#its been three fucking years and its exactly like it was six months in

[gopissbepis]

[blueparadis]

| GOLD RUSH | REI SUWA |

[ synopsis ] — Rei Suwa some how accepted advent of Miri in his life, had made peace with the presence of his partner, Kazuki long before Miri walked into their life. He was not willing to do it anymore, not under any circumstances but hearts does not align with our minds, does it now?

[ content & themes ] — undertones of fluff cuz i love miri, f!reader ( s!her pronouns ), canon typical violence, death, murder, profanity, mention of smoking, alcohol, sexual tension, mutual pinning,rei is so fvcking oblivious that I wanna bang my head on a pillow. characters include :: Kazuki Kurusu, Kyutaro Kugi, Miri Unasaka, Anna Hanyu. word count :: 1.5k

One. Two. Three. . . and four. Four turns it took for Rei to adjust the lens of his sniper. His eyebrows which were already congested seemed to become more devoted to the cause. Kazuki might not have packed the most comfortable sniper Rei likes to use. That fucking dim wit. A low grunt escapes past his lips as he aligns the nozzle upon the railing of the rooftop. 

The weather is sunny yet sultry, not particularly of what Suwa prefers to have while executing his job, that is to scratch off another name from the list Kyutaro has given him. On any other day, Kazuki would have accompanied him but not today. Today is special. . . special because Miri claims that she is turning six years old. 

It was so random that both the assassins thought that it was one of the other tactics to have a chocolate cake that she was denied the other day. Lately, Kazuki has been strict and he is nothing less than an angry bird as imagined by Miri. But Miri can be stubborn sometimes and hence Kazuki stayed behind to cook chocolate cupcakes for her. She does not crave gigantic three layered cakes, just small cupcakes that would perfectly fit in her small dainty hands. How odd ! How childish!

“Are you ready?” Kazuki conjectured from the other side. Rei can not recall anything happy of sort about his birthdays or birthdays in general. In all honesty, he never really understood the undying joy on birthdays. What exactly is there to celebrate? We're all gonna die at some day or it could be at the next moment. We're just getting closer to it each day, each month, each year. What's the point of celebration? 

“Hm.” That was . . . inert for someone who never liked babysitting. Kazuki even proposed that he can go and do the job in his way while Rei could sit at home, look after Miri and play video games. Was he mad about getting hired for this job? Who can tell? Well, definitely not Rei since he rarely speaks his mind.

“Alright. I’m going to call.” Kazuki clears his throat before dialing the number of their target. One. two and a half ring — “hello”

“Hello. Good Morning.We are calling from the pollution center. I would like to inform you that the car registered under your name has been . . . 

“But I don't remember sending my car for a pollution check.”

“Perhaps it was your daughter. . . Naomi Kento.”

And those dull black eyes are now watching the target like an eagle hunting for its prey. The lens zooms in. The target, Mr. Kento Fujiwara is now loitering from one end of his room to the other. Rei could have easily taken a shot through his neck but his bodyguard is quite persistent, maybe a little too good for her job. Rei moves his eyes from the lens while two sets of his fingers reach up to his ears, “ Kazuki. What’re ya doin? He is moving too much. Talk less.” God, the sun is burning his skin and thinning his patience. He is not particularly aware of the reason behind his edgy mood and now is definitely not the time to think about it.

“Oh! It wasn’t your daughter. I see. I apologize. There must be some sort of mistake in your system. We will send one of our staff to . . .

And Mr.Kento Fujiwara is still standing in front of his gigantic glass window but his bodyguard is keeping Rei from getting a clean shot. Does she know? Or was she planted by Kyutaro to test his skills? The other day he commented how rei had become a little rusty and needed to get back on his track. Wouldn’t be surprised if he were to do this. Rei moves away from the sniper lens once again and exhales deeply, long enough to make a decision : death or deaths.

The girl turned around on her heel and was approaching the gigantic window. Suwa thought she might have been asked to draw in the curtains which meant he had to wait another two hours for getting a good clean shot. Needless to say, he was not going to settle for it. Still he chose death. He watches the bodyguard to keep her hostler on the table nearby and adjusts her body suit. God, he can’t wait to put a bullet through that man’s heart. Kyutaro was right about him. He is a shark as well as a parasite. BANG!

Rei watches the target fall to the floor like a tree chopped from its root. Tsk! His eyebrows grow flat for a few seconds when he hears Kazuki saying, “Mr. Fujiwara? Mr.Fujiwara? . . .Are you there?” He isn’t. Kazuki disconnects the call. The number he used belonged to one of the staff from the pollution center, as provided by their friendly bartender : Kyutaro Kugi. 

“Odd.”, Suwa comets watching all the guards in black suits flood the room that has a corpse lying on the ground.

“What is?” more than him, Kazuki is on edge. Suwa is glad that Kakuki did not tag along in this job. It would have taken more time to take out the target.

“Well, not our problem.”, Suwa amends. He is already lighting his cigarette, having his sniper rifle on his back. He is fast. He has always been fast. 

—

‘Breaking news : Kento Fujiwara, one of the leading business tycoons, was murdered yesterday morning. It seems that he died because of the injury in the head. . .

The news continues to broadcast further details, clarifying what is going to happen to his estates as well as his family members but none of that registers into Suwa’s brain. He is stuck at the ‘injury in the head’ part , which means, ‘shot at the head’  Sure, he is having a tough time but he is not too weak to miss his shot that was aimed at the belly, not the head. He can not be that reckless. Plus, it has been a long time since he shot someone right in the head. It can’t be. Something just doesn't fit.

“Rei. . .” Kazuki draws in the curtains of the room basking the room with the rays of azure noon. 

“What?” Rei utters with the same bored expression that he always has on his face, but this time he bothers to tilt his head with a furrow in between his brows. Its unlike him. He is annoyed. He does his job with the least possible muscle movements, at all times, and most of his energy investment goes to games and Miri.

“I’m going to pick up Miri. I got a call from daycare. So, you have to pay a visit to the bar.” Kazuki shuts the door behind him before leaving. What a drag!

The bar has never been crowded, and has not been lonely either. The reason he hates coming here is of course Kugi’s horde of questions. More than that, he thinks he should not be collecting money for killing people, in certain cases but not all. He does not regret killing Kento Fujiwara even though it was not his bullet that caused the death. He takes a deep breath before entering the bar and his reason of irritation is not there, Kugi is not there.

“Welcome. . . ehh—

“Rei Suwa.”, his voice pitches in. With casual steps, hands inside the pocket of his hoodie he walks in and sits in front of the new face, the new bartender, a girl . . . no! a lady. “I’m here for Kyu- . . . Kyu-chan.” He averts making eye-contact instead focuses his mind to light a cigarette.

“I’m sorry. . . but you can’t smoke— 

So, She is not a newcomer or perhaps really needed this job or perhaps a normal person. I don’t think he is okay with a woman working in his bar . . . without actually knowing what he does.

The smoke swirls in the form of a circle as Rei lets out a drag. His eyes are on hers, watching, thinking how come he has never heard of a girl related to this obsidian world. He takes in another drags and quickly scans her. 

“I can.” Suwa boldly remarks with his eyes settled on her relaxed posture with his harmless bored expression that he thinks is quite infuriating, enough to get a reaction out of her.

She is still not annoyed . . . not even repeating herself. Kyu must have a tough time putting up with her. . . mood. She turns her head towards the door that leads to the wine cellar. One. . .two . . .she blinks and Kyutaro emerges from the room with two flagons.

“Had a feeling I'd be seeing you.”, he remarks, keeping the box of wine bottles on the counter. “Why did you let him smoke, y/n ?” Kyutaro shifts his eyes on the lady who stands still with a face that seems apologetic in so many ways. 

Bingo. y/n. y/n is her name. breaking the rule was worth it.

“Moreover. . .” , his eye brows ran closer. “Why’re you smoking?” 

“Sorry. My bad. Had a rough day.”, Suwa quips, putting off the fire on the ashtray that y/n slided while ago. Smart and swift.

Kyutaro adjusts his spectacles. He proceeds to the inner side of the counter. “Here.” he hands over two envelopes to Suwa, a smile of gratitude visible on his face. Suwa bows and leaves the bar within a minute.

It’s not a surprise that he has a girl by his side. After all, he has always been popular among girls, that lucky fucker.

—

[ notes ] — might ( emphasis on might ) have a part ii ( if it does, i'll continue on ao3) but feel free to send me thoughts about them. I love the characters so much that I could write four page essays on them. This fic was a bit rushed but I had the idea after watching the first episode so I got time to prepare it in my head ( yeah thanks to my insomnia ). If you want to read more of my writings click here. And, if you like reading it, please like & reblog, leave a comment. thank you :›

⌗ — @planetxiao @semisgroupie @cherrykamado

[almostgenerallyalways]

tgm fic recs

@stcverogers tagged one of my fics in a rec list yesterday and i thought it was such a good idea, i wanted to share some of my own favs

in no particular order:

* * *

hangman 

one time thing // kiss the sun (fight the fire) // love that’s a real long shot  He nods again like that’s exactly what he expected you to say. “I think you’re wrong. Doesn’t matter now though, does it?” i would rec anything by @callsignvalley but this is probably the series that got me most. i also love tailspin and its rooster follow up steady

california coast in your green eyes // i’ll carry my bags just until i can hold you again (2 different series) Bob’s older sister gets the news that his plane went down during a training drill, and shows up at the hospital at the same time as an arrogant pilot. //  Six months after they break up, Jake shows up at Julie’s Family thanksgiving. A second chance holiday romance with fake dating, family drama, and fall festivities. @theharddeck these fics, esp carry my bags, feel so so real and human to me, i love julie and the characterisation of jake feels so on point i also love her series out of the clear, blue sky as well as kinda might, sorta like, love you a little bit + its follow ups

i’ve been holdin’ out so long (4 part series) You can’t stand Hangman, but your dreams lately say otherwise. He notices. @steadfastconviction i adore Bluegrass and her sass

do not engage (series) You hate Hangman. Really, you do... Or so you like to think, until it begins to seem like that distaste might not be as strong as you’d prefer to believe. @clints-lucky-arrow the entire f&f universe is great but Duchess especially is a badass

afterburn (series) It had been clear from the moment you got inside a cockpit that you were going to be something special. You certainly weren’t the youngest Naval Aviator to be invited to TOPGUN, but you had been the youngest to graduate at number one in more than thirty years. Which is all the more reason why it was so tragic that you would never, ever, be able to fly again. @top-hhun is a master of setting a scene

the off-season (series) It was supposed to just be one summer. But somehow you found yourself living in your grandparent’s Maine vacation house indefinitely. It was quiet when the summer tourists left, but tolerable. That was, until your brother’s friend from college needed a place to crash and he somehow wound up staying in your guest bedroom. Also indefinitely. @ereardon just started this series but i’m so into this world (au) already

fuck (the universe) (series) You’re a Kazansky–Tom “Iceman” Kazinsky’s youngest daughter–and you’ve taken after your father and become a Naval aviator. You finished at the top of your class at Top Gun and have worked diligently and fruitlessly to get to where you are now: North Island. You don the call-sign Wisteria not only because the beauty of the flower but because of its lethal qualities. i mention @roosterbruiser below bc i read landslide first but holy fuck indeed

* * *

rooster 

landslide (series) It’s been almost three years since the accident that took half of her, and Faye “Clover” Ledger seems fine, really. She loves her old house, she has a perpetually expanding vinyl collection, she’s got a job she likes on base, and she is only a short drive from the beach. She’s grounded--literally. @roosterbruiser landslide is one of those fics i have to read in little bits because it’s just too good. beautiful writing that just transports me (and i love faye, she may be the most developed fanfic oc i’ve ever read - and I love her taste in music)

baby let’s play house // pt 2  you got yourself in trouble. bradley has a bit of a savior complex. together, you come up with what could potentially be the worst idea in the longstanding and illustrious history of bad ideas. @seasonsbloom i just really love this fic, it shows all the quietest best parts of bradley

first impressions  at the induction day for the newest recruits of the Golden Warriors of VFA 87, rooster assumes you’re a civilian, instead of, you know, a member of his team? you see how far you can push it before he figures it out.  @ohcaptains‘s pilot in this fic is the badass bitch i wish i could be. as well as fucking funny.

like i can (series) After yet another bad date and tired of swiping on apps, the Dagger Squad steps in to help you out by setting you up on a series of blind dates. Much to Rooster’s dismay. @sometimesanalice perfect blend of cute, funny and heartmelting

* * *

bob 

he’s so pretty (when he goes down on me) // pt 2  things between you and Bob are strictly business: he’s your backseater, and that’s all there is. @seasonsbloom‘s writing is so good it made me want to try writing fic myself

* * *

hangman x rooster

we’re fools to make war In a Walmart at three am, between beef jerky and tortilla chips, with the lights flickering above them like it’s the fucking twilight zone, Bradley wants him more than he’s ever wanted anyone. or: it's a hundred degrees in texas. i can’t find a tumblr link for this but the writer is @baroness-elsa. this is 66k words and i read it in two days which probably says enough. holy shit.

* * *

there are many many more (this fandom is FULL of talented writers, damn) but this already took me an hour so that’ll be part 2 haha

[dialingyoudarlingyou]

I don't wanna look at anything else now that I saw you

Tw: none, just fluff. so much of it. blame Taylor swift’s songs for being the best thing that has ever happened. Since my brain isn't letting me write the second part for this love I wrote this instead hehe. This is based on that one line in New Year's Day. I heard it and I couldn’t stop thinking about how it’d make for a perfect prompt.

He looks at her. Because somehow that makes things easier for him. Sometimes he feels like this is a dream and he might just wake up any second. Sometimes he wonders what he did to deserve her because there is no way in hell that someone as beautiful and understanding as her would ever be with someone as pathetic and boring as him. He looks at her like she is the sun. Resting in the warmth she gives off. When she smiles, it radiates a calming warmth like nothing else. The peace and hope her warmth gives off fills his heart with overwhelming amounts of love and devotion. 

So, he sits down next to her and stares with astonishment at how the person he loves has brought so much colour to his life. And he blissfully wonders if she knows how much beauty she radiates every time she laughs or smiles, and how every time he looks at her his heart soars and fills with joy, he feels as if time could never catch up with him.

He wonders when he’ll be able to tell her how he feels without stuttering and mumbling. They have been together for almost 2 years now, but it feels as though they have been together forever because he cannot imagine his life without her.

‘I love you' these three words are always on the tip of his tongue. Anytime, anyplace it doesn't matter.

Funnily enough, he used to struggle with saying those words but then he discovered something peculiar.

“You remembered? Oh my god!"

Her voice echoes as she enters the Batcave. She rushes in with a big grin on her face and he knows exactly what she is thinking. Bruce knows that face all too well. She skips a few steps and gives him a tight embrace. He eventually melts into it.

"I can't believe this bruce! You remembered and I only mentioned it once- and you-" she sniffles as her grasp on him tightens. His fingers slowly run through her hair, and he murmurs "do you like it?" "Like? Bruce, I love it. I love you. But you didn’t have to- This complete set of merchandise is so expensive Bruce. So expensive, it's worth my one month's salary."

"Love, I'll give you anything you want all you have to do is say. I'll give you the stars, the moon, and the fucking planets." Bruce inhales her scent and sighs. God, he cannot think about how he would ever live without her. Her eyes seemed to have teared up at his words and she just squeezed his hand three times in reply.

His eyes were piqued with curiosity. He asked her what the gesture meant. “It means I love you,” she whispered, her voice was so soft it was scarcely audible. But he heard it. a smile made its way onto his face; he immediately squeezed it back. and no, he didn’t stop after three; he repeated the gesture six times.

From that day onward, Bruce repetitively told her ‘I love you.’ Sometimes he squeezed her hand randomly- before he left for his nocturnal ventures.

Aside from that sometimes when it was just the two of them alone in the Batcave, he would casually tap out the gesture with his finger on the desk.

tap. tap. tap.

She would look up from her book and make eye contact with Bruce who was sitting across the room. She knew what it meant. She somehow always did.

Bruce said I love you all the time now, more often than the ones she said out loud.

She realized that he had a unique way of declaring his love, and it was okay because, in the end, it was the love that mattered.

[kitchenisking]

April Fic Rec❤️

Hey Guys! I know im late on the monthly rec. Im sorry. RL has been a bitch and I don't see that changing anytime soon, but hoping that if anyone else is going through crazy times that this might help. you guys are also getting a double today cuz its passover! Last year I posted a fic for the 7 days of passover and im going to do the same this year! and seeing how I missed the fist day, right after I post this rec, Im going to post passive day 1 so stay tuned! Love you all😘

Stiles Stilinski resident Tease. by TheBeastsWrite (orphan_account) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1254, sterek)

Prompt: Hi, can you make a sterek fic where derek is too afraid to go all the way with stiles for fear of hurting him so stiles makes a plan to turn him on all day by baking, doing chores, and saying certain things sexually until derek can't take it anymore?

The Heat Den by LeatherDearest - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1612, sterek)

Adult omega Stiles wakes up to find himself locked away in a heat den, with a very possessive and happy alpha.

