#seriously i could eat a whole batch by myself and be happy

[andreafmn]

Running In Circles - Chapter 3

Word Count: 1,854

Characters: Female Reader Rossi Character, Aaron Hotchner, David Rossi, Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid, Jennifer “JJ”Jareau, Emily Prentiss, Penelope Garcia

Story Description: (Y/N) Rossi is following in her father’s footsteps by joining the BAU team as a profiler. The girl genius knew almost everything but she could have never predicted falling for Aaron Hotchner, her boss and her father’s friend. in their world mutual feelings are not enough to push them together. Will all the adversities and obstacles they face pull them together or push them apart forever?

*DISCLAIMER* I do not own in any way Criminal Minds, all credits of the pre-established characters, script, and storyline belong to Jeff Davis and CBS Network. The only thing I own is Arden Rossi, any upcoming characters, and her storyline, as well as her effects in the others’ story line.

Chapter: 3/?

A/N: This is a short one. Just fully domestic fluff and it makes me very happy, but letting ya’ll know this happiness will be kinda short lived. If you enjoy my writing I’ll also be posting them in AO3 and Wattpad along with other stories (I also hope to start taking requests if ya’ll want) Hope you enjoy and all constructive criticism is encouraged.

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Chapter 3

“Okay, buddy, let’s see.” I looked at the instructions in my hands from the fort kit I had purchased. It seemed simple enough and something Jack would enjoy inmmensly. “Let’s do this.”

“Yeah!” Jack exclaimed. Hotch laughed from the kitchen, insisting he had to at least cook some dinner. In the oven were the batch of brownies I had put in 10 minutes ago. It took about 30 minutes to finish the fort and the look on Jack’s face was priceless. Then he spent 10 minutes perusing my movie collection until he finally landed on Toy Story, once again. 

“Well, dinner’s ready,” Hotch announced, bringing a tray with three plates of spaghetti to the fort.

“Daddy, daddy! Look at the fort!” Jack jumped up and down. It was a simple square base, big enough for three people and a triangle top. We covered it with thin sheets and hung wire twinkle lights on the top. Jack had run to my linen closet and gotten a thick comforter to lay on the floor, as well as most of the pillow that laid on my couch. He also arranged a couple of his plush toys in there to keep us company, as he put it. 

“I see it, buddy. It looks great!” Hotch smiled brightly. “Now, what do we say?”

“Thank you, (Y/N)!”

“No problem, little man,” I smiled. “How about you invite your dad inside so we can eat some spaghetti?”

“Yes! Come on, dad!”

Hotch sat down next to me and passed a plate to Jack and me, putting a napkin on his son’s collar. The small kid smiled at his dad and dug into his plate without another thought, the sound of the movie filling in the background. 

“You know,” I mused. “It was pretty bold of you to cook spaghetti for an Italian.”

“Right,” he chuckled. “Well, I hope it’s good.”

I smiled and took a bite of the noodles. Hotch stared expectantly to see if he passed the Italian test. I chewed slowly, dragging the process along, until finally giving him a thumbs up. Hotch sighed and smiled before digging into his own plate.

After finishing the pasta, I took the three plates to the kitchen and served three plates of brownie with ice cream for me and the Hotchner duo. When those plates were empty, Jack laid his head on my lap and his feet on his dad’s and watched the movie. An hour and a half later, the blonde boy was softly snoring and peacefully sleeping.

“Looks like the little man ran out of juice,” I said as I ran my hand through his soft hair. “I think we should take him up to the guest room.”

Hotch softly placed his hand under Jack’s arms and carried him up the stairs to the first door on the right, careful not to wake the tired child. I pulled the sheets away and Hotch laid the kid on the bed. I left the room to let Hotch change Jack into his pajamas and went downstairs to clean up and pack away the fort for Jack to take home.

“Thank you, (Y/N),” I jumped at the sound of Hotch’s voice and he laughed. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay, and don’t mention it.” I sat down next to him on the island. “Whatever you need, seriously, I’m here.”

He smiled and engulfed me in a hug; time slowed down. For a moment, just for a moment, it was only us. There was no hurting, no unspoken emotions, nothing. I breathed in his scent and took in the warmth coming from the closeness of his body to mine. He relaxed into me and let himself be human for a change. 

All good things come to an end.

“Well, it’s getting late,” I said breaking the hug and clearing my throat. “Um, there’s towels in the guest bedroom closet and extra blankets just in case it gets too cold during the night.”

“Great, I’ll see you in the morning, then. Good night, (y/n).”

“Good night, Hotch.” I smiled and waited for his figure to disappear in the stairs before opening the doors leading to my backyard. I breathed in deeply and tried to easy my heartbeat.

“What are you doing, (Y/N)?” I whispered to myself.

I spent the night tossing and turning, trying my best to not think that the man I liked was sleeping just a hallway away. Before I knew it, the sun was peeking in through my bedroom window, announcing that I had wasted a whole night of sleep inside my head. 

So, I got up and went downstairs to work on breakfast. Eggs, bacon, pancakes, toast, the works. I put a pot of coffee to brew and took out some toppings for the pancakes. As I was finishing with the bacon, I heard tiny feet running down the staircase.

“Morning, (Y/N)!” Jack exclaimed, hugging my waist since it was as high as he could reach. 

“Hey, little man,” I said ruffling his hair. “Wanna help me set the table?”

He nodded and grabbed the forks I was holding, placing them rapidly next to the three plates that were already on the round table.

“Jack, where’s dad?” I questioned.

“He’s still sleeping.” He shrugged.

“I have an idea, little man. How about we wake him up with some silly string?”

“What’s silly string?” My mouth dropped. I headed to the hallway closet and took out two cans of silly string.

“This, buddy, is silly string,” I presented the can. “You press the button here down and string comes out.”

“Like this?” Jack asked as a string of green plastic was expelled from the can. He shrieked gleefully and his excitement grew as he saw the grin on my face.

“Just like that, bud. Let’s go wake up dad.” 

He nodded excitedly and we walked up the stairs quietly. Once we reached the door, I turned the doorknob slowly and instructed Jack to go jump on the bed to surprise his dad. He smiled at me and when the door was completely open, he ran up to the bed and jumped.

When Hotch’s eyes shot open, Jack and I pressed the cans and shot silly string all over Hotch.

“Good morning, daddy!” Jack screamed as he flung the can around. Definitely a mess I’d have to clean later but very worth it at the moment.

“Morning, Jack!” The older man said as he brought his kid down tickling him slightly. “Is it safe to assume this was your idea, (Y/N)?”

“Yes, sir. It is,” I responded between laughs. “We have a very strict protocol in this household when it comes to wake up calls.” 

“That’s a very effective wake up call.” Hotch smiled.

“Well, now that we’re all up, we can eat some breakfast,” I said. “There’s some chocolate chip pancakes for you, little man.”

“Yes!” He excitedly left the room and ran downstairs.

“And there’s coffee, too.” I smiled and Hotch got up to join us downstairs.

“(Y/N), thank you.” Hotch said as he stood on the doorstep ready to go home. “This is exactly what Jack and I needed, and I have no idea how I’ll ever be able to make it up to you.”

“Hotch, there’s absolutely no need.” I laid a hand on his arm, giving it a squeeze for reassurance. “I meant it when I said I’d always be here for you both. Whatever it is you need.”

Hotch smiled and left with an ‘I’ll see you at work’, and a Jack frantically waving from the backseat.

And that’s how our sleepovers started. Most of the times we had days off Hotch would come over and we’d build a fort with Jack and watch movies or played games. On hot days, we’d play around in the pool. Sometimes with the squad, but more often than not, just the three of us. If ever he needed it, I would take care of Jack so he could have a day to himself. These nights were happening so often, I transformed one of the guest rooms into a room for Jack. Hotch started leaving some of Jack’s clothes and toys. My house started becoming a second home for the Hotchner boys.

Slowly we grew closer and closer as friends, even if I wanted more. His friendship was too important for me to lose what we already had.

Back at work, it was business as usual. The team was none the wiser, but they could see that our relationship had gotten closer. JJ would always give me a smirk when she saw us hugging in his office, Derek would wiggle his eyebrows at me, and Penelope would silently squeal and flail her arms whenever she saw us in proximity.

Today was no different. Reid, Emily, Derek, and I were in the briefing room each stirring their wanted sugars and creams into the coffees I had brought in the morning. Reid quickly examining the box of donuts I had also brought along to pick the best one.

“Come on, baby girl,” Derek chuckled. “What’s going on between you and the boss man?”

“Well, Derek, if you must know,” I played along. The trio closed in as I pretended to look around for any eavesdropping ears. “Absolutely nothing. We’re just friends.”

“Come on, (Y/N),” Emily responded annoyed. “There has to be something. Friends don’t look at each other the way you both do.”

“My dearest Emily, I’m serious. I’ve just tried to be there for him in these very difficult times.” I sipped my coffee. “And I very much enjoy Jack’s company.”

“You know,” Spencer chimed in. “Oxytocin and dopamine, which are often referred to as the love hormones, affect pupil size. The brain gets a surge of these chemicals when you’re sexually or romantically attracted to someone. This boost of hormones causes pupils to dilate. So, really, if we wanted to know if something was happening all we have to do is pay attention to their eyes.”

“Thank you, Spence.” I laughed. “Now I’m gonna have to use sunglasses everywhere.”

“So that means there is something to look out for!” Emily chirped.

“No,” I cleared my throat. “It means that I don’t want to be stared at all the time by profilers, thank you very much.”

“Whatever you say, (Y/N), whatever you say.” Emily laughed.

After that, playful side eyes and nudges were implemented to our daily routine. They’d smirk whenever Hotch praised me and stared whenever he was even remotely close to me. At first it was funny, but it made me extremely nervous to think that Hotch could catch on. Although, it had been a couple of months with this behavior and thankfully, the unit chief had yet to figure it out, as oblivious to our teammates’ behavior as he was to my feelings for him.

Our friendship continued to flourish and strengthen as I pushed my feelings down in an effort to forget about them. It did not do me any good but, if this was the only way to keep him close, I would endure it.

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Tag: @ssamorganhotchner

[kakashiswilloffire]

hiiiii. congratulations on 200 followers! you deserve so many more and i can’t wait to see your blog grow & grow & grow.

If it’s still available, i’d love to see perfect for you with kakashi.

thank you so much & congratulations again! 💕

thank you so much!! this was so much fun to write and i hope you love it!!

perfect for you

ao3 & song

words: 1.2k

warnings: marijuana use

It was not often you could convince Kakashi to get high. Though he would never confirm it, you were at least a hundred and ten percent certain that he was in ANBU, and ninety-eight percent sure he was the operative called Hound. If he wasn't, you'd have one more missed opportunity to blame on Hiruzen. Because of how often he needed to be on call and mission-ready, he rarely consumed sake, let alone recreational drugs. But there comes a point in every shinobi's career that sparked mixed opinions: mandatory paid time off.

