way, Primer isn't just about guys accidentally inventing time travel and then using it to profit off of which inevitably leads to a big fucking shitstorm of time- and doppleganger-based mishaps! It's also about a couple of guys who are fucking cowards who try to play by the universe's rules but when they realize they've just made their own rules, decide to cheat at life. Sure, you might argue with me about the characters being cowards but how else am I supposed to segue into talking about "The Last Flight"? It's not like the RAF guy traveled to the past and wrestled himself out of his own plane, throwing his old self to his death and not causing a paradox because Primer's time travel logic is that of ever splitting timelines. Basically in the original Primer universe, the guys who go back in time simply disappear from the timeline at the point they go back in time. Their families would just find a weird tin foil wrapped cardboard box in the storage shed they were last seen going into and never figure out what the fuck happened to them. "The Last Flight"'s time travel rules are more like those in Timecrimes where everything that happens, happens, and has always happened. So even in the first pass through the timeline, the person who came from the future is there doing what they always did. So maybe I should have said "The Last Flight" was more like Timecrimes for my segue! The premise of this story is that a cowardly RAF pilot accidentally flies into the future to discover that his fellow pilot he left to be killed by Germans survived. He can't understand how his fellow pilot survived without help and decides to finally not be a coward so he can go back in time to save his fellow pilot. My problem with the story is that for a coward, he sure gets brave fast! Maybe he's just too dumb to realize that he doesn't have to go back in time to die. He never sees his fellow pilot get killed. He simply assumes that he is going to get killed. So when he gets to the future and discovers his fellow pilot actually survived, he can't get past his initial assessment of the situation and the assumption that his fellow pilot was killed. He insists that he has to go back in time to be the one to save him. Too bad there weren't more time travel stories in 1917 so the cowardly RAF pilot could think, "Well, it would be a time paradox if I came to the future and stayed in the future when I was supposed to save my fellow pilot. So somebody else must have saved him because I'm not fucking going back to 1917 to die saving him! I suppose if some guy were singing loudly right now 'Gotta get back in time!', I might be tempted. But that's not happening so I'm going to stay here in 1959 where it's safe!" But no. The cowardly pilot decides to go back in time. My theory is that he's such a coward, he can't face the man he abandoned to die and so he races back into the time travel cloud to escape that confrontation, only pretending that he's going back to save his fellow pilot. But instead of going further into the future like he had hoped, he actually does wind up back in time and in the middle of the dog fight where his fellow pilot was sure to die. That makes the most sense, both in terms of the coward's actions and neatly avoiding the possible time travel paradox. If I were a better critic who wasn't judging this television show in ways it was never meant to be judged because I don't know the meaning of "unbiased", I might have concentrated on the redemption story which is the heart of Matheson's tale. The time travel is just added Twilight Zone flair! But I'm not a good critic at all and I never want to be! If I can't shit on something simply because I don't have the emotional capacity to be touched by it then I don't want to live! Besides, people who claim to be unbiased are simply shouting, "I have no capacity for self-reflection!" And I can't stand people who shout.

[inthesummerswelter]

recipe for disaster: epilogue

The flickering lights of the television dance across the dim flat, illuminating that patch of wall, this edge of carpet in a haphazard, frolicking manner. The wall is the same shade of worn paint as it was three years and five months ago, the carpet only a bit more ragged, fringe torn off by the late onset of canine teething.

The light skitters on over until it crosses the occupants of the sofa, playing over where an arm loops around a waist here, another around a shoulder there.

They're a tangle of limbs and lungs and fingers under mounds and mounds of fabric.

Head resting on the space where shoulder broadens into chest, Penn huddles closer into the warm body beside her as her eyelids began to droop.

"Duck or lamb?" she mutters, mind still on the same track it had been five hours ago when she began her journey through revamping the menu at work.

Ashton traces a pattern in the fine hairs at the nape of her neck, letting his hand splay across the back of her skull and cradle her head, before he responds. "If I don't have to look at it alive before I eat it, lamb. Never been much of a duck person. Roasted or alive."

"Okay," she mumbles back. The sitcom on the television is a rerun, one they've seen at least ten times before, but she knows that he still finds the jokes funny from the way his chest shakes with contained laughter.