This is also my first time playing in this sandbox, so please be gentle.

Lay Your Head Down (I Won't Let The Boogeyman Come) by tabris - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 3141, sterek)

"I've kind of. Had this fantasy," Stiles says in a stumbling rush. "And seeing as this may be my last week ever in this room. Kind of a now or never thing. So. Um."

Derek drags his nose up the back of Stiles' neck, pulling him closer to his chest as he makes a questioning sound. 

Stiles takes a deep breath and holds it for a moment, then blurts out, "I just really want you to sneak in, pin me down, and start fucking me so when I wake up I can't do anything but lie there take it."

Phoenix by Unloyal_Olio - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 9376, sterek)

Stiles is a prince with a secret lost in war.

Like a Secret by rufflefeather - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1644, sterek)

Stiles can't get it up in the aftermath of the whole Nogistune trauma.

Once I'm Done With You by ViragoWrites - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 3748, sterek)

And until recently, dying had never been something he feared. But he had something now, a pack, a home, things worth fighting for that weren’t centered on revenge. He had Stiles. Or he would, once one of them took the initiative and brought this thing that had been developing between them to light.

Or, the one where Derek finally makes a move on Stiles. And what a move it is.

Indelible by SylvieW - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1978, sterek)

Stiles decided to get a fake tattoo of Derek’s name, as a prank. It does not go the way he expected.

Welcome Home, Baby Papa! by KaliopeShipsIt - (Rating: G, Words: 6420, sterek)

Ten days after Army soldier and family father Derek has left for his latest deployment, his mate Stiles gets some thoroughly unexpected news.

Six months later, the Alpha returns to a very big surprise.

Just for Now by linksofmemories_archive - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 8232, sterek)

“Your heart’s beating fast,” Derek said conversationally, the bastard.

“You’re an asshole.”

“You were going to attack an Alpha werewolf with a lacrosse stick.”

“It was to give me a chance to run.”

“How exactly?” Derek asked. “Show me.”

Fancy Seeing You Here by Anxiety_Baker02 - (Rating: T, Words: 8351, sterek)

To his left was a girl, curled up in the opposite corner and not looking at him, so, of course, he decided to talk to her first. He scooted over to the bars and crouched, trying to see her face. 

“Hello,” he said softly. “Hey, are you Cynthia? My name is Stiles, I’m gonna get you out of here.”

The girl had tensed at the sound of his voice, but when he said his name her head whipped up. Her eyes were sunken in and her cheeks were hollow, her hair matted and her face streaked with dirt, so it took Stiles a moment to recognize her. When he did, though, his eyes went wide and he had to blink a few times to make sure he was really awake; she was one of the few faces that had haunted his dreams for the past three years, the uncertainty of her fate giving his imagination fodder for both heartfelt reunions and terrible visions of torture. He vaguely spared a thought to the irony that the last time they had seen each other had also been in the basement of hunters.

OR:

Stiles lets himself get captured by an enemy and ends up locked in a weird-ass basement. He expected the rough treatment and the cage- what he didn't expect was to find two very familiar faces down there with him.

[izukuwus]

thinking started feeling like burning - nishinoya yuu/reader

m.list - deleted smut scene - read on ao3

A/N: would you believe I wrote the majority of this BEFORE having a complete mental break and quitting my job without any sort of plan? this one is gonna have a smut spinoff oneshot sometime before the end of the month but no clear ETA yet due to school and job hunting. this boy needs more love and goddammit I may not be confident in my noya but I'M GONNA GIVE IT TO HIM

Summary: Nothing had changed since you left. Not him, a brilliant hurricane, and not you, a lost robot moving forward with no goals or dreams of your own. Opposites attract, after all.

Warnings: past minor character death, suggestive themes. reader is gender-neutral but for purposes of the deleted smut scene coming later is afab. reader basically has an anxiety disorder and it's implied they have not great parentage but no major detail is gone into.

Word count: ~8600

desolate

/dĕs′ə-lĭt, dĕz′-/

adjective

1. Devoid of inhabitants; deserted

2. Barren; lifeless

Yeah, maybe that was it. Desolate. In this hotel room—small, furnished but empty—you set aside your phone and its little dictionary definition of what’s wrong with you and the definition imprints itself on your brain all over again. Hardly the first time you’ve known the meaning of the word, but perhaps the first you’ve recognized it in your face.

In high school, you’d occupied your time with almost nothing but studying. There had been friends, one or two, and a blip towards the end in the form of a boyfriend, but you had potential and didn’t need to focus on things like going out to karaoke or making out with a guy when you had exams to study for.

You had so much potential.

You recall, dimly, having memorized the definition for desolate one day among all your vocabulary. More than that, reciting it for a hopeless light in your life who just didn’t get all this school stuff.

Your nose wrinkles at the memory. Best not get caught up in that spiral, yeah?

Against your better judgment, you flop onto the hotel room bed face-first and sigh. What the fuck are you even doing here? None of this was necessary. None of this was planned for.

There’s, of course, the simple textbook facts of the situation: you attended a work event, and halfway through, went to the bathroom and just stared at yourself in the mirror—much like the way you spent the past half an hour in a hotel bathroom—went home, got in your car, and drove to a hotel precariously close to your hometown. Sure, there’d been some kind of internal monologue going on, but you don’t remember any of it anymore. Nothing beyond what you’ve known for the past six years:

Something is fundamentally wrong with you.

“So, what, we get in our car and drive away and don’t show up to work and hope it all works out?”

The desolate room does not answer the desolate you.

~

Some species of sea turtle have been observed returning to the beach where they were born in order to nest, a phenomenon known as “natal homing”. There are many theories as to how they are able to return to their birthplace…

Like the sea turtle, you swim through endless water and find yourself, of all places, back in Miyagi, staring at a house you only vaguely remember and wondering if your instincts really led you here, or if you’re staring at a random stranger’s house you’ve never been to. Maybe there’s more than one family with his last name in the area.

It looks like all the others—a house in the countryside, standard and homely. You were here… what? Three times? Five?

Not even in the double digits—you know that much. You and Noya had spent more time together at school, or at your house. Your parents hadn’t wanted you to spend too much time alone with a guy at his house. In hindsight, you kind of get it. His grandfather hadn’t exactly been the type to make sure you two were being good kids, or whatever.

Still, you run your fingers over the nameplate, the kanji of Nishinoya’s last name, and try to figure out why this, of all places, is where you’ve drifted to.

“[name]?”

You startle, looking to the voice. Familiar, yet matured. Perhaps a bit lower. Perhaps carrying an emotion you don’t recognize. That, you know, must be him.

You note with a barely-stifled laugh that Noya has not changed his hair in the years since you’ve seen him. Still that stupid, adorable tuft of dyed blond hanging down in his face. Good.

Then, the feeling passes, and the panic sets in.

What the fuck are you doing at your ex-boyfriend’s house?

“Noya,” you breathe. You nod to him, stunned.

“Holy shit, that’s actually you!” He’s closed the distance in an instant, swept you off your feet in a hug that has you crying out in surprise. When he sets you down, you stumble, trying to catch your brain before it falls out your head. He studies you with bright, sharp eyes. “What are you doing here?”

Ah. “Uh, yeah. About that? I… I have no idea.”

He blinks slowly, and then he’s laughing. “That’s not like you at all! Come on, if you’ve got the time to sit down, I’m sure we’ve got something around here to feed you with.”

“Feed me…? Wait, I…”

But he’s already grabbed your wrist, pulled you across the forbidden threshold and right to the front door. Maybe you should have thought about literally anything before showing up at his house.

Too late for regrets, you guess. You’re in way too deep for him to let you slip away now.

~

In your mind, Nishinoya is steepling his hands together like a stern employer trying to figure out the best way to admonish a bad employee. The image doesn’t really suit him, and you do know that, but you still feel like cubicle fodder waiting to get chewed out.

In reality, he’s resting his chin in his hand, watching you carefully as you run your thumb over the glass of water he’s given you and try not to meet his eyes. (It had taken quite a bit of debating to keep him from actually feeding you. The water was a concession in a valiant fight.)

“So, you don’t know what you’re doing?”

A slow nod.

“You don’t know what you’re doing.” The statement, repeated, does little to hide how astounded he is at the concept.

You sigh. It is easy and so, so heavy as the air escapes you. Maybe you can drown your errant thoughts in water until you understand just what, exactly, you’re trying to do here. You try, but no matter how much you drink, you still don’t have an answer. “Pretty much, yeah. I just sort of ended up here.”

He has an easy smile on his lips, sharp eyes taking you in. “After what?”

“What do you mean, after what?”

“I mean, it’s not like you to just run off and end up anywhere. You’re, you know, thoughtful and stuff! I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of you just doing something without at least three plans ready to go in case something went wrong.”

“I mean, there was you,” you admit with a laugh.

Shit. That was the wrong thing to say, but here you are, panicking and thinking you’ll make things even more awkward than you already feel, and there he is, smiling like he’s looking at…

What?

It isn’t until he’s leaning in further like he’s about to say something dirty that you realize your real mistake in that response.

“You didn’t think before you did me, huh?”

Your cheeks flare, and you hurriedly down the rest of the glass of water while you try to think of a suitable redirect. “You know what I meant!”

“Sure do! You meant—“

“Oh, hush.”

He laughs, and you fall into silence, trying to commit the sound of his laugh to memory.

That’s what sucks about this, oddly enough: you sit at his dining room table, holding a now-empty cup, and it’s just as easy as it always was. He tells you what he’s been up to: how he doesn’t play volleyball anymore (tragic—you loved watching him play) and he’s been traveling a lot (infuriating—you love to travel) and he’s dated once or twice since you last spoke, but nothing really lasting.

(heartbreaking.)

(you love—)

(you loved him when you left.)

“So,” he says, ever enthusiastic to redirect the conversation onto you, “what have you been up to?”

“Nothing, I guess.”

“Oh, come on. You’ve always been amazing. I bet you’ve been doing something awesome with that brain of yours. You wanted to write, right? How’s that going?”

Hah. Amazing. He’s only saying that because you were useful when you tutored him. “No, really. Nothing. Sales, I guess. Convincing people to give up money for a product I don’t believe in for a company I hate. I guess I’m up for a promotion soon. Really though, I think I’ve probably just been dead for the last… what, six years?”

You’d picked the number because it was when you graduated high school. That had made sense to you—college, too, had felt like nothing. No parties, no partners, just studying, exams, and keeping your body moving forward until you had a neat little degree in a field you didn’t care about. But when you spare a glance away from the window, where your attention has been glued in hopes of avoiding letting the awkwardness and pain of this whole situation actually hit you, it’s the first time since he ran into you that Noya isn’t smiling at you.

Oh yeah. And right before you graduated, you’d broken up with him.

“You broke up with me, you know,” he says after a long moment. “Are you saying you’ve been a ghost this whole time?”

And ouch. He’s right, and you hate that. It hadn’t been his fault you’d left. It’d been your insecurities, your inability to handle the weight of your parents’ disapproval, your unwillingness to fight for something that seemed so correct, your stunning realization that Noya would always shine too brightly for you to be the one standing beside him. He always thought you were amazing, but you were nothing compared to his whirlwind personality, his passion, his sense of life.

Maybe this would have been easier if you’d ever told him that.

“I don’t know what I’m saying. Probably just that high school was the last time I felt like a real person, and that ever since, I’ve just been going through the motions and slowly losing my mind and trying not to panic about the fact that not only do I not have any direction in life, I don’t even know how to enjoy it if I did.” Your words come out calm and metered. You try not to betray the worst of it.

For a moment, talking to him, you’d been able to forget the person you’ve been since graduation. You were always moving forward a step at a time, but at some point, you stopped being a hiker on your predetermined life path and just let yourself be a robot. Mechanical step after mechanical step. Just keep moving forward and you’ll get to where you’re going. When you get to where you’re going, you’ll take another stupid, empty step towards where you’re going now. Some successful career, some boring partner that your parents like, kids, wake up, go to sleep, another day, another day, another day doing exactly what you’re expected to do. Just keep following that bright, clear line. That bright, clear line to nowhere at all.

And then you stumbled. And now you’re here, again. Dizzy, sitting at the same table with the same guy.

At some point, you’d trailed off, staring at the table and searching for scars of a life well-used on its surface. You hear the shuffle of him standing over you, and look up to find him reaching out a hand to you. “Alright. Come on.”

“Come… on?”

He leans forward a bit more to take your hand and pull you up. “I’m taking you out to dinner.”

“Huh? Wait, but where?”

“Don’t know yet!”

He drags you out, and you stumble after him in mind and body.

“It’s one o’clock!”

“So we’ll scout places that look good while we get lunch. You don’t have anything to do, right?”

“Well, no, but—“

“Then we’re going!”

He pulls you right past the entryway, nearly has you out the front door before you can protest. “I’m not wearing shoes, Noya! You’re not wearing shoes!”

He only laughs, only pauses, only gives you a moment. “Get them on, then.”

“And do you even have your wallet?”

He blinks and pats his pockets. “Guess not! You’ve got until I’m back with my wallet to get your shoes on and decide to let this happen!”

Decide… to let this happen?

He disappears around the corner, deeper into the house, and at last you sigh, sitting to put your shoes on properly. You doubt he’ll be quick finding his wallet—if he’s anything like you remember (and so far, he’s exactly like you remember) then he has absolutely no idea where he put it last. If you didn’t think he’d absolutely drag you out the door once it was found, you’d kick your shoes back off and help him look.

After getting your shoes on, setting his out in ideal kicking-feet-into-without-stopping position, and five minutes of listening to him rustle about the house, you glance at a table in the entryway and smile at the sight of a plain black wallet in the dish. You inspect it, just in case it’s not his—there’s been no sign of Noya’s grandfather around, but almost nothing’s changed, so he probably still lives here. Better to check.

You open it, just to see that it’s got his ID in there and not someone else’s, and nearly slam it closed again immediately.

Yeah, it’s his missing wallet. ID and everything. And, in the little photo slot, a six-year-old photo of him in his volleyball jersey, million-volt smile on his face as you push him away with your own brilliant smile. He’d just won a game, and you’d been busy trying to get him, gross and sweaty, to stop getting all that gross and sweaty on you even as you laughed the entire time. Tanaka took the picture, you think—there’s a bit of thumb in the bottom right corner.

Noya keeps a photo of the two of you in his wallet. After six years without talking.

A noise bangs from somewhere else in the house, and you close the wallet and force down the warmth welling in your chest and rushing to your face. “All good?” you call out.

“I can’t find my stupid wallet!” he shouts back a moment later. He sounds a bit frustrated. “This isn’t going to work if I spend the whole day trying to—“

“Nishinoya,” you cut him off, half sing-song, “you left it by the door.”

No reply except the thudding of feet as he runs right up to you and plucks it from your hand. “There it is! I found it!”

“Oh, really? You found it?”

“Yep! Are your shoes on? We gotta go now!”

“Go where? You’re in an awful rush. Do you have plans or something?”

He kicks his shoes on and grabs your wrist again. “Nope! You’re gonna love it!”

~

Really a type of plankton, jellyfish possess extremely limited swimming abilities, if any at all, and rely on the currents to control their horizontal movements through the sea.

It occurs to you, as you make the trek to the bus stop, that you didn’t have to say yes to this. Well, really, it’s not like you said yes so much as didn’t say otherwise, and Noya, ever the trail-blazer, pulled you along for the ride. What’s even the difference in what you’re doing now and what you’ve been doing these past six years?

You barely make the bus. Nishinoya pays the fare for both of you, before you can protest, and when there’s only one open seat, he takes it.

“You’re such a gentleman,” you snort.

He responds by tugging you down into his lap. “I am!”

You’re stronger than you were in high school. Really, you are. You don’t collapse into emotions like embarrassment. You don’t let the sensation of being flustered consume you. You do not.

…you bury your face in your hands. “What are we doing right now?”

Always laughing. Always lighthearted. “What do you mean? We’re taking the bus someplace we can find some restaurants.”

“You know exactly what I mean!”

The bus passes over a bump, and he wraps an arm around your waist to steady you. “You know, you’ve barely changed at all.”

“Neither have you,” you fire back. You meant it as an accusation, but the words come out tender. “You’re still a complete hurricane.”

He laughs, his own tenderness bleeding through. “And you’re still not letting yourself have anything you want.”

“When have I ever—“

“I think you know.” His other arm comes around your waist, holding you in a loose hug, chin resting against your arm.

You try not to stiffen at all the contact. This, too, is something you haven’t felt in ages—simple, casual touch. He had always been that way, resting a hand on your shoulder, your back, running fingers through the ends of your hair, like if he stopped touching you, you’d run away.

Maybe he was right. Maybe he is right.

“You didn’t answer me before. Are you still writing? I’ve been keeping an eye out for your name on the shelves, you know.”

You rest a hand on his arm, half considering pushing his arm off. The bus stops, but apparently not at a stop Noya is interested in dragging you off at—he steadies you as the bus jolts, and as a few passengers file off, you consider admitting the answer.

“Poetry these days, mostly. It’s not like I’d ever get published if I went for it, so I just scribble out a few half-assed lines and—“

“See, stop that. That’s half your problem right there, you know!”