You were firmly pro time off, especially for your workaholic boyfriend who took every mission he was physically qualified and available to take. He was always gone on one A rank or another, and several that you suspected were actually S rank. In fairness, you were also frequently out of the village on your own missions. But you had saved your time off until Kakashi had been forced to take his, and you now had a full week together at an onsen outside of the Leaf, and had made it clear you were not to be contacted.

You both laid on a mound of pillows, your head on his chest as you basked in the after-dinner glow. The miso soup followed by a selection of sushi was exactly what you needed. The luxury and comfort of your solitude and privacy together, in a room with no windows on an upper floor, meant that Kakashi was able to eat in front of you without rushing to replace his mask. A few kisses had kept him out of it. Then there was the small pipe you had packed and lit and were passing off to him.

You reminded him quickly how to pull, making sure he covered the small hole with his thumb, and had him take a couple of shallow, experimental breaths. He got his short coughing fit out of the way, then began smoking with you in earnest.

It didn't take long for him to feel the effects, melting into the blanket beneath him and cracking a lazy grin. You made sure to limit yourself, prepared to babysit him if necessary, relishing his fall into relaxation.

He started with scrunching his fist over and over, the grin growing as he felt the spark and glow spread across his body. He rolled over, propping himself up on his elbows and reached out to you, ghosting his fingers across your jaw, thumb hovering over your lips. You popped your mouth open just enough to lick the tip of it, causing him to jerk back and giggle. God, if his giggle was the last sound you heard, you’d die happy.

You both continued like this for a few minutes, letting him explore his modified senses as he settled in to the high.

“Konoha’s shinobi structure is shit.”

You paused, confused what prompted Kakashi to offer that recognition so suddenly.

“Hiruzen is borderline incompetent sometimes. And, the pollution in the Nara river is at an all time high, and I’m not sure what Danzo is doing with the Foundation, he approached me about it last year and I shut him down, remember? The newest batch of academy students have all the major clan heads and right now they’re not showing any promise. Also, there’s so much litter? Like all over the village?”

You chuckled hesitantly, not sure why he had chosen now to start analyzing flaws in the Hidden Leaf. “Kakashi, that’s true, and I hear you, but—”

He rolled over again, sitting up and grabbing you by one shoulder. “I’m trying to tell you I love you.”

What?

It had been almost eight months since you had gotten together, and you had both made it clear that there was no pressure to say “love”. Sure, there had been some hope that the romantic atmosphere of this trip away might lead to the right moment for you both to confess some feelings, but like this?

Before you could say anything else, your boyfriend continued his tirade.

“We’re still dealing with the fallout of the Third Great Ninja War, and there’s always rumors of the Fourth. Then the kyuubi attack, and Minato-sensei, Kushina-sensei, all the civilians lost— and the fucking environment! Did you know this summer was the hottest on record Konoha’s ever had?”

You took the hand Kakashi was gesturing with and held it between both of yours, lowering your head slightly to give him a firm look. “This is one fucked up seduction, ‘Kashi.”

He shook his head, twisting his hand around to hold yours.

“I’m just one person and it doesn’t matter how many missions I take, I can’t save the world by myself. The more I travel, the more issues I see, and there’s already so many problems at home. The whole planet is kind of fucked. But, I know that there’s still hope, because this disaster of an existence managed to give me you.”

He hooked a hand around your ear, his thumb brushing your cheek as he continued and his warm palm holding lightly to your jaw.

“Babe, I could be perfect for you. I mean, I know I come off as lazy and don’t have many friends, not the way Asuma does, but Gai tries, and you try, God, you try so hard to bring me out of my head—” He paused, a cough catching him off guard. “And I’m a bit of a stoner,” he grinned, gesturing at the pipe you had brought along, and you giggled together, rolling your eyes at him.

Kakashi took a breath, focusing in on you with deadly seriousness. “Despite all my faults, I’ll make myself perfect for you, if nothing else. I mean, you’ve done more for me than I could ever dream of asking anyone. You eat my tempura and you order extra miso for me, just to start.”

You shook your head, letting a warm laugh spill from your lips. “You’re something else, Kakashi. I’m just a shinobi, just like you. Not nearly as brave as you are.”

He squeezed your hand in his, bringing you into his reality. “Fuck that. You’re incredible. You’re so creative in how you strategize, and you’re so kind and smart and strong. My dad would love you.” You took the compliments, swallowing down the urge to downplay yourself.

“I can’t fix what’s fucked up. But I know that you’re not, and that we’re not. Everything else in the world can turn to shit tomorrow, but I know that we’d still be here, we’d still be okay. I love you, babe.” He leaned forward, wrapping you in a firm embrace, though still a bit clumsy. You kissed him, trying to pack as much love in between you as you could in the short span.

“I can be perfect for you, too, Kakashi,” you finally whispered when you pulled back, pressing your forehead to his.

He grinned, running his hand through your hair and down your spine, settling around your waist. “Let’s be perfect together, okay?”

[a-lil-perspective]

I have been silent for some time now. I have refrained from exhibiting any plaguing thoughts that might warrant me the label of “that person”, but I’m at the point where I’ve had my fill.

Ramble under the cut so as to not... offend or inconvenience anyone. There’s absolutely no obligation to read this. It’s Tumblr. You can block/ignore me. The option to do so is readily accessible.

I’ve been a Bad Batch fan since day one. While I didn’t start creating that very same day, it was relatively close. Point being, I’m a long-time dedicated fan. As the premiere to their series draws closer, I feel like there is going to be a great shift, rift here. That being said, I figured now is as good a time as any to make this post.

I love those boys beyond words. They’ve been the one constant in my life amidst a rapid and debilitating change. I love getting to give them life, even if my interpretations aren’t the most accurate.

Yes, I am a new Writer and yes, I am new to Tumblr, as I am sure both of those things are painfully apparent.

I get that it is impossible to please everyone. It’s something I’m learning more and more with each passing day. It’s something that gets harder to swallow, even more so.

I’d like to say that being here has been a largely positive experience, with all of these great connections and opportunities. But honestly? It’s been more isolating than anything. I’ve actually never felt more isolated than since I joined a year ago.

As a content creator or even just a general blogger, I don’t ask for much. I don’t ask for anything, in fact. I consider myself very low maintenance. I don’t demand/harass/play the martyr for reblogs. I have never mentioned it once, and never will. Some people on here are so damn passive-aggressive about it, and quite frankly, it’s embarrassing. It’s very stigmatizing. While I completely understand the frustration surrounding the like-to-reblog ratio, I think it’s neither tasteful nor reputable to threaten to call people out for not reblogging your fics. I wish I could say I was joking on that one. But I’ve seen it profoundly. Not cool.

And yet, no one says anything or raises any concern there.

Yet I make metas, harmless rambles, and I get shot down? Seriously?

—I need to “chill”, it’s “overkill”, I’m “overthinking”. I and my content are apparently just so damn arduous to interact with.

If you don’t like me, please just move on. There are plenty of other Bad Batch creators for you to enjoy. You know that. My work is absolutely not the final say, and I’ve never claimed it to be.

What is so wrong, with sharing one’s thoughts? Why do people inherently have a problem with other’s creative efforts? I see it time over again. Why do I feel like if I was making a bunch of smutty posts it wouldn’t be as much of a problem, that it in fact would be infinitely more welcome? (Absolutely NO shade to people who create smut, okay? I’ve made my own share. I admire those bold enough to do so regularly. I absolutely love them. Please teach me your ways).

This ramble really has nothing to do with the most recent event regarding my contributions. Rather, it’s a culmination of experiences over the past several months that have brewed and festered to the point where I can no longer keep downplaying it.

Social media, at its core, is one big popularity contest. It always has been, it always will be. But I’m not here to win. That’s never been my objective. That’s not what I’m about. Surprise (or not), I am not a popular blog. Not by a long shot. I’ll never claim otherwise.

I don’t ask people to view/interact with my content, I’m not an activist, I can’t even fathom exuding that kind of confidence. Even though I, admittedly, crave it. I suspect I crave interaction as much as the next creator. It’s a nice feeling. Yet there’s never been any obligation for it, especially with me, so I don’t understand what the problem is. As I’ve said, there are ample ways for you to block/avoid me. It’s the internet. In this day and age, there’s no excuse for viewing anything you don’t want to.

I came here in the hopes of finding like-minded individuals, uplifting and interacting, and exercising some otherwise stunted creativity.

All Tumblr as taught me is that creating and contributing is largely a thankless, empty endeavor. You can give and give and give and be reduced to nothing. There’s a profound imbalance between “giving” and “receiving”, and in regards to both ends of the scale, it’s became apparent to me that if you don’t cater heavily and in unreasonable degrees or get “noticed” by a popular blog, you get nothing, and your efforts are null and void.

Truthfully? I constantly feel like I walk on eggshells here, and it’s all I can do to not crack under the pressure, even though it’s my blog and my headspace. I should feel comfortable and free to express myself here, and I don’t, and I’m unsure of how to achieve that sense of stability. To be completely honestly I feel like a constant bother and a nuisance. When I post, I literally feel like there is a collective eye-roll that comes with people receiving a notification from my blog. Even though I know, rationally, that can’t be true, that’s an absurd level of thinking. I can’t say I can pinpoint exactly where it stems from.

But regardless: I hardly ever talk about/create the things I actually want. I only recently just got ballsy enough to share some metas, and we all know how well that’s going. I try not to have smut out of respect for my asexual/minor mutuals, even though the tag to blacklist is very much an option. I try not to bring up conflicting topics, Tumblr, political, or otherwise, even though with proper tagging I could. But I try not to even bring that into existence. Even though it’s my right to, I don’t.

I don’t actually feel like I fit into any narrative here, especially in the Bad Batch fandom; even though we are all basically the same steadfast group of bloggers. We all know who we are. We all coexist in the same space. It’s nearly impossible to be unaware of each other, at this point.

And yet, I’m not in a bunch of Discord servers or backed by a team of beta readers and all that jazz. It’s basically just me talking to myself out here. It’s very isolating.

Part of that—most of it—is my own crippling social anxiety, and the genuine belief that I don’t deserve to be in the same space/servers as all of these brilliant creators. Because I’m just me, and there’s not a whole lot of value there. With that mindset, it’s hard to actually feel like I belong anywhere. I know that is a mindset I have to conquer alone.