Eight minutes later, she's debating the merits of cutting down the appetizers in favor of increasing the dessert offerings while the bloke on the telly is flailing about with what seems to be a large cod in a public park.

"Y'know, I love sleeping over and all, but I think it’s time we make some, er, alternate arrangements." His voice startles her, half hearing it, half feeling it thunder along through his body.

"Hm?" That’s concerning. Penn looks up at Ashton, the light from the television flitting about enough to catch the hazel in his eyes. He's still looking at the screen, mouth still in the remnants of a smile from the punchline.

"Move in with me."

Oh.

Definitely less concerning.

Tipping her head back down, she gives it a thought and snuggles back in towards him.

"Okay. But how about you move in with me instead?"

She can't keep the terrace greenhouse if she moves out of her flat. Plus Ashton's over at hers more than he is at his anyway. And she likes the way all the windows in the kitchen are perfectly placed to frame the sun when it breaks above the skyline.

A rumbling chuckle reverberates, shaking the quilt draped over her shoulders.

"Okay," he says. And then, "I love you," because the novelty of dropping the in with part two months ago still hasn't worn off yet.

"I love you, too."

(In fact, the novelty will probably never wear off.)

  "Y'know, you've got a lot more stuff than I had thought. I'm not so sure that it's all going to fit."

Penn winces as the edge of a stack of textbooks bites her shin where she's squeezing through the doorway with boxes balanced in her arms.

Ashton sighs dramatically, pausing in stretching out clear packing tape to close up loose seams in the boxes designated to go into storage. The tape has determined, however, that its forever-home is not the cardboard, but instead all over Ashton's hands.

"That's it, we're just going to have to downsize. Cardy, Clove, it's time for you to leave the nest. Go on. Be free."

Two sets of reproachful eyes look up at him, affronted by his socked foot nudging at their bellies.

Penn rolls her own eyes at him and pushes open the slider door to trot back over to her flat. Looking back over her shoulder before her feet hit the concrete of the terrace, her face scrunches up in concern.

"Are you going to be okay for a few minutes while I push some boxes around to make room?"

He laughs, flapping fingers covered in tape at her as Luke pops his head out of the bedroom, reassuring her that he's at least got things under control.

"I'll send him over in a bit with more, Penn."

She waves at him briefly in acknowledgement before heading back over, Clove scampering at her heels.

All in all, for all the fussing and complaining going on about who moves where and what part of which lease applies to which person and something about accidental subletting that she thinks they've finally worked out, Penn's happy with the new arrangement.

Ashton is moving in with her, bringing the total amount of occupants in her one bed, one bath flat to a grand total of four, including the dogs. And, Luke is going to move into Ashton's, a more comfortable one person to one room ratio, she has to admit.

After a few years of saving up money by living with his older brothers and spurred by the necessity of a new place due to said older brothers graduating, the newly-vacated flat perfectly fits Luke's bill.

Which is great, because Penn was a little nervy and not quite comfortable with the possibility of sharing the terrace with someone she didn't know, although Ashton assures her that their new neighbor will still probably be at the library more than at home anyway.

In any case, things worked out for the best in the planning and legalities.

In coordinating the actual moving, however, not so much.

She was able to take the day off to help out, and Ash and Luke didn't have classes. However, Louis and Niall found themselves conveniently tied up at the restaurant, Zayn was predictably out of the country, and Calum on an extended family vacation.

Which minimized their small group of potential coerced laborers to Michael, who said he'd stop by if he wasn't busy.

Which hasn’t happened yet.

But, Penn is pleasantly surprised by a knock at the door while she’s shifting around a potted plant in the corner of the living room to make way for Ashton’s growing footwear collection - one pair of nice leather boots and now he’s a shoe connoisseur - and opens it to a shock of lavender hair and long, tanned limbs.

“Hiiiiiiiiiii,” Michael drawls out with a grin, flapping a hand in greeting as he steps through the doorway. “Wasn’t sure where you’d all be, but figured that you might be here. Or someone might be here. Or Ash. Ash is always here.”

The girl behind him - a girl that she's never seen before in her life - snickers openly. “He’s really just saying that. We came here first because it was closer to the stairs. And we brought bagels!”

She proudly displays the baked goods as Penn helps them navigate the sea of Ashton's things until they can reach the kitchen.