“Another seat just opened up, you know,” you mumble. If you try to fight him on this, he’ll end up talking you into these grand ideas that you’ll never be able to accomplish, and by the end of the day he’ll probably have you in love with him all over again, even though you know it would never work, even though you know you’d never really be anything—as an employee, as a person, as his. “We don’t have to do this… couple-y thing.”

“I want to, though. It’s nice, isn’t it?”

…it is. It really is.

“…I still like to write, but I never have time anymore. It’s work, recovering from work, getting ready for work, waiting to come home from work so I can prep lunches and wash my clothes so I have something to eat and wear at work. I don’t have energy for anything except meetings, emails, and phone calls where no one means anything they say.”

“Damn. No wonder you seem so lost. Why don’t you quit?”

“And do what? It’s not like I have a dream job. I just want to get by and survive—“

“Why? You’re not happy. Don’t you want to do something more than survive?”

“I don’t even know what that would look like, Noya.”

He says everything so simply. Just quit. Just move on. Just move forward. He’s lucky, you think. He doesn’t know what it’s like to have parents planning out your entire life for you.

…okay, that was mean. Add that to the list of things that are wrong with you.

He sighs, shaking you gently in his hold. “It’s worse than I thought. Hey, [name], why’d you come here?”

“I told you already. I have no idea.”

“Alright. Adding it to the list. Today, you’re experiencing adventure for the first time in six years, and you’re gonna figure out what you were doing standing outside my house at noon on a Saturday. If I have my way, you’re also going to be quitting your job and starting a promising career as the greatest writer Japan’s ever seen, renowned the world over, but we can get to that some other time if you want!”

“Noya, I’m not—“ Your words die in your throat as his fingers slide between yours. You hadn’t realized your hand was sliding up his arm, but here he is, holding hands with you like it’s nothing.

God. How old are you, again?

~

Lunch ends up being crepes. Never mind the fact that crepes are not a meal, not even when Noya suggests buying two each—he proudly declares it lunch, and so lunch it must be. You’re lucky that he graciously allowed you to get a table, though he’d insisted on grabbing one outside even as the sky above has started to loom with rainclouds.

“And what’ll we do if it rains?” you retort drily as he sits across from you.

“We’ll figure it out,” he grins, sliding you a menu. “Dry off after we get rained on, not before.”

You snort. “How about we just try not to get rained on?”

“Then we would be sitting inside, and you wouldn’t get to look up at the clouds while we eat! You always liked the way the sky looked before it rained, right?”

A soft huff leaves you, a small smile unbidden. “You actually remember that? I think I said that to you, like, one time.”

He nods. “Only had to say it once! Besides, I caught you staring up at the sky in the rain more than once.”

“And yet, I had to repeat the same information for you so many times, only for you to still get it wrong on test day…”

“Hey! I was distracted!”

“You weren’t supposed to be,” you tease.

“What was I supposed to do? There was this gorgeous person sitting across from me telling me all these complicated things in a nice voice. I’m a simple man!”

Though your cheeks heat at the declaration, you can’t help but laugh. “Clearly.”

“Yeah. Clearly.” For just a moment, he’s soft, unbearably soft, and you fear looking at him. Quick, change the subject before you have to acknowledge whatever’s going on here!

“S-so!” Smooth! You’re doing great, sweetie! “Any idea what you’re going to get?”

He slaps a finger down on the menu without looking. “A… monte… monte…”

You sigh and peer over to look at the fanciful English he’s pointing to. “A Monte Cristo crepe?”

“Yeah!”

“Did you read the part where it’s got onions as a main ingredient? Don’t you hate onions?”

He wrinkles his nose, but stands firm. “I’m sure!”

You huff softly. “Alright. Far be it from me to stop you.”

“What about you? Make a pros and cons list for each menu item yet?” he teases.

“For your information, I don’t have to do that when ordering in restaurants. That’s for big decisions. But…” You sigh. “I haven’t eaten out in a while. It stresses me out.”

“Why?”

“So let’s say I pick something that looks good, and it sucks. I won’t eat it because it sucks, but then I feel like I’ve insulted the chef and wasted my time and money.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “If you don’t like it, you don’t like it. But at least you’ll know! When’s the last time you actually ate out like this?”

You bite your lip thoughtfully. When was it?

“I… think I did a celebration dinner with my parents when I graduated?”

“College?”

“No, high school. We didn’t celebrate when I graduated college.”

Once again, he’s staring at you in blank disbelief. “[name], that was six years ago.”

You flush. “Yeah, so?”

“That’s so sad. What have you been doing? I’m about to take you on a food tour just so you can catch up on all the restaurants you’ve been missing.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Please, no. I can’t eat that much.”

“Then we’ll spread it out!”

“Noya…”

The waiter drops in at exactly the wrong time. Flustered, you stumble your way into lemonade for you, apple cider for him, and then, as he’s confidently mispronouncing “Monte Cristo” to the waiter, you panic and end up ordering some curry crepe, a concept which intrigues and horrifies you.

“How’d you even find this place? Seems weird for there to be some half-French, half-English upscale crepe restaurant out in Miyagi.”

“What do you mean, how did I find it? We found it together. I’ve never eaten here.”

Right. He’s completely winging everything. “Amazing.”

“Right?”

Drinks come, and you sigh into a masterful lemonade and try to think of things to say to fill the space between you and your ex. (You have to try not to forget that bit—that this isn’t natural, that this can’t lead anywhere. For your sake and his.) “So, how’s your grandfather been?”

The easy smile on Noya’s lips drops. “Oh. He died late last year. Age caught up to him, I guess.”

Oh. Fuck. “Noya, I’m so…”

He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. Crazy bastard had a hell of a time of it. He’d hate for me to sit around feeling bad about it, anyway.”

He wouldn’t want you to pity him. Doesn’t want you to pity him. You know that. But…

Did Noya ever talk about any other family members when you knew him? You know he lived in that house with his grandfather. No siblings. Never mentioned any cousins. You know he didn’t grow up around his parents, either…

Has he been alone this whole time?

You reach across the table. Place a hand on his. “Maybe I’ll visit more often.”

In silence, the two of you sit and wait for your crepes.

~

The crepes come out, and with them, new points of conversation that carry you both to finishing—all the way until Noya manages to argue you into letting him pay. He pulls you along, a bit slower than before, a bit easier. You can’t help but let him take your hand and bring you wherever the wind is leading him, half-pitying him and half from the complete lack of will to fight him all day.

“I told you you weren’t gonna like what you ended up ordering.”

“You liked it though, right?”

Predictably, he’d taken one bite of the crepe and instantly realized his mistake. Far too much onions for his tastes. Your curry crepe had been… well…

Let’s just say that you weren’t especially upset when Noya asked you to swap.

“It was really good, if you like onions.”

“I know what I like! Onions aren’t it!”

It’s easy like this, and the day really is nice. There’s rain on the breeze and in the clouds, a pleasant scent and a comforting gloom over the day. You tease and joke back and forth, hand in hand like it’s natural, and it is. It’s easy, being around him. It was easy back then, too. So easy it scares you.

You’re just waiting for the bottom to fall out.

You’re waiting for the bottom to fall out, and it does—with a shriek and loud laughter, rain chases the both of you underneath a tree and within sight of the nearest bus stop, soaking you both through to the bone.

“See?” Noya says, grinning as he pulls you a little closer underneath the tree. “Now we can worry about getting dry.”

“You’re unbelievable,” said with a smile. “What is all this meant to prove again?”

“Well, why’d you come here?”

“Here? You dragged me out here.”

“Yeah, but why’d you come back to Miyagi? I’m just saying, my doorstep is not the first place I expected you to turn up on when the inevitable nervous breakdown hit.”

You fall silent, shiver in the rain. It’s peaceful. You try to focus on watching for a bus, anything except the question you were asked.

“[name].”

You glance at him, yelp a little to find how close the two of you have gotten. This close, in this kind of situation, it’d be only natural for you to lean in, for you to brush your lips against his.

God, have you even kissed anyone since you burned everything down?

You’re not doing this. You’re not falling into a hurricane like him again. You won’t be able to come back if you do that. (Especially with such a fucking cliché.)

You turn away. “You already asked me that. I told you before, I don’t know.”

He hums thoughtfully. Drapes his jacket over both of your heads in an attempt to keep you both from looking any more rained out than you already do.

“I’m just saying, if you want my opinion, you’re going to have to do a lot more adventuring and a lot less sales for a company you hate if you want to remember what ‘happy’ is supposed to feel like.”

“Not sure I ever knew what that was like to begin with.”

“Never?”

“When I was a kid, maybe.”

He tilts his head. “Not even when we dated? Is that why you broke up with me?” He sounds genuinely curious. Would it feel better, you wonder, if he sounded hurt?

You wince. “I didn’t mean… I just…” A sigh. “It’s more like, I was too afraid to let myself be happy when I was with you.” In the close proximity, you find it easier to let your head rest against him a little. “Please don’t misunderstand. I like you. I probably would have been really happy with you if there weren’t something fundamentally wrong with me as a person.” Shit. You definitely misspoke there.

“I don’t really know how to teach you to relax a little, but it’s gotta be easier now that you’re out of your parents’ house. Maybe you need to go somewhere completely new. Get a fresh outlook.”

You arch a brow his way. At least he’s not commenting on your slip of the tongue. “What are you suggesting, Nishinoya?”

“I’m leaving for Italy. Six weeks. That’s enough time for you to plan your little heart out, right?”

“Italy.”

He nods, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Italy.”

“And if I came back after six years to kill you or something?”

He barks a laugh, stark against the pouring rain. His eyes linger on you. The part of you that’s charitable to yourself thinks he might be mentally undressing the clothes sticking to your skin, though you know it’s more of a challenging look. “I’d like to see you try.”

~

One soaking wet bus ride back to Noya’s house doesn’t save you from this little adventure plan of his. Instead, you’re given a towel or two to dry off with and a change of clothes from his closet, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. The way he acts, everything is.

So now here you are, wearing a shirt far too large for you that you’ve wrestled into looking somewhat nice with Nishinoya’s jeans. It slides off your shoulder a bit no matter how many times you fix it. You admit, you do manage to pull it off, but the whirlwind of the day still has your head spinning with just how wrong this situation is.

You’re supposed to be at work right now. You should be in office clothes, sitting at a desk in a too-cold cubicle that you never got around to decorating, perfect and polished while you tap out yet another perfectly-balanced email, three-quarters professional, one-quarter gentle familiarity to lure your clients into a false sense of security. Not standing in your ex’s bathroom, tying one of his t-shirts at the waist, adjusting your hair to look closer to “decent” than “drowned rat”. This, this day, this situation, was never supposed to happen.

Is this whole day going to be a stumble? How long will it be until you catch yourself and get back to moving forward? When you do, will you still have a place at your desk?

Do you even want one?

A knock at the bathroom door. “If you give me your clothes, I’ll get them started drying,” his voice filters through the door.

All of these actions have been so easy. Your wet clothes, picked up from where they hung shower-side. Easy to wring them out a bit more to keep from making the floor worse. Easy to open the door. Easy to hand them to him.

Nothing had ever been particularly hard before him, but falling in love with him had been just like this: easy.

Maybe the first easy thing you ever remember.

~

So you go along with it. Another bus ride, this one less crowded than before. This time with umbrella in hand—just one, because of course Noya didn’t even think about it on the way out the door—and a determination to figure out what the hell you’re doing here to begin with.

Everything is as everything was, you think. Shops lining the street, one familiar sight in particular, one of two things you had never had the strength to deny yourself back in school. At the sight of the bookshop, you tug Nishinoya to a stop. You’re a little surprised when he actually does stop.

“Sorry, can we head in? I used to love this place back in school.” You nod to the bookshop. He smiles and lets you lead the way.

“I think that’s the first time you’ve done something selfish today,” he comments as you lead him in.

You refuse to meet that one with a reply.

The shop is exactly as you remember. High stacks of books, books, books everywhere. The scent of old books and a slight spice in the air, scents blending and mixing until, for just a moment, you’re in high school again, marveling at rare finds coming through the used books section and finding some new world to escape into.

You sigh into the scent and disappear into the stacks. Noya is kind enough to humor you as you pick through, find a title or two to take up to the register. If you really do come back to visit from time to time, you’ll have to make sure to stop in here when you do. The old woman at the register hasn’t aged a day. She smiles when she sees you the same way you’re smiling as you approach her.

“Is that little [name]?” she asks, though you both know she already knows the answer. “Why, I haven’t seen you around here in ages! You’ve grown so well!”

“It’s wonderful to see you again, ma’am.”

“Just as polite as you always were. Find everything you were looking for?”

She’s got a poster on the counter by the register. You steal a glance, then meet her eyes with a smile. “Sure did! I’m glad to see you guys are still here.”

Her smile turns bitter. “I’m not sure how much longer, I’m afraid.”

Ah. There’s the heartbreak, panic, fear. “What?”

“It can’t be helped. It’s getting difficult to watch this place in my age, and my Taka’s not been doing so well lately. The kids are all off worrying about their own lives now…”

Your chest twists at the thought. “Can’t you find help?”

“We’ve been looking, but…”

It cannot possibly be this easy.

There’s no way.

“But…”

Noya slides a few bills over the counter while you’re busy fighting a war in your head.

“Oh, and who’s this? You’ve got to introduce your boyfriend, dear.”

“Oh, he’s not—“

“It’s nice to meet you, Granny! I’m Nishinoya.”

Already, they’re spiraling off into some side conversation, too fast for you to make the obvious correction as the old lady makes your—Noya’s—change. She tucks a little bookmark into the front of the stack, and you slide your new books into your bag in resignation. It becomes his space as easily as it was yours, and somehow, it doesn’t feel wrong.

After you’ve left, you consider clearing the air, bringing up… whatever that was.

…it’s not worth the argument.

Another few shops, another few stops. Another few steps forward, another few hours, and yet again you’re sitting across from him, fretting over being underdressed at the restaurant you’ve both happened across and settled on.

“Are you sure we’re dressed alright?” you mutter.

“They let us in the door, didn’t they?”

…yeah, you don’t know what you expected him to say.

“Besides, you look great,” he adds. His eyes dance over you, over the bare skin on your shoulder where you’ve finally given up on pulling the neck of his shirt back up. “I think you wear that better than I ever have.”

You ignore him in favor of another menu, another decision to make that feels earth-shattering. At least you’re aware you’re being ridiculous when it comes to ordering. Really, what’s going to change if you get the fun-looking drink you might not like over the safe one? How bad would it really be if you didn’t like your meal that much?

Drinking too much. Discovering a new allergy. Food poisoning—

“You’re overthinking again,” he teases.

“I’m always overthinking,” you grumble.

“Maybe you need to take the edge off.”

He’s right, and you know that in theory. But in the practice and the day-to-day, you stare at the drinks menu and feel your chest constrict with that itch of anxiety all over again.

“You’ve just got to jump in before you can talk yourself out of it. Come on, [name], let me distract you a little.”

…you don’t think he’s trying to flirt, but your face feels hot all the same. And, well, shit, Noya is a great distraction. He’s a bit less keyed-up than he was back then, but he’s still endlessly charming, endlessly easy to get wrapped up in if you lower your guard even a moment.

“…fine. So what’s this you were saying earlier about Italy?”

His eyes light up. You rest your chin in your palm, glance over the menu again as he tells you about his dreams of traveling the world, how he wants to seek new thrills and see all these new things. You can see every potential disaster of the situation—for one, he has a house back home that someone’s going to need to care for while he’s away, and he doesn’t seem to have thought of that. For another, he’s got an inheritance and no passive income to work with. His grandfather’s leftover money may be substantial enough for this to work in the short term, but longer-term…

Well, one day, he’s going to run headfirst into a hole he can’t climb out of himself.

The thought scares you. Who’s going to be there for him when that happens?

The waiter stops by. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you pick out something alcoholic and fruity and try not to preen under Noya’s delighted approval.

“I’ve never seen you drunk before. Looking forward to it,” he grins. This time, you’re sure he means it flirtatiously, given the wicked gleam in his eyes.

You reach across the table to bat at his arm. “Keep looking, then. I don’t plan on getting drunk tonight. Just buzzed enough to put up with you.”

“Well, that’s no fun. I wanted to know what you’re like when you finally let loose.”

“Excuse you, I can be plenty fun without getting drunk off my ass.”

“Then let’s see it.”

Drinks come out, food orders are placed. You get your margarita halfway down before the buzz starts really setting in, a pleasant warmth blossoming through you. At least now when Noya makes your face hot with some offhanded comment, you can blame it on something other than your own weak heart.

“You know, this is the most adventurous thing I’ve done since I dated you,” you admit once you’re both walking back to the bus stop. Fully sober you would never have this conversation. You recognize that, but there’s enough pleasant fuzz in your head that for once you do not give nearly enough of a fuck to stop yourself. The night is warm, maybe even romantic. “This whole… running around, stopping at random restaurants, getting drenched in the rain without an umbrella. All that.”

He’s got this soft look in his eyes as he regards you. “Really? I can’t say I’m surprised. You were always worrying about everything.”

You snort. “Someone had to.”