My excitement over my creations has largely dwindled into nothing. I seldom ever bounce my ideas off of others—another issue that stems from the fear of presenting as a burden—and even though I try to write for myself, even that fire has pretty much died out. I’m not even sure how or if I could even reignite it, at this point. It’s really quite sad. It makes me very sad, actually. All I wanted was to safely ramble, project all my thoughts and creativity that has otherwise been repressed through prolonged detrimental circumstances.

More than anything, I wanted to find and hold onto something that makes me feel useful, meaningful, happy. More and more I wonder if that’s even possible. I don’t think it is, not here. I often wonder if joining and sharing on Tumblr was a horrible mistake. I miss the innocent joy of when I first started creating. It was so simple. I’m trying to find that simplicity again.

But I’m burned out. I’m running on fumes. I have been for some time.

At this point it goes beyond just “taking a break” from Tumblr. It’s the fact that it all feels like this meaningless, monotonous cycle. I wonder every day if I am an isolated case in experiencing these emotions.

And yet, come tomorrow I will still be here, business as usual.

I’m not asking for sympathy or playing the victim or attacking anyone or trying to guilt-trip into more interaction. I am very aware of my shortcomings and incorrect mindsets. I’m just trying to make sense of it all. I feel very disconnected from everyone here and it’s lonely. This took a lot for me to share. I will most likely delete this because anxiety will eat me up, as it does with everything I post. Yes, everything.

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 2

Rating: Explicit. 18+

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it’s own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV.

Summary: You’re Peter’s classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don’t know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you’re lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Bad girls are sad girls! Always wondered what goes through the mind of a spoiled, rich but intelligent and perceptive teenager? Have you found yourself craving that adrenaline rush, the danger of a forbidden fruit? Okay. That was cheesy as hell. Gross.

Let’s try again. Sarcasm? Check. Vine references? Hell yes! Crude humour? Check. Blunt honesty? Double check. We’re living in a Lana del Rey song, ladies.

The author doesn’t actually condone codependent relationships in real life. This is a filthy little fantasy. Enjoy, deviants.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @vozit​ @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings​

Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings  ! She deserves all the love 💙

Peter woke me up at eight AM the next morning like the little shit that he was, demanding I make him pancakes. It wasn’t the first time I’ve had the joy to experience him in the morning and he knew exactly how to antagonise me enough to make him the special pancakes he liked so much. They had become kind of a ritual whenever he stayed over at my house, which was quite often - teachers liked me enough to pair me up with one of the most sensible kids for any projects that couldn’t be done alone by yours truly on her own.

I put on my yesterday’s dress, applied moisturizer and obediently trotted behind an excitedly mumbling Peter. The kitchen was large, beautiful and delightfully empty of any resident superheroes. I’ve indirectly crossed paths with all of the tower’s residents hanging around Tony, but I’ve yet had to speak more than polite niceties to any of them. 

Spying a bowl of boiled eggs and some sort of weird salad alongside half burned toast on the counter, I suddenly understood why Peter demanded his pancakes. I strictly instructed the disaster child to stay away from my cooking process and set to work with one ear listening to his ramblings and a headphone in the other. 

A set of thumping footsteps appeared behind me as I was pouring the batter for the first pancake. Their owner loudly sat down next to Peter, sighing, groaning, generally making “I’m not a morning person” sounds.

“Good morning, Mr. Barnes,” Peter’s tone was way, way too chipper.

“‘mrng,” The Sergeant grumbled. “Who’s this and why is she making pancakes?”

I turned around, spatula at the ready. “It’s me,” We’ve actually met before, but Barnes had left before I could even come over from my side of the work bench to say hello.

He nodded in acknowledgement after giving me a suspicious once-over. “One of Stark’s science children. I’m James but you can call me Bucky,” His voice sounded rough and gravely, and he clutched a coffee cup half the size of my head.

I snorted. “Science child, sure,” It wasn’t half-bad actually. I wisely choose to ignore the part of being Tony’s. No matter how hot the man was, I wasn’t anybody’s but my own, thank you very much. “Go get the bananas, Nutella and maple syrup, fellow science child.”

Peter scrambled to follow instructions as I plated the pancakes and cut the bananas into neat little rings to fill the sweet circles with. A tablespoon of Nutella, half a sliced banana, wrap, garnish with powdered sugar and pour maple syrup generously on top. I really didn’t see how this could be difficult but any and all attempts to teach Peter how to recreate my masterpiece always ended up in an absolute mess. I turned around to ask Bucky if he wanted any. The look of a man starved answered all my questions.

“You’re a goddess,” Peter moaned around his mouthful, nose smudged white with the powdered sugar.

“Gross, chew first then talk, you neanderthal,” I scoffed, prepping more batter for the second batch of pancakes. I wasn’t sure if everybody would show up but figured it would be rude to exclude them from the sheer magnificence that were my pancakes. I was just that good.

The music in my ear drowned most of Peter’s disgusting chewing noises, thankfully. My second batch vanished into thin air, inhaled by the two males like the garbage disposals that they were. Peter, in particular, ate an alarming quantity of food and I was surprised how he managed to stay so skinny. His daily eating schedule resembled the Hobbits.

More people appeared, this time acting less surprised regarding me standing at the stove. Hawkeye, Black Widow, Scarlet Witch and her brother, all of them wandered in wearing sleep attire with various amusing prints. Thankfully, they mostly kept quiet or chatted with Peter - I would have definitely grumbled if someone tried to talk to me. As far as my body was concerned it was still the middle of the night.

“PANCAKES,” A booming voice announced and I shuddered at the sheer intensity and devotion contained in that one word. Thor.

“Please use your indoor voice,” I snapped reflectively. My brain caught up with what I just did so I hastily backtracked. “Sorry, I’m a bitch in the mornings.”

The blonde man chuckled, coming over to poke his nose into my flurry of pour-flip-fill sequence. Then, with all the grace and manners of a prince, he dipped one (1) large finger into the jar of Nutella and wandered off with it stuck in his mouth. With this turn of events the Nutella was bound to run out sooner than expected.

I turned around, annoyed confusion in plain sight. “The fuck?.. That’s gross, don’t do that,” Finding his brother (adopted!) sitting next to Thor, wearing a haughty smirk, finger still in his mouth. So Loki turned into his brother to steal Nutella from a jar. I sighed. Nobody even batted an eye. “Your alien germs are in there now, double ew.”

“Alien germs? Where?” Bruce entered the kitchen with a tablet under his arm, wearing Hulk themed pajamas, Captain America in tow. I was honestly on the verge of breaking down into hysterical laughter. Domestic Avengers wasn’t something I’d expected to see or experience, ever, much less be a part of. It took a moment for me to remind myself that they were people, too, and each of them was entitled to their own quirks. 

“America, egg-splain,” Peter muttered under his breath, giggling. “Loki stuck his hand in the Nutella jar,” He pointed at said jar. “She got grumpy,” Peter pointed at me. “Don’t make her grumpy, please, I want more pancakes,” And turned his pleading puppy eyes in my direction again.

“This is indentured servitude,” I pointed my spatula at the little shit. “You just had, like, ten.” But I made more batter nonetheless. I must admit it was kind of cool, seeing the earth’s mightiest defenders so relaxed. And Pete being happy, that was just… The best. I don’t know how to explain it. His eternal cheerfulness was highly contagious.

Chuckles filled up the room, the adults chatting and bickering amongst themselves while they patiently waited for their own breakfast. 

“Do you need some help?” Bruce approached me after stopping to fetch himself a cup of tea. It smelled strongly of tangy herbs and honey.

“I need more Nutella and bananas,” I admitted, surveying the sheer amount of people I had to feed. I didn’t doubt the Captain and two Asgardians had an appetite to match Peter’s which meant a literal extra set of condiments was required. Thankfully, Bruce fetched them for me, coming to a stop next to me. “Anything else?”

“You know, I tried making these with Peter and he just ended up with powdered sugar and chocolate all over himself,” I mused, noting the way Banner was carefully observing the assembly of a pancake. “You think Doctor seven-phds can manage to add a few toppings to a pancake without causing a disaster?“ 

Bruce rolled his eyes fondly, bumping me with his hip. "I’m no Clint Barton when it comes to cooking but at least I don’t burn my toast like Steve,” True to his word, his hands made swift motions of filling, wrapping and plating each individual pancake. They were almost as good as mine albeit more messy. I had lots of practice though. We finished off a batch in companionable silence, sounds of the team and my music playing in the background. 

I didn’t notice when I started swaying to the rhythm, catching a confused look from Bruce. I brushed back my hair, revealing a wireless headphone in my ear and he chuckled in understanding. “What are you listening to?”

“Right now? Kings of Leon,” I said, leaning towards him so he could hear the chorus “Use Somebody” currently occupying my right ear. 

“I like them, too,” He said, his cheek gently touching mine. His hands slowed on the pancake, a soft hum vaguely reminding me of the song’s melody emanating from his throat. “What else do you usually listen to?”

“Mostly heavier stuff, but I have a whole separate playlist dedicated to mid-2000s bops,” I answered. “I’ve heard I’m quite old school when it comes to music.”

“Well, I am an old man, so…” Bruce grinned mischievously. “But my guilty pleasure is Lady Gaga,” He admitted with a laugh.

I laughed, too. The image of his dancing in his lab to Born This Way was too much for my brain and I hung my head, fighting giggles. Bruce bumped me with his hip again, faking a pout. “Okay, okay, that was a fucking hilarious image, you go dude,” I finally powered through my struggle to contain laughter. “My own guilty pleasure would be… Umm… Lana Del Rey, I guess.”

Bruce made a vague noise of confusion. I took a brief break from mixing the batter to dig out my second headphone, presenting it to him and switching to a song. “This is what makes us girls”. Despite the fact I have never stolen a car or had a close female friend, the nostalgia was real. “Carmen” followed after the first song and I silently thanked whatever deity that “You can be the boss” was taken out of Spotify - I don’t think I was prepared to share that kind of information with a lab partner. An older, handsome lab partner. Wait… Where did that come from?

“I like it,” He said after the song ended and my more usual stuff began playing. “It suits you, I think.”

I groaned. “Really? I think it’s edgy,” Hiding away the embarrassment, I passed him a tray of freshly baked pancakes, occupying his immediate attention.

“You’re an old soul,” He gave me a lopsided smile. I saw a very faint blush tinting his cheeks, the kind of blush that had me wondering about the meaning behind his words. 

I gave an attempt at a smile in response, the left corner of my mouth barely tilting up. We talked some more about the rock music we shared in our earphones. I had a lot of 80s hair metal and 90s grunge in my playlist. Bruce was not a Curt Cobain man but enjoyed the works of his legacy, Marcy Playground. 