Setting the bagels on the scant free counter space, Michael mumbles, "It's like five fucking flights, okay? Would it kill you to petition for an elevator or something? Oh, and Tal wanted to bring a housewarming gift. On my employee discount, of course."

Tal's rebuttal is cut off by the arrival of a set of plastic storage tubs and Ashton, while Penn leans against the cabinets and tries to remember why that name sounds so familiar.

"Mikey! You made it!" Ash spreads his arms wide after setting down the tubs nearly on top of Penn's feet.

Sidestepping a sweaty hug, he replies, "Not for long! Can't stay to help, actually. Sorry about that, Tal -"

"I'll take that hug," she announces, stepping forward into Ashton's still outstretched arms. "Glad to see things all worked out after all."

Ah. Tal.

Tal of the silhouettes.

Mikey's girlfriend, Tal.

Penn takes a closer look, suddenly ridiculously interested in Michael’s choice of women.

Thin and tall turns into a sharply angled, deeply tanned face. That comes along with an easy, laughing smile, a brilliant white standing out from darker-complected skin. Deep brown eyes are divided by a strong nose and framed by dramatically-arching eyebrows settled on a high forehead.

In other words, a face that wouldn't seem out of place on the cover of one of the friendlier-looking fashion magazines, with a body to match.

She shoots Ashton a meaningful glance - one that says introduce me, goddamnit - as she unpacks the bagels from their cardboard carrier.

But Tal beats him to the punch, calling out, “And you must be Penn! It’s so nice to finally meet you in person, I’ve heard quite a bit about you!”

Penn's hit with that gleaming grin and is momentarily stunned by the light bouncing from it, blinking rapidly as she tries to recover.

Tal fills in the awkward silence without skipping a beat.

"Wow, Mike, didn't even mention that you had a girlfriend, did you?" she says as she elbows him in the side.

Penn regains her words as Michael chokes on a bite of bagel that he's stolen over Ashton's protests that those really weren't his anymore.

"No, no, Ashton told me about you. It's very nice to meet you as well." She smiles, rounding the bend in the counter.

They have time for one enthusiastic handshake before Tal catches sight of the clock in the living room - "So cute! Oh, shit!" - and realises that they should have been at the tube station approximately nine minutes ago.

Leaving as they came, Michael's flash of lavender is the last Penn sees before Tal pulls him into the hallway.

Luke steps in just as the main door closes with a stack of milk crates in his arms, saying, "I found these in the back of your closet - are those bagels? I'm starved."

“Yeah,” Ashton replies nonchalantly, taking one dusted with chocolate chips from the plate Penn’s laid a few out on. “Mike just brought them over. Just missed him and Tal.”

Penn jumps nearly out of her skin as Luke slams his hand on the counter.

“Damnit! Every time, I swear to God.”

And then he goes to the fridge and pulls out a water bottle to chug moodily.

Pushing her shoulder into Ash, where he’s polishing off the bottom half of the bagel with ease, she gives him another meaningful glance that translates this time into a whole set of concerned question marks.

He takes the time to lick off the residual chocolate from his index finger before he responds. “It’s this thing between Luke and Michael. Like, Luke said something about not believing Mike would ever get a girl, and so now he takes Tal to meet everyone except for Luke. Luke doesn’t even know what she looks like.”

The plastic of the bottle is dangerously close to implosion in Luke’s fist, so Penn looks at him with great caution, still not sure that this whole thing doesn't qualify as one hugely ridiculous overreaction.

“Smiley. Very smiley.” Penn hopes this'll be enough to save the water bottle.

It crushes under the pressure anyway, but Luke's shoulders slump. "S'okay, really. He'll break, eventually."

Instead of continuing to try and console a mopey man-child twice her size, Penn turns to the plastic tubs Ashton had brought over, grabbing a blueberry bagel at the same time. Looping it on her finger, she nibbles at the edges as she picks out a battered biscuit tin. The paint is red and chipped, the image of gingersnaps on the top mostly worn away, rust collecting at the rim of the lid. It rattles as she shakes it, sounding as if there were a whole hoard of coins or buttons shifting around inside.

And as far as she knows, Ashton's never fixed a button in his life

"What is this?" she asks, gesturing with it towards him. He doesn't see her though, so she takes it upon herself to prise it open. Surprisingly enough, the top pops off without too much effort.

Bottle caps.