“We were kids, though. You probably could have left at least some of that worrying to your parents.”

“Believe it or not, they gave nearly all of that worry to me. On purpose, I think.” You sigh, lean against him just a touch. Your balance never was all that great sober. “I had to be perfect. You were that one little blip.”

“Hey, it felt perfect to me.”

“Did I make a mistake, do you think?”

He looks a little wounded at that. To your credit, he’s definitely misinterpreting. “Dating me?”

“No. Leaving you.”

He pauses, an awkward motion that has you both stumbling just a bit. He’d drank over dinner, too—you’re both buzzed, and the bubbly, floaty feeling ebbs out as you stare at each other. “Why do you say that?”

“I just… I thought about it a lot,” you mumble. “What it would have been like. If I’d just stayed, instead of letting the thought of my parents scare me into running away.”

He huffs a soft laugh and winds his arm around your shoulder. “I thought about it, too. Come on. You don’t need to make it back to the hotel alone; I’ve got a guest bedroom you can use tonight. That, and I’ve still got your clothes.”

Oh. Right.

You nod and let him walk you back to his home.

~

“Have you figured anything out yet?” he asks as he finds another oversized t-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts for you to sleep in. “Gotten even a little closer to figuring out how to do something you actually feel like doing?”

“I had fun,” you mumble in reply. “I know that much, at least.”

“Good. That was mostly the point.” He hands the clothes over to you. They’re more neatly folded than you would have given him credit for.

“Mostly?”

“Well,” he grins, “I also wanted to spend the day with you. Didn’t figure you’d ever agree if I didn’t drag you out before you could think about it too hard.”

“It was nice,” you admit. “Thank you. For all of it. I… I still don’t know what I’m going to do tomorrow, though.”

“Is it so bad listening to what you feel like doing every once in a while, though?”

“If I knew what I felt like doing, maybe.” You linger awkwardly in his doorway, bounce your shoulder rhythmically against the frame. “You’ve got your work cut out for you if you think one day is gonna get me that in tune with my brain.”

“That’s why I asked you to come to Italy with me.” He tilts his head, some question lingering unspoken. “Try it now, though. What does [name] feel like doing right now?”

He’s close to you. Too close. He’s close, and pretty, and magnetic, and—

“[name] feels like doing something stupid.”

His grin widens. “Nice to meet you. My name’s Nishinoya Yuu, and I’ve been told on more than one occasion that I am pretty damn stupid.”

—fuck it. You grab him by the collar of his shirt and kiss him before you can talk yourself out of it.

He reciprocates in kind, an eager hand coming to settle on your waist like it’s been waiting to rest there all night. You kiss him hot, heavy, open-mouthed; let your hands slide from gripping his collar to locking loosely behind his neck. When you’re both out of breath, he pulls back and leans in to whisper into your neck:

“Why did you come here, [name]?”

It’s hard to think with his breath on your neck, his hands on your body leaving your skin on fire where he touches, but you are great at thinking and finally off the deep end enough to admit it.

“I wanted to remember what it was like to feel alive,” you breathe out into his ear. His lips brush your throat, and you let out a breathy whine. “You’re the only person who ever—who ever seemed to know how to do that.”

“Let me show you how to let go, then.”

There’s no illusions about what he means. Not this time, not with his lips dancing down your neck to your exposed shoulder. Not with his hips pressing into yours, not with his fingertips toying with the edge of his shirt you’re wearing, and not with his fingertips brushing the bare skin at your waist.

You nod and hope you won’t regret it.

~

If there’s regret to be had, you expect you’ll see it in the light of morning. As it is, Noya returns from the bathroom and collapses right onto you, a lithe arm pulling you into his chest.

“I’m glad you came back,” he mumbles into your hair. You’re both tired—it’s late, and that might have been the best workout you’ve gotten in a while.

“Because you missed me, or because you got to fuck me?” you tease, sliding a hand over his.

“I missed you,” he replies without missing a beat. “Not too late to come travel the world with me. Quit your job and feel peace for once in your life.”

“Peace? With you around? Not likely. Besides, I’m renting a place in Tokyo. I can’t meet rent if I quit my job.”

He laughs and pulls you in a little closer. “Then just Italy, and you can go back to the way you felt before you turned up on my doorstep looking more lost than I’ve ever seen anyone in my life.”

You sigh. “When you’re traveling the world, who’s gonna take care of your house? It doesn’t seem like you’re selling it, are you?”

“Italy, come home, we’ll break in the place, and then I’ll come home to you between trips while you work on writing an international bestseller.”

Your heart flutters at the thought. Admittedly… it’d solve a lot of the problems you have with his little “plan”.

“And how do you suppose I pay for being alive aside from not having rent?”

“Ask that old lady at the bookshop if you can help at the store.”

“Why do you have an answer for everything?”

“It’s okay if things fall into place once in a while, you know.”

You sigh into him. There’s too many unknowns. How is he going to keep paying for traveling? What if the book never works out? If there’s no space for you at the bookshop? If—

He nuzzles into your neck. “I’m waiting on an answer, baby…”

“It’s late, Noya. I’ll think about it.”

“Do me a favor and think yourself into something for once, instead of out of it. I might die if you leave again.”

He presses one last kiss into the back of your neck before you both draft off, sore and exhausted.

There’s one thing, at least, you can be sure of, at least for tonight: you’re glad you came here.

~

Epilogue

“You’re looking much better,” your coworker nods to you as you settle back into your desk. “Get some much-needed rest?”

You nod your reply. “I did, thanks. Sorry for disappearing so suddenly. That cold was killer. Think I slept about fourteen hours straight.”

She snorts. “Man, no wonder you weren’t answering your phone. Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

She wanders off to her own desk. You take a long sip of your drink, stretch a bit, and get right to your stupid little emails.

You tap away, pausing between sentences to consider, to answer the phone, to sip your drink. Occasionally, to tab over to some other draft when you worry a passing coworker might see exactly what you’re writing. At one or two points, over to your web browser, either to the wikiHow article you’re referencing, or to one of the many other tabs: your online banking, to confirm that this isn’t going to completely kill you (it won’t—all work and no play gives Jack a hefty savings account), or to any number of other wonderful things on the Internet that you suddenly feel comfortable accessing with the letter you’re drafting in the background.

It takes an hour to settle. The letter is drafted, all the right people are copied. You’ve triple checked everything, gotten all your things already slid into your bag or in a box to carry out with you. Made sure everything you need to leave behind is in clear view on your desk. You’ve even prepped an auto-response on your email client so people know who to bother, if not you. It’d take three, maybe four clicks to blow up your life.

You can’t do it.

You reach for your cell and dial.

Noya, despite all that worries you about him, has always been an early riser. He picks up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Distract me,” you order in lieu of a greeting.

You hear laughter, a slight shuffle. “From what?”

“Doesn’t matter. Just distract me.”

“Ah, you’re doing something you don’t want to talk yourself out of. I’m proud of you!” You hear the smile in his voice, close your eyes to try to visualize it. “Am I allowed to ask what you’re up to? Where you are?”

“No and no. If I tell you, I’ll back out by the time I finish saying it.”

“I get it. Hey, do you still have that mark on your neck from when I—“

Your cheeks burn, fingers dancing along the bruise in question. It had been a bitch to cover with makeup this morning. You’re still not convinced you did so successfully, but no one’s commented on it yet, at least. “No thanks to a certain someone. I still can’t believe you did that.”

“Hey, you said you felt like doing something stupid. Who was I to deny you?”

“Cheeky bastard.” You smile, lean back in your chair a little bit. Click ‘send’. “Oh god. I did it.”

“Am I allowed to ask what you did now?”

“I might throw up. Not sure yet. Hey, how do you feel about renting bikes?”

“Bikes?”

“In Italy. I was looking up, like, bucket lists and stuff, and there’s this road, the Appian way? You can rent bikes and bike it. Apparently, it’s pretty old, and there’s this café we could eat at, and—“

You hear the thunk of something falling in the background of the call. “You’re coming!?”

“Well, I just emailed my resignation letter to my boss and HR, and I can see him panicking in his office from here, so you better have meant it. Here in a minute or two, he’s probably going to call me in, or come yell at me at my desk—“

“When’s your resignation effective? Did you give a notice?”

“Effective as soon as he stops panicking.”

A bark of laughter sounds in your ear. “So if he comes to yell at you, just leave. You already quit, anyway. What’s he gonna do?”

“Good point. Leaving now.” You stand, scoop up your bag. “I have two months left on my lease. If you didn’t mean that thing about me housesitting while you’re off seeing the world, speak now before I call my landlord and let him know I’m canceling that, too.”

“All yours, but your rent is walking around without pants whenever I’m home.”

You roll your eyes. Pause to wave at your boss on your way out the door. If he shouts after you, you don’t hear it. You’ve got a trip to Italy to plan.

Tags: @deeplightgarden @idonthaveanameideayet @dusstory

If you'd like to be tagged, shoot me a message or an ask, or ask here in the replies, tags, or reblogs and let me know what you'd like to be tagged in (all works, all works specific to a character, all smut works, etc.). If your name appears on this list but is not underlined and you didn't get a notification, please check to make sure that your blog is NOT set to not appear in search results in your blog settings! If you've got that set that way for a particular reason, consider subscribing to the fic on ao3 for an equivalent update notification, as I always crosspost simultaneously! After three unsuccessful tagging attempts, you will be removed from the list.

As always, thanks for reading! <3

[pepsi-maxwell]

hello! have a snippet that's been hiding in my drafts for like six months

pairing: max²

rating: r

wordcount: ~900

warnings: female terms used for genitalia, typical sex swap fuckery

background: the fifth annual dynamite diamond ring contest ends with a heated match between mjf and max caster.

obviously, mjf wins.

the only issue is... this year's ring has a sex-swap curse on it.

cue semi-phone sex shenanigans.

---

The question is burning inside him, clawing its way out of his throat. “Yeah, I’m gonna stop you there because I don’t give a shit,” Max says, cutting Caster off mid-sentence. “If you–if you had a girl body, would you… stupid question, you would, right?”

He can’t fucking say the specifics out loud, for all that the rest of that sentence had tumbled out of his mouth. Doesn’t know what the block is in his mind, only that there is one, because it’s not like he’s ever had any shame in talking about jerking off before, even with Caster.

“‘I would’ what, Max?”

Oh, fuck off with the teasing, he wants to say, because Caster is teasing, he can tell by the sound of his voice. Sounds like he’s smirking, too.

“Would you… get yourself off,” he says, as low and sweet and sultry as he can manage, even though his jaw is clenched and his fingernails are digging into the newly soft meat of his thigh. “Would you stick your fingers in your cunt? Pinch your tits, rub your clit? Find some dick and take it for a ride?”

The same voice he uses picking up chicks, but it comes off different in this body. With this voice. Higher pitched than usual.

Caster giggles. “Gosh, you’ve got such a way with words–”

“Answer the fucking question.”

Caster laughs down the phone, short and tinny and obnoxious, and Max almost hangs up on him on principle, but then he responds, and Max finds he can’t bring his thumb to press the end call button.

“Of course I would! I mean, I did, you remember that time with the CAP title, right? I spent my whole time doing nothing else,” he says, sounding so fucking proud of himself.

And… Max gets a mental image of it that he can’t fucking shake. Caster, but… softer. More curves, plumper lips, longer legs. She’s spread out on her bed with her legs wide and her hands between them, touching, rubbing…

He wonders for a moment if Caster had found somebody else, somebody better equipped to fill that fancy new hole. The thought of it makes his stomach twist angrily, because he’d known Caster back then, and he... he could have...

He’s distracted from dwelling on that thought by another sensation, insistent and tugging between his own legs. It feels a little damp against his boxers, and for a second he’s worried he’s pissed his pants a little, but…

“–Haven’t you?” Caster asks innocently.

Max swallows. Wonders why the fuck his heartbeat’s suddenly kicked up a notch. “I’ve got better things to do with my time,” he says, and pretends he doesn’t notice how thick his voice is. That he doesn’t, in fact, have better things to do with his time, because he’s barely moved from the sofa in three days, save to get his doordash order or go to the bathroom.

“You should, you know,” Caster continues, still sounding innocent, but Max knows it’s anything but. “Trust me, it’ll feel real nice.”

God, he’s… he’s not going to. Obviously. It’s not like he needs to, he’s not some horned up teenager, and he certainly doesn’t need to do anything that Caster is telling him to do, but...

What if he did, though?

Just this once?

He can feel all that tension coiling inside him like a spring, and…

Maybe it’ll... unwind him.

He rests his hand on his stomach, fingertips touching the waistband of his sweatpants. His heart’s pounding nervously and he doesn’t even know why.

…No, that’s not true. He knows exactly why.

“And how’s it gonna feel nice,” he asks, throwing as much disdain into the words as possible, even as he slides his fingers under the waistband. Not touching anything, just… there. Plausible deniability.

“Want me to tell you?” Caster asks, his voice a little lower, and Max’s heart beats like machine gun fire in his chest. He forces his breathing to steady, in case Caster hears just how ragged it’s getting already.

The conversation feels different, now. Loaded, filled with a strange tension, and it takes him a moment to realise the exact nature of that tension.

“Wow, you mean you actually know your way around a pussy? Thought you were too busy thinking of my ass to get any,” he fires back, trying desperately to steer the conversation back in a direction he has control over, and cringing almost immediately because it’s the exact worst thing he could say.

Still, he slides his hand another inch into his boxers. Then another, then another, until the tip of his middle finger is resting just above his clit, to the point that he’d barely have to move to touch it. To feel that sweet, shocky spark he had that first night, before he’d yanked his hand away.

His lungs burn as the line stays quiet, and he tries to exhale as quietly as possible.

“Hey, I get plenty, pal,” Caster says, and the ‘pal’ is enough to force a laugh out of Max, because it’s normal, it’s someone not treating him differently, talking to him differently, just because he has a cunt between his legs this week.

And then he ruins it all by adding, “And now I can think about your ass and your pussy, daddy–”

“Keep dreaming,” Max says shortly, and hangs up.

He falls back against the couch, staring at the ceiling, suddenly aware that there's nothing to distract him from the wetness between his thighs and the fact that he’s got his hands in his pants.

And...

Caster would.

Hell, Caster had, he’d said it himself. Had spent the whole weekend exploring his girl body.

And… he’s not gonna let Caster psyche him out of getting off. After all, it’s not like he’ll never find out, so… what’s the harm?

His heart pounding against his ribs, he slides his finger down that last little bit.

[sillylittlejesterman]

Making a Cake

I FORGOT TO POST THIS FOR SIRIUS' BIRTHDAY BUT HERE IT IS (its also on ao3) Just a little silly story that was written very quickly for my favorite wet dog homosexual man's birthday. I love him.

“Uh Remus? I don’t think it’s supposed to look like that,” Peter said, eyeing the gloopy, sludge-like thing in the baking dish. 

“Is–... Is it moving?” James asked. The three boys standing over the tray with what was supposed to be Sirius’ birthday cake in the center. They all startled away when a bubble in the dish popped, making a loud noise. Remus plopped the tray down on the stove top and took his red and white oven mitts off, slapping them on the table while frowning. 

“This makes no sense. We did everything, didn’t we?” He pushed a bunch of empty pans and dirty rags around until he found the badly scribbled out recipe on a now batter-stained piece of parchment. 

“You know, it would probably help if we could actually read the recipe,” James pointed out, snatching the parchment out of Remus’ hands and dangling it in front of his face. Remus frowned in response. “This whole thing is in French. Can’t you find it in English or something?” James continued. 

“Maybe we should just ask Regulus,” Peter mumbled, not really planning for anyone to hear him. He knew Sirius and Regulus’ relationship was complicated to say the least, but he was the only other person that Peter knew who spoke French. 

“No! No it’s fine, it’s not that hard to understand!” 

“Remus you keep saying that but look at the cake– I don’t even know if we can even call it a cake anymore,” James’ voice trailed off as he covered his mouth with his hand, standing to stare at the last six attempts at the cake - each looked worse than the last. 

“French is a romance language with Latin roots and I know latin.” Remus insisted. 

“Latin and French are not the same language, Remus!” 

“They have the same roots!” 

“Guys, the cake is moving,” Peter interrupted, pointing to where the cake had started to form a rather large bubble. The three boys leaned in close to examine it, and like it had before, the cake popped, startling the three and spraying runny batter all over their faces. 

Remus, whose face was contorted by disgust and cake batter, stood shocked, staring at the cake tin before wiping his eyes and flung the batter to the ground with a frustrated groan. 

“Okay, I think it’s time to find a different cake,” James said, wiping his hands on one of the many dirty towels in the kitchen.

“No, his birthday is tomorrow! This is the only recipe we have and we can’t give him a fucking cookie for his birthday” 

“But Moony we’ve been at this for hours! I’m hungry and tired,” Peter whined. 

Remus took a breath and rolled his eyes, crossing his arms.“Fine! Fine, I’ll just do it myself,” He grumbled, growing increasingly frustrated with this recipe. “Why does Sirius have to have such posh taste all the time?” Remus grumbled under his breath, snatching the recipe from James’ hands and reading it over again, muttering to himself. 