A tan hand wormed its way between me and Bruce, snatching a handful of banana slices and disappeared just as swiftly. “Tonyyy,” Bruce groaned, picking up another banana to replace the stolen pieces.

The spatula in my hand became a weapon as I blindly aimed at the target behind my back. A loud “ow” indicated I hit it. When I turned around, Tony was clutching the side of his face, a hurt look in his eyes and cheeks stuffed full of stolen goods. I stared him square in the face, absolutely refusing to acknowledge the fact that he was shirtless - the arc reactor glowed brightly in the middle of his toned chest. Fuck.

His chest was honestly what I was aiming for. I constantly kept forgetting how short he actually was. There was this one time when Tony had to put his arms around me to steady a piece of tech - he felt huge, hard and enormous around me. 

“What’s that for, Princess?” He finally chewed through his food and found his voice.

“For being a Tony,” I retorted. “Stay away from my workspace and wait for your breakfast like everybody else.”

“Hey! This is my kitchen,” He whined immediately, like the adult man that he was. I nearly cried from how adorable his face became, eyebrows scrunched up. “I don’t want to wait! And why does he,” Tony’s finger accusingly pointed at Bruce, “Get the bananas?!”

“Because he’s Brucie-bear,” I stuck my nose up in the air when Bruce’s arm wrapped around my waist. “He’s my science father,” I stuck my tongue out at Tony, seeing Bruce’s triumphant smile. Banner used every opportunity to get back at Tony’s incessant sass. 

The gleaming in Tony’s eyes should have alarmed me. “But he’s not your science daddy,” Tony’s flirting was accompanied by a salacious eyebrow wiggle and Peter’s screech of “OH MY GOD!" 

It took me every ounce of willpower to not flush. It was one of those rare times that I was at a complete loss of words. Thinking on the spot, I gave a very meaningful look to Bruce - thankfully, he got the gist and returned an equally filthy smirk back. Tony gaped.

"Is this how they are in the lab?” The Captain’s quiet voice leaked horrified amusement.

“All.The.Time.” Peter’s resonating groan was followed by Romanoff’s laughter.

We went up to the lab after breakfast. Thankfully Tony stopped his dramatic bitching when I served him my pancakes, scarfing them down much like everybody else. So me and Pete were accompanied by one (1) happy engineer, all three of us tinkering away on a robot that we were supposed to present in our science class in a month. The focus that was required to solder was immense and our usual banter was missing, replaced by an occasional request for a specific tool or a water bottle.

It took a few hours to get the dirty job done even with Tony’s help (technically he wasn’t supposed to but neither me nor Pete had the heart to forbid him from it when the man looked so content and happy soldering away). By the time I uncurled from my spot on the bench, my back was in knots and my dress had oil stains and holes all over it. I immediately went to the nearest water bottle, finishing half of it in seconds, picking up my phone to see if I had any important messages from my mother.

None.

Just a message from Bruce.

I tapped on my phone, idly scrolling through the Instagram app, liking some pictures of people I barely knew and keeping up a general appearance of being very busy. When the ringtone started playing, it took me a whole five seconds to understand it was, in fact, coming from my phone - I certainly wouldn’t put something so… Outrageous as my main tone.

Banner had discovered the power of the internet. You Can Be The Boss played loudly, and it played from my phone and Bruce was calling me. I picked it up, turning around, fighting the incoming laughter. “Yes, Brucie?" 

To say that Tony’s and Peter’s faces were scandalised was nothing. The boy’s face was such a deep shade of red, I started worrying about his blood pressure and Tony’s mouth hung open limply, like he was witnessing the second coming of Christ. 

"Is Tony sufficiently traumatized?” Judging by the breathless tone of his voice, Banner was resisting a mighty laughing fit of his own.

“Oh, absolutely,” I happily chirped.

“Good, keep it up. Come to my lab before you leave,” Banner snorted and then, realising what he’d done, promptly hung up, the tell-tale beginning of a giggle fit abruptly interrupted by a dial tone.

I put the phone in my bag, gathering the rest of my things with a look somewhere between innocence and indifference. At least, I hoped it was - my mind kept jumping between the engineer’s ridiculously scandalised face and the way his mouth went slack, lips moist and soft and plush. That’s a very dangerous trail.

A very dangerous trail I couldn’t resist exploring in the solitude and privacy of my own bedroom, at home.

[lilyvandersteen]

The Christmas Guest Chapter 10

Author’s Note: Here’s Blaine’s point of view of the kiss and what comes after. Fluff galore. Enjoy!

Read Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4 and Chapter 5, the Interlude, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8 and Chapter 9 here on Tumblr, or read the story on AO3 or FF.net.

Chapter 10: Part of the Family

As soon as Blaine’s lips touched Kurt’s, he felt Kurt freeze for a moment, but just when he wanted to draw back and apologize, Kurt let out the softest sigh and melted against him. He also started kissing back, and held Blaine as if he’d never let go again. It made Blaine completely forget where he was and why. All that existed was Kurt, and how he felt, and how he tasted, and how he made Blaine’s head whirl with the simplest touch.

Blaine had no idea how much time had passed when the two of them were jolted apart by another party-goer, but it was not nearly long enough. He blinked hazily at Kurt, who looked as kiss-drunk as Blaine felt, and then at the people around them, who were… counting?

Oh. Right. New Year. Oh, brilliant, then we can kiss some more!

As soon as everybody started yelling Happy New Year, Blaine kissed Kurt again, reveling in the fact that he could, and that Kurt seemed to welcome his attentions. They needed to talk about this, yes, but first… First, he was going to enjoy this!

Again, he had to stop before he was ready to, this time because one of Kurt’s friends took offence to their PDA. They were quickly defended by Kurt’s other friends, but Blaine could tell Kurt felt uncomfortable, so he didn’t protest when Kurt wanted to go home, though he was a bit apprehensive about the conversation they would be having once they were back in Kurt’s room. Had he overstepped Kurt’s boundaries without realizing? Had Kurt only kissed back to keep up appearances? Surely, Blaine couldn’t have misread the situation that badly?

He chanced a quick glance at Kurt, who hadn’t said a word since they left the party, but his face was unreadable. He was shivering, though, and at once, Blaine’s preoccupations flew out of his head and he only thought of warming up Kurt.

In thanks for his efforts, Kurt sent him a glowing smile, which kept Blaine going until they were back in Kurt’s bedroom, putting their pajamas on, still in silence. By the time Blaine slipped into bed, his skin was skittering with all the feelings and words cooped up inside of him. As he cuddled up to Kurt, he couldn’t keep it all in anymore, and he burst out into an apology – right at the same time as Kurt started talking.

Well, not so much talking as asking for an explanation. Which was only fair, of course. Only… What answer did he expect? Could Blaine be honest and tell Kurt he’d tumbled head over heels in love with him? Would he dare?

Blaine hedged a bit, but Kurt pressed on, and his resistance crumbled. He could no more lie to Kurt than he could to himself. And maybe it was crazy to feel this way about someone he’d only known for a few days, but if by some miracle, Kurt felt the same way, maybe they could try dating for real?

He didn’t have to wait long for an answer. Kurt’s lips found his, and his heart leapt happily. Yes!

K&B

When Blaine woke up the next morning, Kurt was still deeply asleep, his head on Blaine’s bicep and his arm thrown over Blaine’s chest.

Blaine smiled up at the ceiling, happier than he could remember ever being, and enjoying this quiet private time holding Kurt in his arms.

This Christmas break had been nothing like he’d expected, but it had been everything he needed. Relaxing. A slice of home and family. Scrumptious food and fun pastimes. And most importantly: Kurt.

My boyfriend.

Oh, it felt good to think those words and know they were finally true. It felt so right. Like it had from the very beginning, when Kurt sat down next to him on the plane, and Blaine had smiled at him as though they’d known each other forever.

Well, maybe in another life they had.

Blaine heard floorboards creak, and a second later, Burt’s head peeped in.

“Good morning!” Blaine whispered. “And Happy New Year!”

“Kurt still asleep?”

“Dead to the world.”

“Glad you got home okay. Did Finn’s girl sleep over too?”

“Yes. We were all exhausted.”

“That late?”

“Just after midnight. That’s late enough for me.”

Burt hummed in assent. “Well, come down to breakfast if you can pry Mr. Koala loose. Carole’s making blueberry pancakes.”

That made Blaine’s mouth water. He looked down at Kurt sleeping peacefully, and then back at Burt, torn.

Burt chuckled. “Or not. You can always whip up a batch yourself later, if you want a bit of a lie-in. But no shenanigans, you hear me?”

Blaine nodded, and the door closed again.

Blaine closed his eyes and softly stroked Kurt’s hair.

“What time izzit?” came a sleepy inquiry.

Blaine smiled and told Kurt, “Way too early for you. Go back to sleep, sweetie.”

Kurt curled into him like a contented cat, rubbing his head against Blaine’s hand. “Feels good when you do that.”

So Blaine kept up his gentle caresses until Kurt’s face went slack, and he nodded off again himself a while later.

By the time they made their way downstairs, it was past ten o’clock, and Blaine’s stomach was rumbling in protest.

“Morning, sleepyheads,” said Carole. “Burt’s off to work already, and Finn finished all the pancakes, I’m afraid. I swear he’s got some sixth sense for food cooking. Always shows up seconds after the pan starts sizzling.”

Kurt yawned. “No worries, Carole, we’ll fend for ourselves. Are there still eggs?”

Twenty minutes later, Finn came into the kitchen, sniffing like a dog. “Is that cinnamon toast I smell?”

Blaine hid a smile. Carole had spoken the absolute truth. Finn had shown up not even a minute after the first toast had hit the pan.

Kurt swatted at Finn with the spatula. “Out! Yes, it’s cinnamon toast, and no, you can’t have any. You’ve already had breakfast, and you finished your own as well as ours, says Carole.”

“I was hungry!”

“Well, now WE are hungry and don’t want to share. Clear out!”

“Aw, come on!”

“Maybe that works on Cathy, but not on me. What did you do, swipe half of her pancake while she was talking to Carole?”

“No! She had a whole one herself. And then she let me finish her second one.”

Kurt fake-swooned. “Aw, true love! Where’s Cathy, anyway?”

Finn pouted. “She went home already. Said she still had tons of work to do. Lessons to prepare. For next week.”

“Well, at least one of you takes their studies seriously. Why don’t you take her good example and get some work done as well? Not much else to do, ‘cause Puck and the other New Directions will be hungover, and Blaine and I will be packing because we’re going back to New York.”

“Hang on, you’re leaving today?”