Bunches of brightly coloured, strangely marked bottle caps.

Penn sticks her hand in and scoops up a bunch, marvelling at the sheer number of caps as she lets them slip through her fingers and fall back down into the tin.

"Oh, those?" Ashton seems to have finally noticed, turning away from Luke and towards where she's begun to spread a few on the surface of the counter. "Those are all my gramps'. Well, really he’s my great-uncle, but we always just called him Gramps."

Penn's heard of strange collections, and she understands sentimentality quite a bit - she still pays rent on Gran's brownstone and drops by every couple of days to tend the garden - but still, bottle caps?

He goes on to explain, noticing the look on her face. "Gramp always said that anything worth celebrating everything should be done with a cold beer. Obviously he thought that there were a lot of things deserving of beer, and he kept the cap from every one of them. There's even one from the day I was born in there, but I think it's actually from a hard cider instead."

Ashton thumbs the top of a sunny yellow cap with a logo written in illegible, blocky red lettering before setting it back in the pile and digging his fingers down to the bottom of the tin.

"But the main point was to celebrate all the things in life worth being happy about. I keep these to remind me that life has a lot of those moments, some big and a lot small, and sometimes we just forget to recognise them as remarkable, memorable."

She just takes a hold of his hand and doesn’t say a thing.

  (She ends up picking up a few small shadow boxes from an antique shop on High Street the next day and divides up the caps between them.

They hang on the small stretch of wall just above the kitchen table and glint in the first light of the morning sun.)

  Two weeks after the move and she’s still not used to the way he arranges the condiments in the refrigerator.

Reaching for the hot sauce - normally on the top left, underneath the light and right next to the butter - she brings it all the way over to the plate before realising that it’s not hot sauce.

It’s mustard.

She doesn't even like mustard.

Scrubbing at her eyes with curled up fist, still in the throes of 5 a.m. drowsiness, she tosses the bottle behind her where it lands with a clatter in the sink. Ashton can pick it up later when he does the dishes.

Penn bends down towards the fridge again, closing her eyes to guard against the bright white light of the interior, finally plucking the hot sauce from the bottommost right-hand shelf.

Tucking it underneath her arm, she gathers up the plate and forks in on hand, juggles two mugs in the other, and shuffles her way back down the hall to the bedroom.

He's still in the dazy sort of half-sleep, sheets rucked down to his waist, face partially pressed into the downy pillow, so she sets her cargo down on the side table and climbs back in beside him. Penn snuggles into the warmth of his body, lifting up one outstretched arm so she can wriggle underneath it, letting it settle as a comfortable weight across her shoulders.

She takes his stillness as an opportunity to study him with her own eyes at half-mast, but, within five minutes of memorizing how the ringlets of honey-coloured hair curl around the tops of his ears, his nose scrunches up once, twice, before he cracks a hazel eye open.

"Is tha' coffee I smell?" he murmurs, lifting his head off the pillow to scent the air, and she nods as she brings up a hand to push the crumpled waves off his forehead.

"An' eggs. Made s'me eggs, too."

The arm over her shoulder tightens and curls, pulling her in closer until he can tuck her head under his chin. "G'bless. You're th' best thing."

"Mm, I know," she mumbles back as he presses a kiss to her forehead.

His answering smile is the sunrise.

   ("Y'know, th' food's gonna get cold if we wait much longer."

"'M comfy here, though."

"Slaved over that, I did. Over a hot stove. For you."

"I know, love.")

[rkyohan-blog]

* what does the ghost say?

halloween starter for @rkjinhyuk !

yohan used to be a “creative kid”. as a pre-schooler, he was encouraged by his parents to express himself however he wanted to, leading to many masterpieces being found on different walls and surfaces of the house until his parents reigned him back a little bit. as his drawings became less scribbles and scratches and more shapes and recognizable facial features, they started to feature more and more on the family’s fridge. for a few years, the fridge stayed covered, until slowly some things started to come down and be replaced by more practical things, like a white-board to-do list, motivational poster magnets, the cool bottle-opener-slash-wine-screw shaped like a duck that came in dad’s stocking one year. his mother always told him that they still kept everything, in a very special box up in their room. little philip didn’t really care much as he got older, instead finding more enjoyment in keeping stuff in his own sketchbooks. of course, for a while he still showed off pretty much everything to his parents seeking validation in ooh’s and aah’s but eventually, when doodling was no longer a popular thing for a middle-school star athlete to do, he stopped caring. 