James and Peter shared a look before sighing, knowing they weren’t exactly excused from the kitchen just yet. Remus would slave over this cake for days if it meant making Sirius’ birthday a happy one, so James and Peter had to stay too. 

—

Frost covered the window of the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory. Almost every year the first snow fell on Sirius' birthday, and Remus knew this because every year he was up. He tucked himself away in the reading nook in the window, the light from his wand illuminating the page he was reading. But when a small beeping noise was heard from his bed he sprang up and quickly turned it off before digging to find the parchment wrapped box he had been hiding for months. 

“Psst, hey,” Remus whispered as he made his way over to Sirius’ bed, careful to avoid the floorboard that creaked so loud it woke Peter up. He tiptoed and drew back the curtain to his bed, snickering at the sight he found. 

Sirius was splayed out and curled in his sheets, wearing an oversized and threadbare Beatles shirt that Remus had given him for his twelfth birthday. It was too big on him then, and still hung just below his red and gold boxers. A copy of the Rolling Stone with Bowie on the cover was open over his face, and the slight sound of his snores  made Remus chuckle, his lips curling into a fond smile.

“Hey, wake up, idiot.” He said, smacking Sirius’ foot. Sirius made a sound and stirred, causing the magazine to roll off of his face and onto the floor with a thump.

“Fuck, I’m awake,” He grumbled, sitting up on his elbows and smiling when he noticed Remus. “You never make it to midnight” Remus teased, crawling onto the mattress and letting the curtains fall closed as he settled across from Sirius. “Oh shut up,” he groaned again, rubbing his eyes as he reached onto the floor to grab the magazine,placing it on the bedside table. 

Remus fidgeted with a small package in his hands as he smiled at the other boy, admiring the way his grey-blue eyes shone in the dim yellow light of the lamp that hung from the canopy above the bed. Sirius smiled back, pushing his hair out of his face while sitting up properly. He scooted slightly closer to Remus.

“Happy birthday,” Remus smiled, finally breaking the comfortable silence the two of them sat in. 

He placed the package on the bed, sliding it towards Sirius.

Sirius’ brows knit together in confusion as he slid his gaze between the gift and the boy opposite him.

“This is different,” Sirius said, starting to unwrap the brown parchment that Remus had shabbily used to conceal the box. 

“Well yeah, cause– this year is different.” 

It was a tradition they’d started their very first year at Hogwarts. Or really, Remus started it. He’d stayed up, wanting to be the first person to wish Sirius a “happy birthday” - he’d had too much energy, and the second the clock turned past twelve, Remus pounced on his friend. Sirius was of course startled at first, but the second he spotted Remus, looking like an easily excited puppy, he couldn’t be mad. Remus gave him a David Bowie vinyl that year along with the giant Beatles shirt and Sirius still had them, still considered them the best gifts he’d ever received. Remus had a weird thing with gifts. He was usually dreadful at gift-giving, but when it came to Sirius he somehow nailed it every time.

“Why, cause I snogged you on Halloween?” Sirius smirked, always playing a joke. It was true, Remus and Sirius had snogged on Halloween. Both of them consumed a little too much fire whiskey that night, leading to a long, painstaking game of spin-the-bottle. Sirius had finally had enough after three rounds, and dragged Remus away to the broom closet. Remus remembered it vividly. The feeling of his heart beating fast in his chest and the taste of cigarettes, whiskey and strawberries on Sirius’ lips– 

“Because you asked me to be your boyfriend on Halloween.” 

That was true as well. After hiding in the broom closet for what felt like hours, Sirius finally dragged Remus upstairs where the kissing continued in a more horizontal position. Alone with only the muffled sound of drunk teenagers downstairs, it became much more intimate as they laid together on the bed, curtains drawn and lips pressed together. Their kissing was less hungry, less filled with need. Remus had pulled away for just a moment when Sirius said it. 

“Remus, I want to be with you,” He’d whispered, his hand tangling in Remus’ hair, gently playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. His voice was quiet, like he was whispering a secret and all Remus thought to do was kiss him in response. 

Sirius turned red, his pale complexion never failing to betray when he felt embarrassed or flustered. Remus found it quite cute.

“Okay, yeah but–” 

“Stop arguing and just open your present, okay?”

Remus cut Sirius off and pushed the half-opened package against his chest, scooting closer to Sirius to get a better look, despite the lack of space on the bed.

Sirius raised his eyebrows at him and laughed. 

“Okay, okay, pushy” He teased, carefully taking the package and unwrapping the brown parchment that was crumpled around it. Inside was a simple black velvet box only about the size of his palm, and Sirius looked back up at Remus. 

“What is this?” He said, holding back a smile. 

“Just open it,” Remus urged, his cheeks turning red. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, a ball of excitement and nerves sat in his throat as he waited for Sirius to open the box. 

Inside the little velvet box was a silver plated ring, with shimmering moonstone embedded in the center, engraved crescent moons sitting curled around either side of the stone. Remus saw it in a shop back home and it reminded him too much of Sirius not to buy it. 

Sirius stared at the ring for a long while, which didn’t at all help Remus’ nerves. 

“It’s not a proposal ring or anything. Sorry if it looks like that,” Remus finally blurted out

He gently placed the box on his covers, smiling at Remus, his heart fluttering excitedly in his chest.

 “I love it,” He whispered, reaching for Remus’ hands, pulling him close - “I love it,” He said again, gently pressing their lips together. Remus melted into the kiss, sighing softly, relieved that Sirius liked his gift. 

—

“Surprise!” The sound of party poppers was loud and confetti sprayed everywhere as Sirius entered the common room. It was all lavishly decorated, or as lavishly as a group of teens could get it.

The common room was full of Gryffindors, though most noticeably James and Peter who stood in the middle of the room, holding a large cake. Or at least it looked like it was supposed to be a cake. The layers were wobbly and the icing was everywhere and it looked as though half the candles on top of it were trying to run away down its side. For whatever reason, James and Peter had thought it would be a phenomenal idea to adorn the cake with sparklers as well. 

Sirius found himself silently thankful for Lily standing close by, seemingly ready with a spell to take care of things, in case it caught fire.

With a struggle, James and Peter put down the cake, fetching a slice for Sirius before placing two sparklers and a candle in it. Looking at the slice, Sirius wasn’t even sure the cake was edible. Still, he took the slice. 

“Oi, what’s that?” James asked, motioning to the small silver ring on Sirius’ finger. James had spotted it when the ring caught the light from the sparklers, causing the stone to shimmer, showing off the elegant moon designed carved into it in the process. 

Sirius glanced at the ring with fondness, his eyes briefly meeting Remus’, before he turned his attention back to James. “Eh, just a little something. Back to the important stuff, hm? If this cake kills me I need to know who to hold responsible,” he joked. Remus smiled. There was nothing that made him happier than seeing Sirius so happy, surrounded by the people he loved.

[cotecoyotegrrrl]

Once Upon A Time - Still Kind Of Beautiful

Not exactly a holiday story

You can find of this story in its entirety on A03 and FF

Part 3

Gail’s world is on fire, spinning and twisting, filling her head with everything she has been trying to ignore, for years really. Right now, she has a white-knuckle grip on the cool stone counter top of the island in her kitchen in a vein attempt to regain some kind of equilibrium. It steadies her as she tries to take deep calming breaths. She is still reeling from running into Holly at the Penny last night after all this time, and now she feels like she’s going to explode. It’s funny how time changes everything, and nothing at all, at the same time.

Sophie called from her visit to Traci’s this morning. Holly is coming to dinner. Gail’s beautiful, smart, wonderful, maddening daughter invited her. Sophie is clearly smitten with her forensics idol, and has been a whirlwind of fan-girl excitement, and questions, ever since last night, and now she has invited Holly to dinner. And, of course, the now famous Dr. Stewart has agreed to grace them with her presence. Tonight. 

How the fuck did she let this happen? 

The irony of the situation is not lost on Gail. Not one bit.

Gail looks at the time, it’s only one thirty in the afternoon, T minus four and counting, plenty of time to put the finishing touches on the flourless chocolate cake she made last night, time enough to get Sophie’s favorite spinach lasagna in the oven, and the white wine chilling in the fridge. She can do this. She takes a deep breath and pushes herself fully to her feet. Thank goodness Traci and Leo got Sophie to go to the movies with them, she’s not sure her nerves could handle any more questions right now. In the meanwhile she will make the lasagna’s spinach and mushroom filling, and assemble it with the gorgonzola alfredo sauce she made earlier. She knows it’s wrong, but keeping busy is the only thing stopping her from curling up in bed in the fetal position right now. 

What is wrong with me?

T minus two and counting, Traci and the kids will be home by five thirty, and Holly should be here by six. The kitchen is spotless, diner is in the oven, there is nothing left to do but take a shower, and put herself together. Gail climbs the stairs as the memories she has successfully kept at bay all of these years come flooding back to haunt her. Holly, leaning over a sorted skeleton in the morgue; Holly, teasing Gail about being so impatient about getting the results from a DNA test; Holly, picking her up at the hospital on the day she burned her wrist, and treating her like she was something precious and important; Holly naked in bed; Holly lying flush against her skin after making love all day on the night before Holly left for the States; and Holly forcing Gail look her in the eye as she told Gail she would always love her before she walked away that last time.

Entering the bathroom, Gail turns on the shower to let it warm up and leans heavily on the sink in front of her letting her head hang between her arms. And then it comes unbidden from the depths of the black, and once bottomless pit of all of her insecurities. The memory of Holly standing at the bar at the Black Penny the night before Christmas one year and three months after she had moved to San Francisco, nine years ago next week. Before the job offer from CISI to do something important, something she loves, before Sophie became her daughter, before Nick had recovered from getting shot, before Chris had finally become clean, before she and Steve decided they needed to repair their relationship and their lives by seeking professional help, it had been possibly the worst year of Gail’s life. Beginning with Holly’s move, she thought she had lost everything she cared about. She desperately needed a change, needed someone who would always love her. All she had wanted to do when she saw Holly standing at the bar with Traci was to swallow what was left of her pride and run back into her arms! She was ready, even if it meant she had to beg Holly to take her back. She would go to San Francisco, if Holly still wanted her. And then it happened, she overhearing Holly tell Traci about the offer of a permanent position and sizable promotion to spearhead the leading mobile forensics team in the world, in recognition of all of her excellent work there. She was practically glowing with excitement as she spoke! Gail felt her chest overflow with love and pride for this amazing woman. She was just about to announce her presence by buying them a congratulatory round when she heard Traci mention her name. And then Gail saw it, the look of disappointment and disapproval that crossed Holly’s face, or felt it more accurately, like a physical, crushing blow.

She knew she was a mess. She had been caught up in the massive departmental corruption investigation and scandal, forced to testify against her family. She knew she was, and had always been a bitter disappointment and a disgrace to her mother in one way or another for most of her life, and while her father’s love had always tempered his displeasure about her shortcomings, the undercurrent of dissatisfaction was always present and this was her final traitorous failure. Steve’s anger had been the hardest to face, even though he had been forced into a similar position. In a last ditch effort to regain any amount of self-respect and control over her life, she had finally turned in her badge, resigning her position on the force. Soon after, she had lost all hope of adopting Sophie to a racially diverse, married, heterosexual couple with two other kids, and a large home overlooking the lake. She had long ago stopped seeking anyone else’s approval, but to have Holly judge her made her blood run cold. So instead of surprising Holly by joining them, she had slammed back her shot, and fled clutching at the bleeding pieces of her shattered heart, hoping that nobody had noticed her.

Fuck!

The doorbell rings just as she is stripping off her ratty, ancient, pale blue hoodie and tattered jeans.

“What the…” She grumbles, turning off the shower and getting redressed.

The doorbell rings again.

“Jesus Christ! I’m coming!” She calls out on her way down the stairs, “Just wait a frickin’ minute, this isn’t a…”

The words dying on her lips as she opens the door.

The woman on her doorstep takes her breath away. Shifting her weight from one foot to another, and fidgeting with her glasses, Holly spins around to face her as the door opens.

“Gail. Hey.” She breathes out as she stuffs her hands into the pockets of the oversized cardigan she is wearing underneath an open blue down parka.

“Hey.” Gail cautiously replies, “What are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighborhood, and I saw your door, and your lights were on, and… and… um… I would say that the courier was sick, but…” Holly stumbles nervously over the words pouring out of her, gesturing wildly with her hands that have somehow freed themselves of her sweater.

Gail wants to guard her tender heart, to not be drawn back into Holly’s gravity. She tries to play it cool, but she can’t seem to help the way her heart skips, or the full body rush she is experiencing, or the grin, or the joy she feels bubbling up in her chest at this ridiculous, awkward, beautiful woman floundering on her doorstep.

“I take it you want to come in and talk.” She says, grabbing Holly by both of her elbows and giving her a gentle tug over the threshold.

The sudden movement causes Holly to stumble slightly, lurching her literally into Gail’s arms to keep from falling.

[notalexhorne]

I can’t remember exactly what prompted this discussion, but my husband and I were talking about dining tables yesterday, and how he’s got used to not having one since he moved out of his parents’ house.

And I had to kind of gently remind him that I’m the reason we don’t have one. Me, specifically, because this is another one of the ways in which I grew up weird.

It’s not that we didn’t have a dining table growing up. We did. And in fact, for a long time I thought that the one in my kitchen that we used to store tupperware was that same dining table, having played musical chairs from family member to family member until getting to me. It was a very peculiar table, with a certain woven pattern on top, and a gold-coloured inlay border round the edge. It was covered in paint, and all fucked up, and definitely seemed about 30 years old, at least, by the time I got it. I asked my mother, when I was still on speaking terms with her, if it was the same one. But she said it wasn’t. We’d pulled the gold border out as kids, and the top had all been chipped to hell, and there was even worse paint damage than the one I had come by. Which means somehow, there were two identical, ugly tables making the rounds through the family.

Must have been a popular model in 1985.

We just got rid of it this year, because one more tupperware lid piled on top of it was liable to make it collapse entirely.

But after she got rid of that one and replaced it, when I was about eight years old, she developed an unnatural attachment to the new dining table, and decided no one was allowed to sit at it, because she didn’t want it getting damaged like the old one had. So after that, we either ate outside at the picnic table, if the weather was nice enough for it, or at the coffee table in front of the TV. For ten years, until I moved out, that’s how meals were served. The only time I ate at a table was at other people’s houses, or at school or restaurants. Eating at a table became a weird, overly-formal and uncomfortable thing. So of course when I moved out, I never had a table for eating. Why would I want to be uncomfortable in my own home?

When the other guy and I moved in together a few years later, all my eccentricities came with me. I didn’t have a table, and had no intention of ever getting one. He didn’t have one, and didn’t really have a list of priorities, so it wasn’t really something he thought about. At one point, we had six sofas and a hammock instead, and he assumed that was just normal, and rolled with it. (Now we have one sofa, two beds, about six chairs, and a hammock, and he still assumes this is normal.) Also, until about three months ago, three kitchen tables. We’re down to two now, because we got rid of the busted one and replaced it with a really nice shelf sort of thing, but they’re not dining tables. Nobody eats at them. One of them holds our 2,000 walmart shopping bags, and the other holds my collection of ceramic vegetables and provides a better surface for preparing meals, since this apartment has no counter space. There is no dining room in this apartment. There is simply a much larger and more functional kitchen than was advertised, because I have doubled its space with tables nobody sits at.

But they’re not my mother’s pristine, mirror-shine waxed surface waste of space tables. They’re full of scratches and stains and knife gouges, because my tables actually get used.

[transgender-scout]

Question about your OCs! Would you like to ramble a bit about how your characters ruin their lives for the better? I've been curious about their conflicts and effects, but haven't known what to ask about exactly, so here's an invitation if you have a rant locked and loaded!

oh anon you've made a mistake!!! i didnt have a rant locked and loaded but im ready to make one!!!!

im also nervvy about talking about my ocs at length for some reason so under the cut it goes!