That was news to Blaine too. His plane ticket back to New York was for two days later, as he didn’t have class until Tuesday afternoon. Still, he could try and get his flight rebooked. He just wished he’d known a bit earlier.

As soon as Finn had left the kitchen, Blaine asked Kurt what flight he was taking, and then spent a good half hour on the phone to sort things out. When he hung up with a triumphant smile, having scored not only the flight but also the exact seat he wanted, Kurt shook his head, smirking.

“When you start pouring on the charm, I don’t think anyone could say no to you if they tried.”

Blaine cocked his head to the side and moved a bit closer. “Hmm… You can’t say no to me? Now that’s interesting…”

Kurt squeaked in apprehension  – actually squeaked, and Blaine grinned.

Kurt’s chin went up. “I’ll learn to say no. So there. I’ll become immune, after a while.”

Blaine’s grin widened. “I wouldn’t be too sure, if I were you.”

“Oh, hush you!”

“Make me.”

And then he lost both his words and his grin when Kurt grabbed his head and kissed him.

They didn’t stop kissing until Finn came stomping into the kitchen looking for a snack, and asked, “Weren’t you going to pack?”

When Burt drove them to the airport that evening, he looked at Blaine in the rear-view mirror – they’d opted to both sit in the back again – and asked, “So are you sad you didn’t get to spend the holidays with your own folks, bud?”

Blaine squeezed Kurt’s hand, looked at him with all his love showing, and answered, “Not a bit. I had a marvelous time. Again, thank you so much for your hospitality.”

“Happy to have you, kid. Feel free to tag along every year from now on. We’ve all accepted you as part of the family.”

Blaine felt ridiculously close to tears, even as the corners of his mouth curved up, and could not manage a response. It made him happy to be so accepted, yet he felt guilty, too, for deceiving Burt.

Kurt kissed his cheek and announced, “Good, ‘cause Blaine is here to stay. Though, Blaine, I do want to meet your family too, someday.”

As soon as Blaine could strings words together again, he promised, “You will. We can go see my parents this summer. And Skype with Cooper one of these days. Though… I apologize in advance for all the ridiculous things Cooper is going to say.”

“Brothers,” Kurt nodded knowingly.

Kurt hugged his father tightly at the airport. When he let go, Blaine held out his hand for Burt to shake, but instead, Burt wrapped him up in a bear hug, too.

“Take care, kiddo. And look after Kurt for me, will you? Make him eat enough and sleep enough and have some fun in between all his work.”

“I will. I promise.”

Burt let him go and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a good kid. Wouldn’t mind having you as my son-in-law one day.”

“Daaaaad!” Kurt moaned.

“What, like you haven’t planned the wedding already in your head?”

Kurt looked as if he wanted to sink through the floor. “Dad, please! Do you want Blaine to run for the hills? We’ve only just become boyfriends!”

Well, isn’t that the truth… But I can totally picture myself married to you, so I’m not running anywhere but into your arms.

“I don’t think Blaine’s the kind to be easily scared off. He let us kidnap him when he didn’t know us from Adam, didn’t he?”

Both Kurt and Blaine gaped at Burt.

He chuckled at their gob-smacked expressions. “I heard you, kid. Inviting Blaine ‘as a friend’ because he’d been nice to you on the plane. I saw you making goo-goo eyes at each other. But Blaine didn’t dare say yes. So I made him come with us. And I don’t regret it. Do you?”

Kurt closed his mouth with a snap, and shook his head slowly, his eyes misty and his smile radiant.

Blaine shook his head as well. “Best thing that ever happened to me.”

[fangirlwriting-stories]

Reflecting Light

Chapter Four:

They were stopping in another town just a couple days after the last one, and Janus and Virgil both seemed to be looking forward to this visit, as the blacksmith to which they were dropping off supplies was a friend of theirs.  But apparently, the weapons supplies were not the only thing they were leaving.

“Caffeine plants?” Remus asked, with a confused head tilt.

“He has a weird side project he works on in his free time,” Virgil said, opening another crate of the plant they were talking about and counting the plants inside.  “He says he’s trying to make a drink that can keep you awake for longer.”

“He sounds weird,” Remus said with a grin.  “I can’t wait to meet him.”

“Oh lord, I hope you two don’t get along,” Virgil muttered.  “You would be a disaster pair.”

“Ah, the best kind of pair!”

“Mmm-hmm,” Virgil said, sounding not at all happy with the prospect.

They got to the town a couple hours later, and after eating breakfast, Remus went with Jackson to grab the items from the cargo hold for the blacksmith, who he had learned was named Remy.

Remus grabbed the boxes that Jackson directed him to, and carried them out to the deck, and then carried them down to put them on Remy’s cart.  Remus stayed down to talk to this Remy person as Jackson opened the last box he’d brought down.

But just as he was about to ask Remy about what kind of weapons he made, Jackson called his name.

“Remus?”

Remus glanced over, and saw Jackson holding the lid to the box.

“These aren’t the caffeine plants,” Jackson said.

Remus blinked and jogged over to see that Jackson was right.  Inside the box looked to be the food for the kitchens on the ship.

“Shit,” Remus said.  “Sorry, Jackson.”

“All good, that’s why we check them,” Jackson said, putting the lid back on.  “I’ll go grab the right one, don’t worry about it.”

Remus nodded, and turned again with the intent to ask Remy his question, only to be met with Janus’ irritated gaze.

“Uh… sorry?” Remus said again.

Janus sighed, and waved his hand dismissively.  “Don’t worry about it.  Just don’t do it again.  We can’t afford to waste a ton of time.”

Remus winced and nodded.

Remy didn’t seem to take Janus seriously, though.  “Janus, girl, you’re too hard on these guys.  I thought it was Remus’ like, first day on the job.”

“Oh, he’s a sap,” Virgil said, elbowing Janus.  “He just puts on a stern persona in towns and forgets to take it off around you.”

Janus shot a glare at Virgil that didn’t look at all serious.  “No,” he said.  “That’s not what’s happening at all.”

Virgil and Remy both laughed in the way that meant that was exactly what was happening.  The knot of anxiety in Remus’ chest loosened a little bit.

“So you’re the newbie, huh?” Remy asked, turning and smiling at Remus before he could say anything else.

Remus nodded.

“Nice.  I’ll pay you if you try my latest batch of Coffee.”

“Coffee?”

“It’s a drink I’m working on that keeps you awake.  That’s what I’m calling it.”

“He will most certainly not be doing that, the last person who tried it nearly had a heart attack!” Virgil exclaimed.

“Yeah, and now I know that some people have a higher tolerance for caffeine than others!”

“More like you have a higher tolerance than everyone else in existence,” Janus said with a roll of his eyes.

Remy seemed about to protest again when Remus spoke.  “Okay.”

Everyone turned to look at him.  “What?” Janus asked.

“Okay.  Let’s try the potential death juice.  Should be fun.”

Both Janus and Virgil were staring at him.  Remus tucked his hands behind his back and squeezed them together.  Remy was starting to grin.  “Really?”

“It’s been way too long since my last near death experience,” Remus said with a shaky nod.

“Fantastic,” Remy said, full-on grinning now.  “Come with me.  Don’t worry, I’ll have him back to the ship before you leave!”

“Wait, hang on!” Virgil called, but before he could say anything else, Remy grabbed Remus by the arm and dragged him away from the ship towards the town a little bit back from the dock.

Remus had been in two other towns in his life, and he’d already established them as very similar to each other.  Most towns had people milling about, shopping at different stands or talking to people as if their lives were so incredibly important compared to everyone else’s.  Remus hadn’t expected this town to be any different, but the scene shifted when Remy stopped in front of what was clearly his shop.

The sign said ‘Blacksmith,’ which would have been pretty straightforward if not for the fact that the whole thing was made out of broken swords.  Remus grinned as they passed under it.

There were weapons of all kinds behind the counter of the main room of the shop.  Remus would have been very content to stay and look at them and play with a couple, but Remy dragged him further back into the shop and into a room that clearly had a different purpose.

He had several different fire pits and stoves set up.  Remus would admit he hadn’t seen fire pits indoors before, but Remy clearly knew what he was doing, as all of the fires were burning and the shop was still standing.

Remy walked over to one of the stoves, and Remus tried to shake off the sudden spike of anxiety in his chest that came with him doing that by stepping back a little and starting to pace back and forth across the room and clench and unclench his hands.

“Okay!” Remy called, very loudly.  Remus jumped and slid back another foot.  Remy spun around a second later, fast enough that Remus slid back again.  “So here’s some Coffee from the last batch I made!”

He held up a pot and walked back over towards where Remus was.  Remus took another step back and pressed himself against the wall next to the door they’d come through.  He pulled the sleeves of his hands down and grabbed onto them from the inside, then let go and did it again.  Remy didn’t seem to notice his behavior, just reached for a cup on a nearby table and poured some of the liquid in his pot into it.

“Here you go!  Try it out!” Remy said, shoving the cup into Remus’ now-shaking hands.  He tried to latch his fingers around the cup before Remy let go, but didn’t move fast enough.  The cup slipped from his fingers and shattered when it hit the floor.  Remus jumped again.

“What the hell?!” he snapped, glaring up at Remy before he dropped to try and pick up the mug.  “You didn’t think to make sure I had a grip on the thing before you let go of it?!”

Remy blinked in surprise and crossed his arms.  “Sweetheart, you’re the one who just broke my mug.  Doesn’t seem to me like you’re in much of a position to be snapping at me.”

“Yeah, well you’re—” Remus’ snapped, jumping up again.  He stopped when his breath caught, and he pressed a hand to his chest.  “You’re— you—”  He gasped for air that he couldn’t seem to find and shoved his hands into his hair, tugging on it.  “You’re the one who made the stupid cup out of glass!” he snapped.

Remy didn’t reply right away.  “Are— are you alright?” he asked after a second.

“I think I have broken glass in my hands now, thanks for asking!” Remus screamed, yanking on his hair again.

“What?!  Don’t stick your hands by your head, then!” Remy cried, grabbing Remus’ hands and pulling them down.

Remus screeched and shoved Remy backwards.  “Don’t touch me!”

He had no idea if Remy actually would have listened or not, because a second after he shoved him backwards and then slammed himself back into the wall again, the door opened next to him and Virgil came in, followed by Janus.

Remus moved further away from everyone, which unfortunately led to him pressing himself back into a corner.  After a couple seconds Virgil seemed to have picked up on something, because he started towards him with a purpose.

“Remus?  Hey, you alright?”

“Obviously not!” Remus snapped, pressing his hands into the wall and trying to ignore the sting that came with that.