he eventually grew out of the whole visual art thing entirely -- well, he took one class in high school, but switched into the health and fitness class at the encouragement of his friends -- and his creative side was buried deep underneath dreams of hockey championships and trap beats, left about a hundred pages back into the half-filled sketchbooks that sit rotting in yohan’s anchorage-based storage unit. 

it’s been a long time since he’s put any creative effort into a halloween costume. besides all the partying, there hasn’t been much in it for him when it comes to halloween since he became too old for free candy; though he secretly admired people’s costumes; it wasn’t cool to get super decked-out in sfx makeup for halloween in high school unless you were, like, an art or theatre kid. yohan and his popular friends typically flexed their non-chalance and innate coolness by wearing as little as they could get away with to the halloween parties.

he doesn’t look back on it fondly. almost every year, his friends would bug him to dress up as PSY. which, looking back on it, was pretty weird and kinda rude, but yohan didn’t think much of it at the time besides being mildly annoyed when his classmates would ask him to sing the song and yohan would have to tell them each time that he doesn’t actually speak korean and literally, if you try to sing it you’ll still probably pronounce it better. on god. ( that wasn’t entirely true. by then he’d gone to korean school for a little while and actually secretly enjoyed the hell out of it, but he always felt uncomfortable talking about it with the more well-meaning, but ignorant of his classmates. )

his costumes have graduated from sunglasses and suspenders, at least, but when he can get away with not wearing anything special, he will. yeah, he has ideas, yeah, he’s a little jealous of how confidently people walk around on halloween night decked out in even the most riduclous costumes, horns reaching like five feet in the air and capes trailing behind them and the like. every halloween night, he thinks okay i’m tired of being lame, next year i’ll do something awesome, but every halloween morning, he realizes he’s forgotten that he wanted to care again and he winds up throwing on a shirt that he already has and coming up with something on the fly.

and thus, he’s settled on Alvin again, which is actually not a terrible costume when he actually has the other two chipmunks with him, but he doesn’t at the moment. yugyeom is going to be theodore, and apparently they’re stealing a dog? but for now, he’s just a tall boy in a regular red sweater with a yellow cardboard ‘A’ taped to it, and hasty eyeliner ‘whiskers’ beside his nose. he’s shown up to this event mainly to see what goes on, as he didn’t really research any of the information beforehand, he wanders around a bit, eyeing the food -- but not for too long, the jell-o brains make him feel a little queasy -- and then stands for a while beside a small group of zombies, opening up his phone to scroll through his apps absent-mindedly. 

a few minutes later, he hears someone clear their throat ahead of him, and yohan realizes too late that he has 8 white-contact-clad eyes staring at him -- a quick glance around and he realizes he’s accidentally been standing in line for... something. oh, fuck me. 

“huh?” he says dumbly, cheeks heating. 

“how many in your group? two?” the staff member is polite, but looks a little exasperated, gesturing at him, and then to his side. 

yohan, still looking stupid, repeats himself: “...huh?”

one of the zombies pipes up politely: “we need groups of six to go in, so they’re looking for two people,” and it takes a second to see that the zombies are a 4-person group and yohan is standing directly after them. 

“oh-- no, sorry, it’s just me,” he says, awkwardness clear in his voice. oh god, what is he even in line for? 

in an attempt to figure out what to do, he looks around again, this time looking to his side and back a bit. immediately, his eyes land on the other person closest to him, the one that the staff lady thought was in his group or whatever. he gives him a once-over and a small nod.  

"hey, olaf.” he turns back. 

wait, olaf. i know that olaf.

“jinhyuk?” spinning around once again, his eyes widen, and he blinks several times. though his face smiles, his heart drops. happiness at seeing his old friend is very overshadowed by the guilt he feels when he's reminded of how long ago he meant to message jinhyuk to tell him he’s back... “hey man, it’s been a while, ahah--”

the voice of the attendant interrupts, tearing yohan’s attention back to the front of the line. “okay, so you’re both solo! perfect, you can both come on in,” 

staring into the darkness of what he assumes must be a haunted house or something, he realizes that facing the people he’s ghosted is far scarier than any ghosts that these people could show him.