SO our main characters here are avi, lee, skylar, and will.

avi gets kidnapped, experimented on and given wings, and put in a zoo with lee, who has had the same thing happen to him. he helps calm her down and the two are at the zoo together for 3 months before they're able to break out. avi gets recaptured but lee escapes and finds solace with a human named skylar who helps him jailbreak avi. during that time, avi meets will, who she takes with her when lee rescues her.

that's the short version of what happens, so lets dig into it. :3

avi is, obviously, scared and panicked about whats going on, doing everything she can think of to escape. during an attempt, she ends up injuring herself pretty bad and fucking both herself and lee over by getting their food rations cut to the bare minimum. by the end of the first week, she's just a nervous wreck.

but lee is there too. and the thing about him is that he's been there for three months by himself before avi got there. he's dealt with this alone, so he's learned how to suppress the worst of the bad thoughts. he doesnt tell her this, but avi coming to the zoo literally saved his life. he was planning to kill himself until she showed up. so he feels like he owes her a life debt because of it

so he helps her through until their lives of being zoo animals become not exactly normal, but a routine. something familiar. with the help of one of the friendlier vets, they escape. their priority is to go home, so avi suggests they go to the closest police station to get help. which would have been fine, but while talking to an officer, he realizes that these arent scared and starving kidnapping victims, these are escaped zoo animals.

they run but avi gets shot and cant escape with lee so he has to leave her to be taken back to the zoo, where they remove both the bullet and her vocal cords to keep her from talking about what happened, should she ever escape again.

lee hates himself for leaving her. he fucking hates himself. she saved his life, and he leaves her and basically condemns her to death. while throwing his pity party, he meets skylar. they recognize him from the zoo but quickly assure him that they have no intention of returning him. he explains that avi is still there and they agree to help him break her out.

during this, avi is waking up in recovery. her voice is gone and she cant even walk because of the bullet wound, so will is assigned to watch over her and make sure she doesnt rough herself up or cause any trouble

will is a hybird too. his parents sold him to the zoo when he was six. the zoo experimented on him, giving him cat eats, a cat tail, and a whole lot of trauma. he's mean, bitter, and angry, angry most at avi and lee. because of them, the one and only person who has actually cared about him in 14 years has been fired, and he'll never see her again.

and yet, he feels for avi. its hard to hate someone when they're sobbing and shaking and still pale from blood loss. they spend time together, avi learns about him, and when the time comes to escape again, avi invites him to join the group. he accepts. hesitantly, but he accepts and leaves.

during the escape, lee loses skylar. the last he sees is someone grab their arm and then they both disappear into the hysteric crowd. none of them know this yet, but the zoo decided that since they lost three hybrids they'll just use skylar. much further down the line, they dont mind it much. but they cant go back home like this. they're going to miss their brother. and their room. their home.

wow that got rambley fast, but that's most of the first arc in a nutshell. in the context of the "stories where your life is ruined" post, the characters are:

avi: Stories where your life being ruined saves someone else’s life./ Stories where bad things happen, and you know it’s your fault, but you know you couldn’t change a thing, even if you wanted to, because that would mean fundamentally changing yourself.

lee: Stories that are full of turning points, places in the story where everything could have been different, better, if only you had said something else, and you have to see how that one misspeak ripples out and effects everything.

skylar: Stories where your life being ruined saves someone else’s life.

will: Stories where you are happier, but so much worse after the story ends.

[jacqcrisis]

Sappy silly idea for Caleb and his monster dude. Under read more cause long:

Caleb decides to spend a week with his family during an important witch holiday, something he hasn't done since the beginning of college. It's a big affair as a large portion of his extended family gets together for this in order to complete certain winter rituals and exchange small gifts and they always do so at their grandparents property in northern Montana. Of course, this means Caleb is away from his roommate of two years now for the first time since they moved in together and he's not having a great time of it, but is putting up a good front cause why would he miss Zeke this much if they aren't even dating?

Two days away from home and the texts start. It’s later in the evening and Caleb and his family are just drinking and talking when he gets a picture of the bed they’ve been sharing for months now from the perspective of someone laying in it with a sad little caption about how it’s cold. Initially, Caleb doesn’t get it because Zeke doesn’t text like this, and he answers back asking if its also cold back home and teasing that his roommate can just turn up the heat for once like a few extra bucks on the energy bill isn’t going to kill them-

‘It’s not cold when you’re here.’

It’s a lucky thing the lights are down low in the lounge as Caleb lights up like a Christmas tree at that. You’d think after the three-ish years of knowing each other, Zeke wouldn’t inspire this kind of fluttery, knee-wobbly, palm sweating nervousness from him, but it’s been happening more and more lately, and this innocuous text is no exception. Not really in the mood or the headspace to examine why it makes him feel this way, Caleb quickly responds that he’ll be back in five day, which gets no response, so he assumes Zeke fell asleep. 

But they don’t stop there. Throughout the week, Zeke keeps texting him about how quiet the apartment is without him, how he has no one to cook for at home, how big the couch is without Caleb next to him on it... Just a lot of sappy little messages and pictures inbetween their usual conversations. Each time, it makes him a little flustered, puts a little smile on his face, makes him noticeably giddy to the point his relatives are jokingly asking if he’s texting a hot date and Caleb has to immediately deflect with ‘no, just his roommate’ which of course, deflates any sort of excitement. 

He plays it cool at first, responding with more teasing and deflecting remarks, giving asinine suggestions to fix Zeke's sudden complaints. Of course, he's also sending pictures and his own observations like how uncomfortable the couch he's sleeping on is or how meh his grandma's cooking is or how there's a lot of talk about him trying to find a wife. They are innocently naive for the most part, but in the evening as he's going to bed, they turn directly flirtatious, bordering on dirty which Zeke responds with several of his own.

And it's fun. It makes the very serious, boring time more enjoyable and gives him an outlet to complain to when certain conversations regarding his personal life come up. While he'd rather Zeke be here in person considering he is one of his best friends at this point along with the roommate/fuck buddy thing, this is acceptable and even thrilling in a sense to be so clearly wanted. Every message lamenting something now out of place with him gone gives him butterflies for reasons he's happy to not know.

But, on day six, Zeke asks if he’s alone at night, to which Caleb says yes and then nearly drops his phone when he gets a call. He answers quickly, but has to keep his voice down. They talk for a bit before Zeke throws out a line about ‘plans for when he gets back’ which Caleb falls for hook line and sinker. He innocently asks what those might entail, and Zeke rather bluntly and thoroughly details exactly how he plans on ‘making up for lost time’. 

After the ensuing phone sex, Caleb asks what’s been Zeke's deal this whole week, to which Zeke earnestly and honestly states that he misses him. Caleb, who’s up until this point has been rather breathless and giggly, goes quiet for a minute, chest tight and warm all over in a different way as he feels dangerously close to admitting something he refuses to consider. Zeke, coming off annoyed despite being quite vulnerable, asks if he’s doing okay and Caleb awkwardly, mumbly, and yet no less honestly says he misses Zeke too and that he’ll be back tomorrow.

He doesn't sleep much that night, conflicted and brain a buzz and the next morning at brunch, his parents introduce him to the single daughter of another family. Caleb mostly ignores her despite her best efforts, too busy thinking about getting home to worry about the vague attempt at matchmaking. She corners him near the bathrooms around the end of the meal, putting it rather bluntly that they are both in their mid 20s and several clocks are running out so why don't they just go on a few dates and see where it goes.

It's a compelling, guilt-trippy argument, but Caleb still declines, knowing that any dating will mean this odd situation with Zeke will have to come to an end which is something he does not want. He's still got a few years before the Fae come knocking for a firstborn, so he sites that as a reason for gently turning this woman away. She accepts but still leaves angry and Caleb gets several scathing looks from both his and her family for the rest of the day until it's time for him to leave.

He feels guilty about it until he gets home later that evening where Zeke makes good on his earlier stated intentions and the looming future without the monster man is the furthest thing from his mind. After, when Zeke has him in a possessive hold in their bed as he pets Caleb's head and rubs his sharp fucked up teeth all over his neck and shoulders, Caleb's got that weirdly warm and wonderful feeling again. A feeling he doesn't put a name to for another few months.

[middleearthpixie]

Miss Fortune ~ Chapter Twenty-Two

Miss Fortune - Modern AU

A/N: I made a mistake in chapter 8 - Alex’s parents have been gone 13 years, not ten. Mea culpa.  

Summary: Everyone in Cranford Falls knows the Prescott family. Not only do they run Miss Fortune’s Crystal occult shop in town, but they’re also known for their psychic abilities. On occasion, they’re even called into service to assist the police on particularly difficult cases. All except Alex Prescott, that is. Unlike her three sisters, she’s inherited none of her family’s gifts. At least that was what she thought until the day the dead guy showed up in her bedroom asking for her help in solving a murder. His own.

Six months after his brother Frerin’s death, Detective Thorin Durin is on a downward spiral of self-destruction until Frerin starts showing up in his apartment, claiming his death was not an unfortunate accident but was, in fact a murder. Trouble is, Frerin doesn’t know who did it, so he wants Thorin to reopen the case and solve it, with Alex’s help.

As they work together to find out just exactly what happened to Frerin, Alex and Thorin grow closer. Neither one knows it, but Frerin isn’t just looking to solve his own murder, he’s trying to help his brother cope with his loss as well, and to find happiness with the Prescott sister who’s known as the quiet one…

Summary: Alex shares something interesting about Mrs. Urlino with Thorin and Frerin, and Thorin has a surprise for her. 

Pairing: Modern!Thorin x ofc Alex Prescott

Characters: Thorin, Alex, Charlie, Frerin, Gram

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 4,785

Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knitastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @ggfamert @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here. 

Alex let her eyes close as she tucked her head against Thorin’s chest, her fingers moving gently along the line of adhesive tape holding the gauze against his chest. “Does it hurt?”

“It’s a little sore, but really, I’m fine, honey, really.” He covered her hand with his to still it, while his other hand skimmed along her hair. They were in her room, stretched out on her bed, watching the New York Yankees take on the Boston Red Sox, and she fought to stay awake. 

“Do I want to know why you’re dressed like a doctor?”

“My shirt was taken in as evidence,” he replied, his voice soft and drowsy, “and I didn't feel like parading thorough the ER half dressed, so I asked the nurse if she could find me something.”

The scrub top in question lay in a ball at the foot of the bed, but it was the only clothing to come off either one of them. Alex could hear Gram and her sisters moving about downstairs, could hear the soft buzz of their conversation, but she didn't care. Dinner had been its usual, lively meal, with Gram peppering Thorin with a million questions, which he answered with humor and honesty.

“I hope Gram didn't make you too uncomfortable.”

“Don’t worry, I’m a big boy, Alex. I can handle your grandmother wanting to know if my intentions toward you are honorable.” His fingers trailed lightly along her hair, then down over her arm. “She’s concerned about you. She loves you.”

“I know, but—”

“And so do I,” he broke in softly.

Her words died on her lips as she lifted her head. “What?”

In the soft glow of the television, he looked wiped out, his eyes heavy-lidded, dark shadows beneath them. Still, his eyes glittered at he looked up to meet hers and whispered, “I love you, Lexi.”

“Thorin?”

“What? Frerin’s right. I’ve been wasting time, too fucking scared to say anything.” He reached up to trail his fingertips along her cheek and she had fight off the urge to let her eyes close at the soft stroke. “He’s been hounding me for the last week to just man up and say it. And I really hope I haven’t just fucked everything up between the two of us, that I’m not scaring you off, because I know we’ve only gone out a few times and maybe you think it’s too soon, but I love you and I’m not taking those words back. And if I did just fuck up, and you want me to leave, I’ll go, but I’m not sorry I finally had the balls to say it to you.”

She pressed her lips together at the seriousness in his blue eyes, in his deep voice, and for a moment, it seemed as if her heart had forgotten its rhythm. Her mind raced with what to say back that didn't sound trite or cutesy or just plain stupid, because despite what Frerin insisted, she didn't believe Thorin Durin would ever fall in love with her. This simply did not happen to her. 

“Thorin.”

“What? I’m not. The words are out there and I—I don’t give a damn. I love you, Alex. And I think I have since you tried to convince me Richter was a better goalie than Hank.”

Now she smiled. Smiled and shook her head and said, “You’re crazy, you know.”

“Crazy?”

Yeah, crazy. Richter was better, and it is kind of soon, but you aren’t scaring me, you know. Because I love you, too.”

“Wait, what was that?”

“You heard me, Detective.”

A slow smile curved his lips. “Say it again.”

“Say what?”

“Tell me you love me.”

“I love you.”

His eyes practically sparkled, his thumb grazing along the curve of her cheek. “I like how that sounds.” 

“Me, too,” she told him, leaning into his caress. “And I’ve been just as scared. Frerin’s been telling me I should just tell you as well and he’s probably been wanting to knock both our heads together.”

“That would be a first. Usually, I’m looking to crack his head into something.” His fingers slid along her cheek, his hand curving against her face. He drew her down, and before her lips met his, he whispered, “I’ll thank him when we see him again.”

“Same,” she managed to whisper back between kisses.

The sheets rustled as he shifted, easing her onto her back. Alex carefully slipped her arms about his middle, her hands flat, against the solid planes of his back. Warmth rose from his smooth skin to sink into her palms, which grew warmer still as his lips moved slowly against hers, soft and teasing. When he pulled back, she gazed up at him, unable to keep from smiling. 

“It is about time.” 

Neither she nor Thorin started at Frerin’s triumphant words, although they both looked over at the chair and Thorin said, “You could knock, you know.”

“Ah, I figured it was safe. Full house and all. Besides,” his teeth flashed in a mischievous grin, “she’s completely dressed.”

Alex pressed her lips together to hide her smile as Thorin eased off her, muttered, “You’re a jackass, Frer. I hope you know that.”

“Yeah. I do.”

Thorin sat up, shifting to swing his legs over the side of the bed. “What brings you back here, since you gave me your word you weren’t going to spy on us in bed, remember?”

“Okay, yes. Technically, you’re in bed. But, we both know that by in bed, you meant, having sex, which you aren’t, so it’s all good.”

Alex also sat up. “You’re exploiting a loophole?”

“Sure. But don’t worry, I promise,” Frerin held both hands up, palms out, “I won’t come anywhere near you if I hear moaning, sighing, or any other sex noises. Or if the bed is squeaking. Trust me, I don’t want to see it any more than you want me to see it.”

“Stop dancing around and tell me why you’re here,” Thorin said with a hint of exasperation woven through each word. 

Frerin’s grin faded and he leaned forward, clasped hands dangling between his knees and his expression was far more serious than she’d seen since probably the first time he appeared in her room. “So, you two finally admitted to each other how you feel?”

“Yeah,” Thorin nodded, “we did and I know that’s not why you’re here.”

“It’s not, but I’m glad to hear it. It’s about time.” Frerin looked from her to his brother. “I was  thinking about the crazy old lady and whether or not she might have torched my house.”

Thorin shook his head. “My copy of the case file is in my apartment. I haven’t been home since this morning.”

“Yeah, I know. And it’s no hurry, either, but I think she was a person of interest in another arson case.” Frerin stood, the air swirling icy about Alex and Thorin as he strode the length of the room. “About two years ago, we got called out to warehouse fire over on Eisenhower, west of Park, where all the industrial parks are. It went to five alarms and something like five different departments from Sidleburg, and Tanner’s Peak responded as well. For all the good it did. It was a total loss.”

Thorin nodded. “Yeah. I remember. Ma called me in a panic that night because it was on News Twelve and she was afraid something would happen to you.”

Alex looked from Thorin to Frerin and back, and bit back a sigh. It was nice, seeing them together and she wished she’d known Frerin when he was alive. His relationship with Thorin reminded her of the one she had with her sisters, and she couldn't even imagine how it had to hurt Thorin, even if he could see Frerin this way. 

“Yeah, I think I burned my arm or singed my hair or something, but I remember the fire inspector saying it looked suspicious, and he thought the DeMaio Foods was the target.” Frerin looked from Thorin to her. “They were a restaurant supply distributor. I was seeing a girl who worked at Darcy’s and it turned out, Estella Urlino had a bone to pick with Kevin DeMaio. Thought he was ripping MJ off and that did not sit well with the old lady. No one messed with her boy, if they knew what was good for them. Remember? In high school, any time he got into trouble, she’d be like an avenging angel going to bat for him. Everyone knew you steered clear of MJ Urlino unless you wanted to deal with Momma Urlino.”

Thorin’s back stiffened. “Wait, are you serious?”

Frerin nodded. “Yeah. As far as I know, she was questioned, but let go without any further action. And, I was telling Al,” he nodded in her direction, “about the kitchen fire at the Urlinos last year.”

“Yeah. But setting your broiler on fire isn’t the same as burning down a warehouse. Or someone else’s house.”

“She threatened to set fire to her husband’s car,” Alex broke in softly, a chill creeping along her spine. “Syd was just telling us this before you got here earlier.”

“What?” Thorin and Frerin asked this in unison.

She nodded. “Yeah. One of Syd’s skills is reading auras—” as she said it, both Durin boys rolled their eyes, which earned them each a glare—“don’t even, she knows what she’s doing. Anyway, she said the only one who doesn’t turn Mrs. Urlino’s aura red, which indicates fury, is Teddy and she absolutely hates me for some reason. 

“Anyway, Syd said then she’d bumped into Marco Urlino at the grocery story and somehow they got to talking and he told her that he was afraid of his wife, that she’d threatened to set fire to his car once. With him in it. He sleeps in a different room and locks his door.”

Both Thorin and Frerin let out a low whistle in unison. Then Frerin asked, “Al, are you sure?” 

“Syd seemed pretty sure. And it fits. It’s scary as anything, but it fits.”

“Okay,” Thorin said softly, rising from the bed with a wince. He pressed his fingertips against the gauze, flinched, then lowered his hand. “Lex, you have paper and pen?”

“Sure.” She carefully climbed around him, moving to her desk, where she tugged open the paper drawer on the laser printer and grabbed a pen from the cup on her desk. She turned to hand both to him, then grabbed a clipboard that held a stack of order forms. She tugged them off, let them rest atop the printer, and passed that to Thorin as well.

“Frer, what do you remember about the fire at the Urlino house and then the DeMaio fire?” He looked over at his brother, who wore almost the exact same expression. “Tell me everything you remember, in as much detail as possible.”