“Okay, okay yeah, stupid question,” Virgil said, holding his hands up.  “Remus, I think you’re having a panic attack.  Do you know what that is?”

“Weird air thing,” Remus choked out, sliding down the wall.

“Weird air thing?” Virgil asked, crouching down with him.

“No air,” Remus gasped.  “Can’t breathe.”

“Yes you can,” Virgil said.  “I’ll do it with you.  We’re gonna breathe in for four seconds, okay?”

Virgil took a large, exaggerated breath that Remus tried his best to copy.  He couldn’t make it all the way to four, though.

“No no no,” Remus said, trying to tuck himself further into the corner.  “Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t—”

“I’m not gonna touch you,” Virgil said, moving his hands behind his back to show he meant it.  “It’s alright.  Let’s try again, okay?”

Remus didn’t make it to four that time either, but Virgil didn’t seem to mind, and just started over, until they’d managed to breathe in for four seconds, hold for seven, and breathe out for eight enough times that Remus finally managed to stop feeling like the room was closing in on him.

Virgil stayed far enough back the whole time that Remus could be sure that he wasn’t going to hit him or hurt him in any way, and when he finally managed to start breathing again, Virgil was still sitting several feet away, which helped Remus not immediately start panicking again.

Virgil smiled slightly.  “You okay now?”

Remus looked down at his hands.  Sure enough, there were some pieces of glass stuck into his hands.  He was about to reach for some of the pieces to pull them out when Virgil spoke up again.

“Don’t do that,” he said.  “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“I know how to patch myself up,” Remus replied.  He paused for a second.  “I probably should use some tweezers, though.”

“I have some,” Remy said.  Remus glanced up and saw him and Janus both standing further back.  Janus was throwing the remains of the broken cup in the trash.

“Sorry about your mug,” Remus muttered.

“It’s alright,” Remy said, waving his hand dismissively as if it was water until the bridge and not something that happened thirty seconds ago.  “I have more.  I’ll go grab those tweezers.”

He headed through a door that looked like it led to a house area.

Janus turned from the trashcan and moved forward to stand next to Virgil.  “Need a hand?” he asked, offering one to Remus.

Remus hesitantly moved his arm so that Janus could grab it and not end up getting glass caught in his hands.  Janus held on to his arm and pulled until Remus managed to stand.  He let go as soon as Remus was standing on his own and moved back so Virgil could stand too.

“How… how did you know how to do that?” Remus asked hesitantly, moving back from Virgil and Janus, but close enough to still have a conversation.

“I’ve had panic attacks since I was a kid,” Virgil said.  “It doesn’t happen as often to me anymore, but both Janus and I still know how to handle them.”  Janus nodded next to him to confirm that.

“Did something set this one off?” Janus asked, still looking concerned.

Remus winced.  “I’m just… not good with people being upset with me,” he mumbled, shifting his feet around.  “Sorry.”

No one said anything for a second, until finally Janus spoke again.  “I’m sorry, Remus.”

Remus glanced up again.  “What?”

“Virgil’s explanation was right.  People tend to think I’m going soft if I treat my crew like I would when we’re all alone.  As a high-ranking rebellion member, that’s an issue.  But if that bothers you so much I’ll find an alternative.  I wasn’t trying to freak you out so much.”

Remus took in Janus’ face.  He looked honestly regretful, and Virgil still looked concerned.  Neither of them looked irritated, or like they were annoyed with the way he’d reacted.  “Oh,” Remus said weakly.  “That would be… good.  Uh, yeah.  Thanks.”

Janus smiled a little and nodded.

The door opening to the right caused them all to glance over.  Remy was coming out with a pair of tweezers in his hands.  “Okay,” he said, starting over towards Remus.  “Here you go, sweetheart.  Be careful.  If you leave any glass in your hands it could get infected.”

Remus nodded.  “I know.”  He took the tweezers and headed over to the table in the back, starting with his right hand so he could be steadier with his left before trying to get the other pieces out of his left hand.

“Okay,” Virgil said with a sigh behind him.  “I’ll try this batch, Remy.  If you’re sure it’s safe.”

“I added like, 80% less caffeine plants than I did last time,” Remy reassured, as they both started over to the pot and mugs again.

“Here,” Janus said, stepping forward once Remus got the last piece of glass out of his right hand.  “Let me help with your other hand.”

“I got it,” Remus said, switching the tweezers over.

“You’re left handed, aren’t you?  Let me help with this one then.”

Remus hesitated for a second, then handed the tweezers over.

“How’d you know I was left handed?” Remus asked as Janus worked on the glass.

“You tie things down using your left hand as your dominant one,” Janus explained.  “And I notice details.”

“Apparently,” Remus muttered.

They were both quiet for a second.

“Remus?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you mind if I ask why you know how to patch yourself up?”

“Oh, I was just a reckless kid,” Remus lied.  “And there were a ton of other kids growing up with me, so I couldn’t always get attention when I was hurt.  It was just easier to teach myself how to deal with it.”  At least part of that was true.  Roman had gotten far more attention when they were kids— or well, he’d gotten far more positive attention.  He had seemed to understand the benefit of shutting your mouth and doing what you’re told in a way that hadn’t clicked for Remus, at least not until Shane.

Janus nodded with a slightly relieved look on his face that meant he believed that.  “Well, I’m sorry you had to do so much by yourself,” he said anyway.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true.  Roman had helped a little.  He’d at least made Remus feel less alone, and then they’d met Patton and Logan and things had kept improving.  But Remus really didn’t want to talk about Roman right now.

Janus finished cleaning his left hand and bandaged both of them to cover the cuts.  The bandages probably weren’t necessary, as Remus had had worse injuries and not bandaged them before, but Janus insisted.  It took him a couple minutes to finish the bandages.  Remus tried not to think about how much faster Patton would have been.

“Hey, why did you two come back here anyway?” he asked as Janus finished wrapping.

“Virgil was concerned about you trying caffeine so he wanted to come and make sure you’d be alright.  He just didn’t want you to hurt yourself,” Janus said dismissively, as if that wasn’t a truly bizarre reason.

“Why would that matter?” he asked.

Janus gave him a confused look.  “Remus, we wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

“Well, yeah, but I told you, I know how to patch myself up,” Remus said.  “It’s not a big deal if I do.”

“It… would still be concerning because you would be hurt, and that’s not really an ideal situation,” Janus said, now looking very concerned.  “We don’t want you to get hurt, Remus, even if you know how to patch yourself up.”

Remus was about to question the also bizarre sentiment of someone not wanting him to get hurt when Remy and Virgil emerged from the house again.  Virgil did not appear like he’d had a heart attack, thankfully.

“How was this batch of Coffee?” Janus asked as they both turned.

“Closer,” Remy said with a grin.  “I’m gonna tweak it a little more and then I think it’ll be ready for selling, but Virgil says it’s working like it should.”

“I don’t feel tired anymore,” Virgil said with a confirming shrug.

“Nice,” Remus said with a small smile of his own.

“Alright, well we do have places to be,” Janus said, adjusting his coat and standing up a little straighter.  “We should head out.  Put us down for another delivery next month, Remy, and maybe we’ll buy some Coffee if you’re selling it by then.”

“I will put you darlings down for some,” Remy said with a large grin.  “I’m sure you’ll just adore it.”

With that, the three of them headed out of the shop and back towards the ship, which Remus had very much missed and very much appreciated to be going back to.

“Hey, Remus?” Virgil asked, as they headed into the dock.

“Yeah?” Remus asked, turning.

“Is that the first time you’ve had a panic attack?  You seemed to have something of an idea of what it was.  Have you had them before?”

Remus hesitated for a second.  Roman knew about them.  He’d helped Remus when he could, but neither of them had ever really been sure how to handle them.  Remus’ panic attacks had usually presented themselves in the form of irritability and anger, coupled with the lovely feeling of being unable to breathe.  Roman had been the only person Remus didn’t mind touching him when he was like that, so when Remus finally admitted that was what was happening Roman had mostly held him close while Remus waited until he could breathe again.  It hadn’t been a fantastic system, but it had worked alright.

He wasn’t sure what Virgil would want to do, but he nodded anyway.

“Would you want me to teach you that breathing exercise?” Virgil asked.  “It works really well for me, and if it doesn’t work for you I know a couple of other ones you could try.”

“That… sounds nice,” Remus admitted.  “If you wouldn’t mind.”

“‘Course I wouldn’t,” Virgil said with a smile.  “We can do that tonight.  I’m pretty sure this Coffee is going to keep me up far later than usual anyway.  It’ll be fun.”

Remus wasn’t so sure about fun, but it would definitely be helpful.  It seemed that Virgil and Janus were both about as much of that as possible.  It might take him a minute to get used to that, but if it kept going like it had been, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t mind.

Chapter Five

[popculturebuffet]

Goof Week: Goofy Birthday Shortstacular!

Hyuck all you happy people! And HAPPY BIRTHDAY GOOFY! The celebration already got on track today with a look at the two part goof troop pilot. You can find that here.  

That review kicked off GOOF WEEK my weeklong look at all things Goofy, but as is tradition on this blog the birthday of one of the big three wouldn’t’t be complete without a look at their theatrical shorts career. And with this one i’ve covered all three of Disney’s biggest stars having covered Donald last june (and will again next month) and Mickey in September so it’s long overdue that my boy gets a shot and even longer overdue I watched some of his classic shorts. 

A large part of why I started doing these is because I love classic theatrical shorts and the reason I love looking at the Disney ones is, unlike Looney Toons or Tom and Jerry, I didn’t grow up with these and Disney never replayed them. At most you’d get one or a small slice of one in a House of Mouse episode. So this is a fun way to dive right into history and see a piece of Disney I’ve only started scratching the surface of. 

This is a fun one too. I ended bumping this up to 12 shorts again, and i’m glad as it allowed me to take a look at some of the weirder stuff and we go all over the place: We have dancing, goofy begging for a smoke, goofy devlopnig a split personality that calls him fat a bunch, a prototypical max who is a LOT, trips to medevil times and cowboy times, a tex avery esque noir short, and the lead in short to National treasure. If any of that sounds like a real good time to you, then keep reading under the cut!

Mickey’s Revue (1933)

Goofy was created by his VA Pinto Colvig, who based the character on the local happy go lucky moron from his home town, and after a dicussion with Walt it was decided to roll him into Mickey’s growing supporting cast. 

My guess from here is they decided to do a dry run to make sure the character worked with audeinces before giving him a full time roll. Given Goofy’s been both a staple of Mickey’s supporting cast and often more popular than the mouse or even the duck, you can see how that went. 

Colvig was awesome. While Bill Farmer is my preferred Goofy, I still tip my hat to the original and it’s clear this was a character he was born t play and it shows: a lot of characters take a short or too to really find their personality. Goofy.. has his early shorts persona straight out of the box> The only weird thing is he’s an ol dman here.. but otherwise his schick here, loudly eating peanuts, laughing a bit too loud and annoying everyone around him with no genuine malice.. that’s Goofy and Pinto really hit onto something and as we’ll see today had a TON of range beyond this. 

As for the rest of the short.. it’s forgetable. It’s not BAD, but it’s just Mickey and friends capering on stage. Nothing really out of the oridnary for these early Mickey Shorts, especially since some of them could get really damn creative.

The Whoopee Party (1933)

Now we have Goofy’s first proper appearance, going from joke character in the crowd to full member of Mickey’s friend group. 

This one is also just okay, but better than the last: Mickey and friends throw a wild party, with Mickey, Goofy and Horace making the sammiches. Goofy dosen’t do much btu gets a good gag or two, and overall it’s alright. Enjoyabl efor it’s lively animation and not much else. 

Goofy and Wilbur (1936) Three years later we get Goofy’s proper debut, a cute short about him using his Cricket friend to fish. That’s not the exestitnal nightmare that it sounds like mind you as Wilbur simply tricks them into Goofy’s net an donly gets eaten when they catch on and Goofy runs to his aid. The short really is more about Wilbur but it’s fair: like with Donald , who was paired with Pluto in his first solo short, they wanted to test the waters before having Goofy carry a cartoon himself. As we’ll see he very well could, but it’s fair to want ot backdor pilot it first and it’s easily one of the best shorts of today’s batch.

How to Play Baseball (1937)

First off while they make a good effort I already know how ot play baseball short...

How To Play Baseball is my faviorite of the Goofy Shorts on Disney Plus, which is a VERY small batch. Especailly since most of Today’s shorts aren’t at all problematic or inapproriate for kids. This one is a gem though. It’s one of the How To Shorts where a narrator goes ove rgoofy trying and failing at an activity though this one’s a tad diffrent. 

 The How To Narrator teaches us about baseball before narrating the world series game. It’s full of cleve slapstick, high speed animation and plain fun. It’s also part of the trend that would dominate Goofy’s sports career of putting him in whatever roll the shorts needed. Here he’s everyone at once, others he’s his old goofy self, other time sh’es just a normal joe. But Colvig does every version amazingly, so it all meshes and that general goofy design is so appealing it just WORKS.  So yeah while i’m not into sports I do genuinely love the How To shorts, as they were my faviorite part of House of Mouse and still are, and the originals are every bit as classic as their reputation says they are. 

A Knight For A Day (1946)

This one is the only other one of these on Disney Plus and it’s decent enough. Nothing incredibble or extra specail: Goofy plays a Squire who has to fil lin for his Knight in a tournament and tries to win a princesses hand against another douchier goofy. Simple stuff iwth some fun gags, but it just dosen’t feel all that fresh, especially since Disney already did a much better shorts with knights with Mickey’s “Ye Olden Days”. It just dosen’t feel as fun or creative as that one was btu on it’s own it’s fine. Nothing great, nothing terrible, just fine. First short of the day to feature Goofy’s faceless blonde love interest who in domestic shorts is his wife and by the same extension Max’s now dead mother. 

Tomorrow We Diet (1951)

We’ve got three from 1951 here. By this point Goofy had traditioned from lovable bumbler to every man, taking on a more generalized personality to fit into every day slice of life scenarios, using those to brilliantly contrast the goofy animated comedy with the more mundane setting it comes from. And sometimes it’s just straight up sticom humor with the ocasoinal joke you could only do in a cartoon.  And sometimes.. you get a version of Goofy who lives in a mirror taunting Goofy over being fat and then trying to keep him on his diet while it’s not clear if thi sis a split personality, a mirror ghost tormenting him that took his form and is doing this so Goofy breaks the mirror and frees him, or his evil doppleganger from another universe. 

Yeah .. one of the centerpieces of this short is Goofy’s reflection/split personality/earth 3 doppleganger/some sort of evil genie taunt shim abotu the fact he’s putting on weight startnig by saying “Hey Fat”... because apparently in this unvierse the best weight joke they can come up with is literally just calling someone fat. I bet I know who rules THIS timeline with an iron fist....

The first half of this short is Goofy being told he’s fat by a bunch of people and the second half is his hallucination/psychotic break/guardian asshole tormenting him with the diet. And I do mean tormenting: He knocks away all of Goofy’s food, then suggests he not even eat his carrot and STARVE himself, which is just deeply unhealthy, and earlier forces Goofy to let him read his book and then tell shim to just diet anyway. Which granted dieting IS sensible.

So yeah this short as you can probably guess by the fact it involves the term “Hey Fat” which was only said by a human being once.. Dick Kinney or Mick Shaffer, the writers of ths short,  when one pitched the line to the other and they laughed for some reason and put it in the script. But with that you can wager this short is REALLY outdated> Overating CAN be a problem and fat shaming still exists, but it’s far less tolerated and far less of a thing.

And hell I can tolerate a good natured weight joke, the Critic had some great ones, especially as a fat guy myself... but this isn’t good natured. The entire joke is, as the man said above HE’S FAT.. So as a legit short. it’s deeply unfunny at best, horribly insulting at worst. But as a so bad it’s good short? it’s GOLD. From the whole mirror goofy thing, to the fact fat is seen as a legit insult here or something to just call fat people because that’s what the writers thoguht humans, even in the 50′s talked like it’s just riffably cruel.. though it will obviously depend onthe viewers tolerance for both fat jokes and how creepy the short can be and again as a short it sucks. As something to be mocked for fun.. it’s fat with potential

Father’s Are People (1951)

Hey Kids you wanna see Max and Goofy reenact Problem Child? 

Given I did Goof Troop earlier this week and i’m finishing this week with A Goofy Movie, it shouldn’t come as a huge shocker that I wanted to cover the first short with Goofy’s son Juinor, who’d later be remolded into Max. 

The short STARTS promising with Goofy having a kid and the hyjinks that comes from having a baby child: Goofy passes out Cigars because Lung Cancer was the preferred way of celebrating having a child in the 50′s, runs himself ragid helping out, which I give the short credit for as “Donald’s Diary” three years later would play a man helping a woman around the house for horror. Here George (Goofy would often go by George Geef in later shorts) pitches in and while he’s clearly exausted he is trying to help with the boy. 

It takes a turn though once we jump ahead to a toddler Junior. Seriously a red head named junior... there’s no way that’s a coincidence. Anyways, the problem is unlike problem child, where Junor dosen’t really go after his dad but the assholes around his pushover dad who genuinely deserve it, this Junior goes after Goofy who at wors tis mildly negelectful but clearly loves his boy> He also DOES try to take a brus hto the kid... but it’s hard to be too mad about that as it was acceptable at the time and he dosen’t actually paddle a three year old. It’s like a less horrfying version of donald puttin ga penguin to a shotguns face in that the targeted party dosen’t see the threat and that goofy isn’t some form of sociopath in this short like Donald was there. It’s just not very funny and only worth watching at all for the historical value. 

No Smoking! (1951) (Patreon Selection by WeirdKev27)

This is my first of two Patreon selections, my patreon is here if you want to chip in a buck to pick a short for Donald’s birthday next month, by longtime friend and backer of the blog Kev. He suggested this one for the sheer absurdity of Goofy smooking.. and was right on the money> This one is DELGITHFUL. 

It works on two levels: it works on the modern level of seeing such an iconic cartoon grapple with trying to quit smoking, first smoknig so constantly a giant cloud appears over him and he has about 80 cigs in his mouth at once, but then trying to quit and being surrounded bycigs before finally DESPERATELY begging for one. As I discovered you really HAVEN’T lived till you’ve heard goofy madly call out “Smoke, smoke gotta have a smoke”. 

But while the novelty IS great.. it’s also just a good cartoon. Outside of some blatant racisim at the start, with a native american sterotype introducing smoking to colmbus which feels so wrong to type I need a shower and really puts a damper on the short which after that.. is just really funny. From the smoking through the ages, to the very creative smoking gags it’s just fun.. and it is CLEARLY anti-smoking, showing both the insane amount of cigrte smoker can go through and how mad the addiction can drive you. It’s not bad... though if you can’t stomach the blatant and terrible racisim.. I get that and it’s fair. 

Two Gun Goofy (1952)

This is one of two “put Goofy in another setting all together” pieces, both in the same year which tells me they were trying to find new stuff to do for Goofy. Thi sisn’t unheard of in cartoons: Around the same time and before Bugs Bunny went all over the world and thorugh time and space, and Mickey went through the looking glass and had two fantasy shorts, so i’ts not unusual

But what IS neat about these next two shorts is they combined the two goofys: he has his goofy demanor and oblivoiusness from the classic shorts, but still has his deeper, slightly less goofy voice from the everyman shorts and is still treated as an average joe, just one now undertaking genre careers, here a cowboy and next a detective

This short is decent. I’m a sucker for cowboy episodes apparently: either old west style showdowns or having the characters go to a dude ranch or something. So naturally I picked this one and was told Max was in it an dhe is... in a two second cameo when Goofy has a thought bubble after meeting faceless lady.

But this is a really enjoyable picture. not Disne’y sbest but good stuff. It also pairs Goofy with pete which really is a perfect pairing, putting our scowling rotund villian against our skinny well meaning hero. And while i’ts a common gag in a lto of things I do love Goofy accidently beating the shit out of pete as the short finds fun ways to do it. All in all worth a watch. 

How to Be a Detective (1952)

This one was a REALLY fun one. Like with westerns i’m a sucker for a good noir parody, even if ironically I haven’t watched much of either genre proper. Add in the fact this is clearly inspiried by Tex Avery’s work and i’m sold on this fun madcap romp with an approraitely more noirsh narrator. 

Goofy is naturally a detective and hired by the faceless woman to find “Al” having to contend with both a goon he keeps failing to recognize and The Chief of Police, played by Pete, who keeps telling him “I told ya to stay off the case Goof!”. It’s just the delivery makes it funny any time he says it as does his instance... and the punchline, which I won’t spoil to both that an dthe overaching mystery i sa gem. This one’s on youtube, seek it out, it’s damn fun. Before I go thoguh I also love how Goofy is Given “Goof Balls”. Yes GOOFY GETS DRUGGED and I am here for it

Father’s Day Out (1953)

I couldn’t find any GIF’s for this one, not even one’s in teh same tag that were unrelated so here, have more smoking Goofy. It will never not be funny.