A small furrow appeared between Frerin’s brows. “It was around seven o’clock. I was supposed to be off shift at eight, but ended up not getting home until about midnight because I was there…”

Alex sat back, watching them talk out what happened both nights, while Thorin took notes. It was bittersweet sight, because for a moment, she actually forgot Frerin was dead. More than anything, she wished she could have seen the brothers like this when he was alive. 

Without a word, she slipped out of her room, closing the door behind her, and went down into the kitchen, where Terri was just coming in from work. “Hey, Lex, isn’t that Thorin’s truck outside?”

“Yeah.” Alex tried to swallow past the lump that suddenly rose in her throat. “He and Frerin are working something out about Mrs. Urlino. She might be a person of interest in the fire that killed Frerin.”

“No shit?” Terri moved to the refrigerator and tugged open the right side door. “Is that weird? Seeing them together, I mean.”

“Yeah. It is. It’s so easy, seeing them, to forget that he’s really gone.” Alex sighed softly as she sank into one of the chairs. Gram and Syd were in the parlor, watching an old episode of The Golden Girls, while Teddy and Charlie would be home within the hour. 

Terri sat across from her, setting a bowl of cherries on the table between them.

Cherries. The very thing that started this odd little journey. If she had known that afternoon, where it would lead…

She smiled at the fruit. “I really do like him, Terri. I wish I could’ve known him when he was alive.”

“Once this is over, will he vanish?” Terri asked, picking a cherry from the bowl to pop into her mouth.

“I really don’t know. He doesn’t even know.” Alex tried to ignore the pang she felt at the thought of never seeing Frerin again. If it would be hard on her, she couldn’t even imagine how difficult it’d be for Thorin. Her eyes stung as she cast her gaze toward the stairs. “I hope not. I really do. But who knows?”

“Well, you’ll have Thorin and he’ll have you, so that will make it a little easier.” Terri leaned over to spit her cherry pit into a napkin. “I mean, I assume you two will keep seeing each other.”

Alex couldn't hold back her smile. “He told me he loves me, Terr.”

“Really? That’s awesome. Lex! And I’m assuming you’ve told him you love him back and don’t even think to try to lie to me and say you don’t. We’ve all lusted after that man at one point or another since we were old enough to be interested in boys.”

“I know and I’m not. And I do love him. I mean, I hate that Frerin’s dying is the only reason Thorin and I even got together, but I’ll be forever grateful to Frerin for giving us both the push.”

“I wish I could see him,” Terri said, picking up another cherry. “I’d like to thank him for you both.”

“Lex?”

They both looked up at Thorin’s soft voice and Alex’s heart ached at the redness in his blue eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. It’s… well, it’s not, but you know what I mean.”

She pushed back her chair. “Thorin, this is Terri, my sister from another mister. Terri, this is Thorin. You’ll be seeing a lot of him in the coming days, I think.”

“I remember Terri. High school wasn’t that long ago.” Thorin managed a smile. “Still, it’s nice to finally meet you. Lex told me about your crushing Yuri’s balls with your purse.”

“My shining moment.” Terri swiveled in her chair and held out a hand. “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name and meet you, too. I’m really sorry for what happened to your brother. I hope you find the fucker who did it.”

“Makes two of us.” He leaned against the doorjamb and while he’d drawn the scrub top on once more, even with in the soft light given off by the Tiffany lamp over the kitchen table, the gauze’s outline was clearly visible through the fabric and the v-neck offered up an enticing hint of dark hair. “Lex, Frerin’s told me all he can remember. I’m going to pull the files to both fires tomorrow and look them over. And I’ve got a few questions for Marco Urlino as well.”

“Do you really think that batty old lady did it?” Terri asked, rising from her chair. She scooped up the bowl of cherries to stow back in the refrigerator, and leaned against the door as it closed. “I mean, she’s probably crazy enough, but why?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, shaking his head. “I’ll be sitting down with her tomorrow as well, so we’ll see what answers I get.”

Alex crossed over to him. “You won’t be alone in the room with her, will you?”

“No. Kerry will sit in with me. Don’t worry. The station is probably the safest place I could be with her.”

“I don’t think so,” Charlie said as she strolled into the kitchen. “You have no idea how scared I was in that cell with her.”

Thorin looked over at her. “Why?”

“She’s evil, that’s why.” Charlie leaned back against the counter, by the sink, and shook her head. “She’s got those pale eyes that look right through you. And she tried to put the Eye on me before she tried to choke me.”

“There’s no such thing as the Eye,” Thorin said.

Alex and Charlie both shook their heads at the same time and Charlie said, “You don’t even joke about the Eye, Detective. Trust me.”

Thorin’s smile faded as he looked from her to Alex. “You really believe in this?”

“You’d be amazed at what we believe, Thorin,” she told him softly, slipping her hand into his. “She really does radiate a sense of evil and I wouldn’t put it past her to be able to do it.”

“To put a hex on someone by looking at them?” Terri broke in. “Isn’t that what the Eye is?”

Alex shook her head. “Not quite. The belief is that some have the ability to cause injury or death on the person upon whom the Eye has been cast. And it’s found throughout history and throughout religions. It goes as far back as ancient Rome, ancient Greece, through the tribes of Eastern Europe.”

“Those are just fairy tales, Lex,” Thorin said.

“There’s no way to prove or disprove it,” she told him. “So, it’s best to treat it with a healthy dose of respect and protect yourself. You’ve got nothing to lose with either.”

He sighed softly. “How do I protect myself against it?”

“A nazar,” Charlie said. 

“A what?”

“It’s an amulet that represents an eye,” she told him patiently. “Lex, go show him yours.”

Terri chuckled. “I’m sure she’s already done that.”

Alex rolled her eyes. “I’m going to pretend I didn't hear that.” She turned to Thorin. “Come back upstairs. I’ll show you.”

He bobbed his head and followed her back up to her room. A hint of a chill hung in the air, but Frerin was nowhere to be found. 

“Are you okay?” she asked as she pushed her bedroom door closed.

With a low sigh, he sank into her desk chair, leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and sighed. “Yeah. I am. I just—it’s easy to forget for a little while. And then he vanishes and—and it stings. A lot.”

“Yeah. I know. I miss him, too when he goes.” She moved to her dresser and tugged open the side of her jewelry box where she hung her necklaces. Nearly a dozen chains, in varying lengths, style, and metals, hung on the rotating hooks and it took her a few minutes before she found what she sought.

The nazar was a disk of cobalt blue glass with a small bit of onyx set in the center, threaded onto a narrow black leather cord. “This,” she said, turning back toward him, “is a nazar. Gram gave them to us when were were little girls, just to keep us safe when she or our parents couldn’t be with us.”

She brought it over to him and held it out. “And I want you to have it, Thorin.”

“Lex, I’m not taking that. It was a gift.”

“I know. But, it’s okay. It’s actually an important part of having one. Being gifted with it adds a layer of protection to it. And you are taking it, Thorin. I want you to have it. You need it far more than I do.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“I am,” she nodded. “Really.”

He took it and let it dangle from his hand. The disk spun about slowly, then slowed and glittered in the low light. “You’re positive about this?”

“Thorin.”

“Okay, okay.” He fastened it around his neck, and the cobalt glass nestled in the hollow of his throat, just above the St. Florian medallion. “Happy now?”

“Yes, actually.” She leaned back against the dresser. “Do you really think Estella Urlino set that fire? And to Yuri?”

“Well, I’ve got to track down Laini and Andi and see if they’ve found anything, since I haven’t heard from either of them. So, I can’t say for sure who I think set it. Maybe she did, maybe he did. I don’t have nearly enough to go on yet.”

“But why would she have done it?”

“Why would Yuri? Why would anyone? Frerin didn’t have that many enemies. Even women he fucked over forgave him soon enough.” He shrugged. “I have no idea and I’m not even going to hazard a guess. I have to talk to Mrs. Urlino and I have to find Yuri.” 

With that, he reached for her, drawing her down onto his lap. “And I should probably head home. It’s late and I’m beat.”

She held her breath as the chair squeaked ominously, but that was it. With a sigh, she leaned her head against the chair’s back, and with one finger, gently traced along the shell of his ear. “You can stay if you want. Gram would be thrilled.”

The arm about her waist tightened. “I would, but I want to look over Frerin’s file and that’s home. Besides, if we’re making a bed squeak, I’d rather it be in my apartment and not within feet of your family.”

“They’d probably stand in the hallway and cheer.”

“Or boo, depending.” He turned his head in her direction, his eyes tired and soft. “But another time, definitely.”

“My bed is kind of small compared to yours.”

He offered up a sleepy grin. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing, though. I like the way you feel against me, Lexi. I sleep better.”

“So… I’m like a comfort object?”

His eyes almost danced with mischief. “Yeah. I think sounds about right.”

“Wonderful. You do know how to make girl’s heart flutter, Detective Durin.”

His arm tightened a bit more about her and he shifted to brush her lips with his. “I try.”

She eased an arm about his neck as his lips moved against hers, as his tongue nudged through them to sweep along hers, slow and teasing. When he pulled back, it was to whisper, “I really should go.”

“Okay, I can take the hint.” She eased off his lap and stood, holding out both hands, and drew him up when he caught them. Then, sliding her arms about his waist, she craned her neck to peer up at him. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I promise you, Lexi,” he cradled her face in his hands, his thumbs sweeping along her jaw, “I’ll be careful.”

He bent to kiss her once more, then pulled away to move to the door. She followed him back downstairs and out into the warm, humid night. Summer had arrived in all its sticky glory and Alex winced as she began sweating almost immediately. “It’s definitely summer now.”

“Yeah, time to start counting down to the fall.” He turned to her. “I’ll let you know what, if anything, I find, okay?”

“Just be careful.” She reached up to trace her index finger along the cobalt disk resting in the hollow of his throat. “With Mrs. Urlino. She’s evil.”

“Tell me about it.” He caught her hand, gave it a squeeze, and then leaned in to kiss her. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Lex.”

“See you tomorrow, Thorin.”

He nuzzled her. “I love you.”

Her toes curled in her sneakers at the low, growly purr. “I love you, too, Thorin.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, honey.” He pulled back with a grin, brushed a kiss over her forehead, and then turned and whistled softly as he descended to the front walk and made his way out to his truck at the curb. The taillights glowed red in the darkness as he flipped on the headlights, turned over the engine, and pulled away from the curb with a blast of his horn. 

The door opened behind her. “Is everything all right, Alex?” 

Gram came out onto the porch with two glasses of iced tea in her hands, one of which she pressed toward Alex, who accepted it and sank onto the top step as the white Ford disappeared from sight. 

“Everything’s fine,” she replied before taking a sip. Then, lowering the glass, she said, “At least, I think it is.”

“What’s on your mind?” Wood creaked as Gram sat beside her, her glass cradled between her knees. 

“I’m not sure, really. Just… I don’t know…” Alex looked over at her. Gram’s heavy fall of silver hair was swept up and away from her elegant face, held in a sparkly clip at the back of her head. For as long as Alex could remember, Gram’s hair was long and silver-white, and she looked twenty years younger than her actual age. The Prescotts were ageless, she liked to say, and it was true. Alex’s father was in his mid-forties when he died, and hardly looked old enough to have a twenty-year old daughter—which was how old Teddy was the summer Neil and Amanda Prescott were killed. 

But recently, Gram’s age had begun to show a bit more. There were more lines around her eyes, around her mouth. She almost looked tired and Alex wondered how much of it was because of her gifts and the demands they created. 

“I thought it would be so wonderful,” Alex said, turning back to watch the bats swoop from treetop across the front yard and back again, without making a sound, “to be able to do what all of you can do. I used to envy you all so much.”

“Alex,” Gram brought a slender hand to rest atop her forearm, “we love—”

“I know, you all love me regardless. I get that. I do, really.” Now she met Gram’s tranquil blue eyes. “But I wished it just the same. And I don’t know if being able to see Frerin is because I can see him or because he wants me to see him and either way, it really hasn’t helped find out who killed him, has it? So, I don’t know how good it is that I can see him, and it’s made me wonder if I’d want any of your gifts at all now.”

“I don’t know that it has, but I also don’t know that it hasn’t, Lex.” Gram shrugged, then set the glass on the step below, between her feet. “But, you’ve helped Thorin cope, you’ve helped him work out the puzzle to a certain extent. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“Two weeks ago, he didn't know I was alive,” Alex said with a hint of a laugh. “And now…”

“And now what?” Gram smiled, her eyes sparkling as they met hers. 

“He said he loves me.”

“Of course he does.” Gram nudged her with her shoulder. “And what about you, Alexandra? How do you feel about him?”

“Worried.” Alex set down her own glass and propped her elbow on one thigh, her cheek again her fist, and turned to smile at Gram. “Because I love him back.”

“Good. From what I’ve seen and what I know, he’s a good man, Lex. So, why are you worried?”

“Estella Urlino tried to stab him, for starters.”

“She’s crazy. I’ve said so for years.”

“Yeah, but now it’s personal for me.” Alex raked her fingers through her hair to pull it away from her face, and then her neck. “Because of her, he has almost twenty stitches in his chest.”

“Well, I’m sure it’s not the first time he’s been hurt in the line of duty and it probably won’t be the last, and you have to decide whether or not you can live with that.”

“Gram, I have never felt about anyone the way I do Thorin and it kind of scares me.”

“Enough to make you walk away from him?”

Alex stared off into the thickening darkness. Across the street, the only light in the Nichols’ house was in the nursery. They’d had a baby girl a little over a month ago and from where she sat, Alex could see the mobile over the crib and one of the Nichols bending into said crib. 

“No,” she said after a few minutes. “I don’t think so. But, I gave him my nazar, just to be sure.”

Gram slid her arm about Alex’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “He’ll be fine, love. You’ll see.”

Alex sighed softly, leaning her head against Gram. “I hope so.”

“He will.” 

[skyview-temple-spring]

Day Four: Alternate Universe

I wrote this in my notes app on a plane. It was either 10:00 pm or 4:00 am, depending on the time zone change. My girlfriend suggested it.

Linkajou: I want off this goddess damned plane NOW

...

...

Gihrhahim: then get off

Linkajou: are you suggesting I jump out?

Link did not get his response from Ghirahim, as the spotty Wi-Fi cut out again. Groaning, he leaned back against the chair (met with a kick from the brat sitting behind him, stupid child with her stupid little hairdo and shit manners. Aside from an occasional "Kukiel, don't", its parents did nothing.) He glanced out the window, nothing but endless clouds, and sighed.

Link loved flying. He truly did. He just preferred to be the one in charge of the plane. Flying on a commercial airline across the ocean? Not exactly his favorite pastime. He didn't have much choice, really.

Ever since his boyfriend moved to a whole different country for a job that was no where near worth it, Link did his best to visit when he could. One perk of Ghirahim's awful employer was his nonchalance when it came to business expenses, and Ghirahim could often write off visits from his demonic realm of a country back home to Hyrule as "work related expenses". In fact, Ghirahim was writing a lot of frivolous and luxurious things off as a business expenses, as he put it... They had joked, of course, about accepting the advances of a sugar daddy when presented with the chance, regardless of their relationship status, but Link should probably check in that it was, in fact, a joke. Just to make sure.

Five months, Ghirahim said. Then five months turned to a year, a bigger and better contract, and his absolutely horrific demon of a boss wanting to expand to Hyrule. Which meant another five to six months in the old country before he was home, and home for good. He'd still be working the sketch job, but at least the pay was good and Link could wake up next to him in the morning.

Flying was therapeutic for Link, at least when he was alone. Now? Not so much. The guy sitting next to him wouldn't shut up. He and the girl kicking his seat shouted at each other over Link's head. The flight attendant was Link's freshman year college roommate, the one that was either exercising awfully hard at 11pm every night or was jerking off religiously, and he kept trying to talk to him. Link was overwhelmed, ready to cry, and unable to speak if he wanted to.

And, to top it all off, there was Theo.

Theo, short for Thermodynamic Heat Death of the Universe, the remlit whose sleeping pill had worn off five minutes ago. Theo was slowly rising from her sleep like the dead, and that was always a cause for anxiety.

See, Link was on an overnight flight. Theo, to put it gently, did not do nighttime very well. At all. Like, throw up and then claw the couch and chew the furniture was the least that beast could do. She had been through three cat carriers already.

Of course, Theo was in front of Link, under the seat, a perfect personal item of a pet. During the day she had been shy, sleepy, and the cutest fucking little monster to the security agents. She had taken her pill with peanut butter, licked Link's hand with her barbed wire tongue for ten minutes, and slept soundly. That was, until Link's flight was delayed.

Three hours late. He had only planned for two extra hours of sleepy time with Theo when the plane landed, just enough to get to Ghirahim and let her loose. That meant, with the delay, he now had one hour of monster-Theo to deal with while on the plane.

Link was hyperventilating. He was sure of it.

The sleepy little monster yawned. She stretched. Link frantically checked his phone to see if Ghirahim had responded. No internet. He was well and truly alone in this.

It was like it was slow motion. Theo yawned. Theo inspected the cat carrier with trepidation. Theo blinked her big, brown eyes up at Link, the yellow-green slivers in the corners like wheat waving in the wind, and she yowled. She opened her mouth, sharp fangs snagging the mesh panel and tearing with all her might, and screamed her little head off. Even louder than his noisy neighbors. Louder than the damn engines.

Link could only pick up her cat carrier and shush her.

"Oh my! Is that little thing okay?" His neighbor Batreaux asked, sticking his finger towards her cage. Link couldn't tell him no before he kept blabbering on.

"What a poor sweet creature, it must be sooooo scared and—OW!"

Theo bit Batreaux. Of course, his screaming attracted the attention of Kukiel, who jumped out of her seat screaming 'Kitty! Kitty! Mommy I wanna pet the kitty!" All while Theo was gnawing her way out of her tiny prison.

Link wanted to die in his seat.

Theo was ten seconds away from escaping her prison when the flight attendant came over to inform Link to politely shut up. He heard the footsteps behind him. Shushing her, though it did not good, Link tried to calmly reason with the remlit. No such luck.

"Sir, please, you need to restrain your—"

SNAP. The lock came off with a bang, the remlit launching herself out. In what seemed like slow motion, Link watched in horror as she went flying back, right into Fledge's face.

"AH! Get it off! Get it off! Please, I—Link, get your cat, I can't—AH! Is it rabid?"

Link could only shrug sheepishly. Theo had her fill of terrorizing Fledge, and leapt onto the isle floor with undeserved grace. To a symphony of screams she ran away as fast as she could, knocking over tiny cups of water and leaving scratches in her wake.

*********

The sun rose before they landed. 

Theo was happily purring in Link's lap, a trail of bloody scars and band aids behind her. Fledge had moved them both to the back of the plane, keeping a close eye on them. Link felt like a prisoner being transported to a high security jail.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking, it is a—" The voice over the intercom was muffled. "Here in—and it is—degrees outside. We have arrived at the—International airport and will be deplaning shortly. We want to take this moment to thank you all for flying with—airlines and hope you have a—". He went on as if nothing happened. 

"And one more announcement before we let y'all go," Came the meandering voice, lazily recounting the post flight speech, "Would the owner of the remlit in isle 34D please remain on the plane."

Link sunk down in his seat.

Fuck.

******

Finally allowed of the plane, having successfully navigated the baggage claim, Link exited the airport to find Ghirahim. Of course, there he was, holding a sign saying "Welcome home cheater" (Link did not find it as funny as Ghirahim so obviously did), with a big smile on his face.  

"You've kept me waiting."

"You wouldn't believe the night I've had." Link muttered, handing off Theo as soon as he could. Ghirahim took the cat, however reluctantly, saddled with Link's massive suit case as well, and Link marched off to the car. "As soon as we get to your place I am taking a nice, long bath and passing out in your bed, so don't expect sex until the jet lag wears off. " 

Wandering behind with a sour look on his face, Ghirahim was laden down with all Link's baggage. He glanced at the cat carrier with disgust, and was about to ask about it, when the man in front of him stopped short. 

"Oh, I do have a surprise for you." Link turned back, swinging an arm around Ghirahim's shoulder and planting a kiss on his cheek. Using his most seductive eyes, he stroked Ghirahim's cheek and whispered into his ear, "Theo's been banned from international travel for six months. She'll be staying with you."

[dasleidenderanderen]

St. Martha's (Original work)

On second thought it should not have been a big surprise to him.

You would actually think, six years at university and one year working as a doctor would have taught him enough to know it was not his best idea to come to work that day.

They were lacking manpower, with two colleagues at maternity leave, four more on vacation and another one trying to improve his ultrasound skills far away in Berlin.

So when he woke with a slight headache and the feeling that his body temperature was not exactly within normal range, he decided to go to work anyway. It was Friday already and he would have the whole weekend to rest from there.

An ibuprofen, a quick shower and some coffee and soon he was sitting on his bike, cycling through morning traffic. It was twenty past seven, when he passed the apothecary with the thermostat above its sign.

<i> 21°C. </i>

It had not cooled down as much as he would have liked during the night, so probably today would be one of these too hot summer days. He nearly felt envious towards his colleagues working at the emergency room this month. Of course their job was more stress full, but at least the rooms there were air conditioned.

He had thirty minutes left to prepare his day, before he had to go to the morning meeting.

Inside his office, the air felt thick enough to be cut. He opened the windows, enjoying the cooler air filling his lungs.

The meeting lasted a little longer than usual, but finally it ended and he was able to start his rounds. He made a good pace, with no emergencies during the night and not to many complicated cases.

He handed his charts to one of the nurses, crabbed another coffee and left for his office to do some paperwork.

Lime followed him about fifteen minutes later.

They sat in silence, completing files medicine controlling was waiting for.

He had finished three files, before his temples started hurting again. He leaned back a little, rubbing at his temples and took a sip of his coffee. It was cold by now, but that did not bother him.

Around twelve o’clock Lime put away the last file from his desk and rose from his chair, stretching his arms and back.

“Time for lunch, I’d say”, he said, waiting for him to come along.

“I will just finish this and crap something later. I’m not really hungry yet.”

“Okay. See you later.”

“Bye.”

He even tried to do some more of his work, but his headache seemed to grow with every minute. He was hot and cold at the same moment. He felt his one forehead, but was not sure, if he was running a fever.

His search for some more ibuprofen inside their office was not successfull, he only found an empty blister. So he left the office and went for the nurses’ station..

“Are you looking for something?”

He nearly jumped when one of the nurses stepped beside him as he rampaged through the cupboards. She had not been there, when he came in.

“Fuck, Linda, don’t scare me like that.” He rubbed his chest, trying to calm his racing heart.

“A little jumpy, aren’t we? What were you looking for? You should know, the good stuff is not in here”, she joked.

“Ha ha, very funny. Actually I just need some ibu, but I still don’t get how you sort this stuff.” There was a tickle in his throat and he turned away to cough in the crook of his arm.

“That doesn’t sound too healthy, James.”

He shrugged his shoulders and she opened a door to his left taking a package from one of its upper shelves.

“Here you go.”

“Thank you.” It came out a little rough.

He took out one of the blisters, storing the rest again on the shelf.

He could feel Linda’s eyes on him, as he swallowed one of the pills.

“You know, we have tea and water just around the corner. I would even have brought you some, if you would have asked me.”

“That’s nice of you, thank you.”

He involuntarily rubbed his arms when a shiver ran through him.

Linda rose he left eye-brow. “Are you..”

Her question was interrupted by an emergency call from one of the patient rooms. She rolled her eyes, “I don’t know when the technicians will finally have repaired that damn bell”, but nevertheless went to take a look.

He stayed, waiting for the signal to stop, but the signal coming from room 207 was not cut off.

<i>Shit.</i

Of course he had been anticipating an emergency, but he was not really prepared, for what he found when he reached the room.

Linda was kneeling on the floor beside an elderly man, holding him to his side as blood was spraying from his mouth.

The bedsheets. The floor. Linda’s cloth.

Never before had he seen that much blood.

He was on his phone even before he had reached them: “Walters here, I have an emergency in room 207. We need the rescue team right away. Patient is puking up blood. Unconscious. Call the laboratory to bring us blood, and the endoscopy and the ICU to be on standby. We will be there as soon as we have him stabilized.”

He took over Linda’s position, while she ran to get the emergency kit.

<i> Patient in recovery position. Airways free.

Breathing: not steady but there, a little wet.

Recap: to slow. </i>

“I need some Jono, Linda! At least he still has an iv-access.”

“Shit, I think he just stopped breathing.”

“What?! No, no no. Turn him around. <i>1,2,3,4...</i>Get out the Ambu...<i>7,8,9,10</i>. Where is that fucking rescue team, we need more hands in here. ….<i>17,18,19,20</i>…alright, we can do this. Give me that Ambu bag and get me some epinephrine….28,29,30.”

<i>Two ventilations. Another cycle of CPR.</i>

“I have the epinephrine ready.”

“Okay, administer it, then get me another iv-access and another infusion”... <i>20,21,22</i>…

Sweat was dropping in his eyes, but there was no time to brush it way.

… <i>two more ventilations</i>…

“Call Lime or anyone you may reach.”

He heard her speaking on the phone, as he tried to concentrate on the situation.

<i>Infusion, epinephrine … fuck, fuck,fuck.</i>

“Linda! Get me the intubation kit!”

...<i>20,21</i>...

“Ready.”

… <i>25,26</i>...

“Okay, we need to switch. 28,29,30.”

She took over his position.

He had not intubated often before.

Opening the patient’s mouth, inserting the laryngoscope he searched for the epiglottis. There was blood everywhere, blocking his sight, but finally he found the right spot.

“Linda, stop!”

He inserted the tube and blocked its balloon, connected the Ambu.

Linda checked the position with a stethoscope as he gave two more ventilations.

Nodding she started the CPR again, while he secured the tube, so it would not get dislocated.

Just when he wanted to announce another switch, foot steps could be heard and finally the rescue team was there, with Lime only steps behind them and a nurse in training, carrying a box with blood preservations.

He stayed in his position as they took over, following the team leader's instructions, as they prepared the defibrillator, only letting go, when they decided to give the first shock, followed by the next CPR circle.

“...28,29,30…”

<i>Rhythm control. Sinus rhythm. Pulse control.</i>

“Well done, ladies and gentlemen. We have a return of circulation. Let’s get him back in bed, so we can bring him upstairs for intervention.”

He helped them towards the elevator, then stayed behind, as the doors closed.

“Wow. That was intense”, Lime said beside him.

“Mhm.”

“Congratulations, that was only your third intubation, wasn’t it?”

There was some ringing in his ears, as his adrenaline levels crashed. He rubbed against them, but the ringing only grew louder, as his vision started tunnelling.

“I need t’ sit down.”

“Yeah, I know how ...WOW! What the hell!”

Lime just barely managed to get a hold of him, as his knees buckled, stopping him from hitting the floor undamped, helping him down.

He was sitting with his back against the wall next to the elevator, his head on his knees, trying to get a hold of himself. Even in his sitting position he still felt faint.

Lime kneeled down beside him.

“Next time you could be a little more clear, when you’re trying to tell me your going to pass out.”

It should have been a joke, but just now he could not find any fun in it. His head hurt, his brain seemed to be made of jelly, he felt hot and cold, a patient in his care nearly had died, the fucking rescue team had taken its time and there was still blood everywhere along his arms and cloths.

He tried his best to suppress the sobs as tears started running down his face, but was not very successful.

“Hey, hey. Not need to cry. You did really well.” Lime’s hand landed on his dark curls, stroking down to rest on his shoulders. “Take a few deep breaths and then we will go and...” He stopped mid sentence, touching his neck left and right. “Fuck, I think you’re running a fever. Are you alright?”

He nodded, then shrugged and finally shook his head.

More tears streamed down his face and a sob forced itself from his throat. Lime laid an arm around his shoulder.

Visitors and patients were walking by, eyeing them suspiciously, as they sat side by side. Finally a nurse stopped.

“Do you need some help? Is he hurt?”

“No, just sick I guess. Maybe you could find me a wheelchair so we can get him out of public view.”

“Of course.” She changed directions and soon was back with the chair.

Together they helped him to sit down.

“Thanks, I think I have it from here.”

“No problem. Get him to take some rest. Bye, bye. Hope you feel better soon, Walt.”

On every other day he would have been embarrassed to be pushed along the corridors in a wheelchair, but he was out of it enough today, to barely realize it.

Lime brought him to the nurse’s station, pushing him to the back and into the rec room.

Linda and two other nurses jumped from their seats, as they stepped inside.

“James! What happened?”

“He fainted on me in the corridor. I think he’s running a fever. Could anyone get me a thermometer.”

“Here you go”, said Ella before she pushed the gadget inside his left ear.

“41,3 °C”, she announced when it beeped.

“You’re not doing anything by half, do you?”, Lime said.

He again only shrugged. It did not madder to him anymore. His head pounded and he only wished to lay down anywhere to get some rest.

“Joe, could you bring me some ibuprofen?”, Lime asked.

“Six hundred or eight hundred?”

“Eight.”

That rose him a little from his daze.

“Already took some.”

“In the morning?”

“No, he came to get some, mere seconds before the emergency occurred.”

“So that would be about an hour ago. Should actually have kicked in by then. How much did you drink today, Walt?”

He thought about it. The events of the day a little fuzzy.

“Two cups of coffee I think, ma’be three.”

“You know you doctors are pretty stupid sometimes, don’t you?”, Linda declared.

“Okay, change of plan then”, Lime said, ignoring her statement. “I need an iv-kit, five hundred millilitre of Jono, a bottle of water, a glass and one gram of paracetamol.”

“Per os or as short infusion.”

“Per os should just do fine.”

Lime picked out his phone, while the nurses went to get everything. He held it between his shoulder and ear, while he searched for a good vein. “Hi Ted, just wanted to tell you I need someone to cover me for an hour and someone for Walt for the rest of the day, while I take him home. ... No, no emergency, but he’s running a nice fever, probably the flu or something similarly nasty. … Okay. We wait for the meds to kick in, then we leave. I will switch my phone to yours, as soon as we leave and call you as soon as I’m back again. …. Yeah, I will tell him. Thanks for your help. … Bye.”

While he had spoken, he had managed to insert the iv-access and attached it with a patch. Linda gave him the iv-line and he connected it, starting the infusion.

“Ted wants me to tell you to get better soon”, Lime said. He turned towards the nurses. “I will just run and finish a few things before I take him home. Can you have an eye on him for me?”

They nodded and he left for the office.

He took the Benuron they gave him. Then they left to take care of their work, coming back now and then to make sure he was alright. He drifted in and out of sleep, resting his head on his arms on the table in front of him.

“Walt?” Someone gently shook his shoulder. “Walt, I need to take your temperature again.”

He lifted his head allowing Ella to reach his ear.

“38,7. Not great, but at least a little better.”

“Good enough for me”, Lime said. “I will take him home. Ted is in charge while we are gone. You may call him anytime.”

Ella disconnected him from the iv and pulled out the access, glueing a swab over the little hole it had left, so no blood would ooze from it.

“Ready to go?”, Lime asked. “Here, take your bag. I’m not sure if I found everything, but at least you’re mobile phone, your wallet and your keys are inside.”

He tried to get up, but Lime pushed him back down. “You stay seated. I will drive you to my car. I do not wish for you to split your head on the pavement outside.”

He felt his ears turning red. “Thanks.”

“No need for that. Just promise me you will be taking better care of yourself in the future.”

[canyourlawnmowerdothis]

Hi hello I would like to hear your Māori thoughts on Lizzie and Chip and any other character you hc as Māori :3

omg hi hi hi ok so i actually. dont have as many thoughts as id like to be ause im working with approx. three days of obsessive research on tatau months ago and its currently four in the morning when im starting this but i will tell you my thoughts on that for them bc ive put a lot of thought into it :D ← also this may be true but i Am a white american midwesterner, and this goes for like Everything but if i fuck smth up lmk 🙏 this is a culture + specific cultural practice i have a lot of admiration and respect for so i hope not to say any wack shit but if i do that was not the intention!! anyway this goes off my hc that theyre twins and that theyrw both transfem as well 👍 ok this is about to be long as hell sorry

since chip and lizzie got picked up on the black rose so early as kids they wouldn't have gotten a ton of time to properly learn about their culture. unless there were other fantasy pacific islanders on the black rose they wouldn't have had much if any connection to their home. i'm pretty sure they're both canonically glad to have been picked up, but missing what they could have had if they hadn't/if their life was better before is probably somewhere in the equation.

after the hole in the sea chip of course immediately set out to find arlin, but since lizzie's backstory is so vague i can do whatever i want MWAHAHA but ok so. once she had the means to, likely on someone else's ship before she had her own ship and crew, lizzie would have decided to make her way back to. fantasy polynesia? i wish we had a map of mana HSJDHS, but she would make her way back to learn what she wasn't able to as a kid. i think this is when she would have gotten her malu + manta ray done after a few months to a year of living there and going to different islands to learn as much as possible. the malu is a samoan tattoo, not māori, and i say this because i don't know if she would have made it back exactly to where they had been picked up, but she would have had to start somewhere. she ended up in a part of the islands that did things a bit differently, where she wasn't directly from there but her determination to come back and willingness to learn was respected. later once they were both out as trans, lizzie would tell chip that 1. she ended up figuring out more specifically where they were from and 2. that she had been meaning to get her moko kauae done and would chip like to come along too?

these tattoos are based so much on community role and the community that they're both mainly in is their ships, not their home or anywhere on land, so i think they'd likely be based on their role as captains. it probably isn't an uncommon practice to at least incorporate that considering how many pirates there are in mana, but it is uncommon for kids to have been taken away so young. lizzie has somewhat more of a foot in the game from visiting sometimes but the main basis is their crews.

i can't find my notes on it but i do have my designs for lizzie's tattoos - theyre on her chest, midriff, and legs respectively

ta da!! this is from a while ago and i apparently didnt design her moko kauae at the time but ill get to it soon. ok if i have more thoughts than that i dont know them right now its six in yhe morning i can talk about it more later