This one is ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhtastic. Goofy is overworked, wnats to rest on his weeknd, and stuff gets in the way. Oh and halfway through he abrubtly has to take Max to the beach. It’s.. not much honestly. It’s like the simpsons if it wasn’t funny. 

How To Hook Up Your Home Theater (2007) (Emma Fici Patreon Selection)

You may notice the MASSIVE time jump here. That’s because while Disney still does theatrical shorts nowadays, in part because Pixar’s shorts turned out to be a huge hit, they almost never use the classic cast. This delightful anamoly is one of the few exceptions and was picked by Emma out of sheer curosity. And she picked well this short is fun, feelnig like a big budget version of the House of Mouse How To Shorts I loved so an dhaving a modern yet still ultimatley timeless subject: while the tech featured is missin ga streaming box and 4k, otherwise it really has aged incredibly well and getting all the diffrent modes set up and what not is a hassel we al lcan agree with. 

It’s a fun short with lots of good gags and humor as Goofy tries to set up his Home Theater before the big game, and worth a watch. Weirdly not on Disney+ though try explaining that one. 

One final note is for whatever reason this was paired up with National Treasure: Book of Secrets. 

My BEST GUESS i sthat it appeals to the kinds of dads who’d watch National Traesure: Book of Secrets as well as kids since it’s an adventure film. Though it now makes me want to see Nicholas Cage voice goofy. Get on it Disney. Not forever though, Bill’s a treasure. Just for a gag like Don Cheadle vocing Donald.. oh god put them together.. and then have them do a movie together I don’t think they have and do not know why. 

Final Ranking: As a bit of added fun to close this out and as a new feature for these i’m ranking today’s shorts from best to worst How To Be A Detective How To Play Baseball No Smoking Goofy and WIlbur How To Hook Up Your Home Theater Two Gun Goofy The Whoopee Party Mickey’s Revue Tommorow We Diet A Knight for A Day Father’s Are People Father’s Weekend

For the record despite not being a GOOD short Tommorow we diet is at least intresting, hence i’ts ranknig while Father’s weekend is just a boring 50′s version of problem child. Fathers are People at least has some good gags to set it off. 

So thank you for reading and if you liked this review give it a like and consider joining my patreon at patreon.com/popculturebuffet. As a patron you’d get access to exclusive reviews, the patreon’s discord and to pick a short each time I do one of these shortstaculars. Donald’s comnig next month and the deadline is in only a few days to join up for said month so the clock is ticking. Even a dollar a month helps me reach my stretch goals so please i fyou can sign up today and if not, I understand and i’ll see you at the next rainbow

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 103

This chapter was, honestly, a complete an total delight to write. I wanted to take an opportunity to work more with a character who has gotten very little ‘screen’ time: Sam.  He’s one of two characters on the autism spectrum (please correct me if that isn’t the right term?) who are based on actual people who I’ve been acquainted with.  I’ve admittedly shied away from writing much of Sam or Derek, largely because I have been scared into flop-sweats at the possibility that I will misrepresent autistic people. Even though I was acquainted with the real life versions of both Sam and Derek, that was nearly a decade ago and memory is fickle.

However. In an effort to do better all the way around with the characters I am writing, I found podcasts of people on the spectrum talking about what makes them unique, how they feel about being autistic, and what they consider good representation. And then I took a deep breath and wrote this chapter. It is the first, but I don’t want it to be the only. Turns out? Sam is a REALLY neat dude (I think)!

Finally, finally, I had a day off from work and crises. Tyche planned to spend the day baking, Antoine was booked solid with appointments after taking his ‘sabbatical’ to help Xiomara, and everyone else in my life was currently either teaching or attending Galactic Core classes this shift.  The single exception was Conor, who currently was serving his volunteer shift in the aeroponics lab. 

Because of this, I was currently making my way down there, steak and beer pie in hand, to surprise him with lunch. A happy humming trailed behind me, both from the newfound free time on my hands and the fact that Hujylsogox technology meant I wasn’t burning my hands while carrying the food for more than five seconds.  In fact, forty-five minutes later, the pastry was still hot, my hands were still cool, and I was paging for entry into the lab with a note that I was carrying food, just in case any poisonous plants were out.

It was one time I forgot, and fortunately it only upset Conor’s stomach and wasn’t fatal.

Shortly, the door slid open to reveal - Sam, not Conor. “Hey,” I grinned, recovering quickly. “I didn’t know you’d be down here right now, or I would have brought you lunch, too.” Trying to be less awkward, I gently rocked the pie in my hands. “I’m sure Conor doesn’t mind sharing though?”

Sam smiled in return and stepped back. “It smells like beer,” he replied. “But thank you.”

“The alcohol cooks out?” I tried, caught between being polite and being pushy.

To my somewhat relief, he shook his head. “Yeast,” he pointed out, wrinkling his nose and sticking his tongue out slightly. “Not a fan.”

Couldn’t exactly blame him, since I didn’t drink beer for a similar reason. “Next time, I’ll check if you’re going to be here, and bring you lunch too.”

“Sophia,” he started to admonish, before affixing me with a wordless stare.

Ugh. Apparently, I wasn’t quite free of my own awkwardness. “I just feel like I should bring food for everyone I know and not just Conor,” I tried to explain. “Where I grew up, it’s rude to bring food for only one person.”

“I eat,” he replied, waving vaguely.  

It took a few moments to realize that I completely misunderstood the gesture.  He wasn’t waving without meaning at all.

“Are those tomatoes!?” I gasped. “And that’s baby butter lettuce… Cucumbers!? You have cucumbers!?”

“Baby ones,” Sam grinned proudly just as Conor came in.

“Thought I heard your voice,” he laughed before tipping my face up for a kiss. “Sam showing off his salad again?”

I forced a glare and gently poked my partner in the chest. “Tomatoes. Conor. You did not tell me there were fresh tomatoes.”

Conor laughed, but Sam was the one to reply. “They just turned ripe today. You can have them if you want?”

“Oh, gosh,” I gasped, no small amount of wistfulness in my words. “Sam, I was joking. Just teasing him, I promise. I wasn’t seriously mad, and please don’t give these to me because you thought I was upset. I’m not. It was a joke.” Trying to compose myself, I forced a hand through my hair. “Did you grow these?”

He nodded, excited. “In soil we think will be like the soil on Von. As a test, to see if they taste different.”

My head, neck, and eyebrows all shot up. “Are they safe to eat?”

“These are, yes. The earlier ones, we weren’t sure, so Conor couldn’t tell you about them.”

“Sam, seriously. These aren’t my tomatoes. They belong to everyone, so thank you for being careful and not letting anyone eat them until you were sure.”

“I know you want a tomato, Sophia.” Without hesitation, he reached out and plucked three from a nearby plant. “If all three of us eat one, to test the flavor, then they can’t be ‘your’ tomatoes, right?”

Conor shook me gently. “He has a point, love.  These are the first batch that ripened and tested safe for humans. Sam’s probably eaten his weight in them, but I don’t think any other people have tried them.”

Sam looked down, trying to hide his ear-splitting smile. “They taste really good.”

With a sigh of defeat, I looked at the dark red berry in my hand. My curiosity instantly took over. “These look like zebra tomatoes, kind of.”

Sam’s face lit up, while Conor was still studying the one he had. “They’re a cross! A black zebra tomato and a Cherokee chocolate tomato, modified to be grape sized!” He popped his into his mouth, crushing it happily. “Not very acidic, but the soil also gives them more of a mineral flavor.”

Fascinated, all hesitation left my body as I shoved the fruit into my mouth. The first bite was an explosion, part familiar acidic taste, part something that I could only describe as ‘red’, and something… almost stony. Not in texture, but in flavor.  It wasn’t something I had ever experienced with a tomato, but - 

“Wine,” I murmured. “It’s.. stony, like a wine. New Zealand white, actually, with the volcanic soil… That’s…”

“It’s clean,” Conor interjected. Chewing thoughtfully, he continued. “That mineral taste keeps it from lingering in your mouth. I bet I could eat one of these tomatoes and bite a piece of cake right after without the flavors crossing.”

Sam replied, but it was so quiet I couldn’t hear him. When I asked him to repeat himself, he turned his face toward me with his eyes closed, hands grasping nervously. “I like to dip them in Nutella,” he enunciated loudly.

OH.

The idea of ‘tomatoes and Nutella’ made me draw up short, but then I thought over what Sam had said. He didn’t say he liked tomatoes, in general, in hazelnut spread, he said he liked these tomatoes dipped in it. And Conor’s point about eating one and then a bite of cake echoed through my mind. Nodding firmly, I tried to telegraph my confidence in Sam as hard as I could, lifting my chin far enough to make my neck itch. “Well then. You know these tomatoes better than anyone, and have eaten more than anyone. I would like to try these in Nutella, if you have three more ripe ones?”

Sam’s eyes snapped open briefly before he snatched three of the fattest little tomatoes he could find.  Eagerly, he yanked open a random drawer and revealed a hidden container of the spread. “I’ll have to hide it again, Conor eats it on everything,” he confessed before swiping the tomatoes through like they were strawberries, leaving a neat little curl of chocolate and hazelnut on each one.

Taking the one offered to me gingerly, I had to admit I felt intrigued.  The deftness Sam used to dip them told me that this wasn’t only something he’d tried, it was how he enjoyed these the most. Before Conor could get over the concept of chocolate and hazelnut on a tomato, I popped my treat in my mouth to satisfy my curiosity.

Holy. Fiendish. Shit. I almost choked on the amount of saliva that filled my mouth. That was incredible, if I was being brutally honest.  I never would have tried it with a tomato grown in Terran soil, but… hell. This was a whole new thing. “Sam,” I choked out as I desperately tried to keep from shouting. “You’re….. That’s brilliant.” The flavor was like chocolate, hazelnuts, strawberry, and orange, washed down with a good wine. “I think you just converted me to Nutella.”

Conor gaped, which only made Sam laugh harder. “Sophia,” Conor sputtered. “Do you mean to tell me that you hate Nutella so much that experimental tomatoes are what convinced you? I feel like I don’t know you at all, suddenly.”

“Yeah, no,” I confirmed. “This is probably the first time I’ve liked it in my life.”

“I want a divorce.”

“We aren’t even married,” I pointed out, before realizing that Sam was getting incredibly upset. “Annnnnd we can’t make that joke, babe.” Making sure Conor saw me glancing at Sam, I clarified. “Sam, that’s just a joke. Conor wouldn’t break up with me over Nutella any more than Maverick broke up with me because I like spicy food. But we - “ I elbowed Conor just hard enough to get his attention without making him choke on his second tomato, “won’t joke like that again. I’m sorry.”

Hesitantly, Sam nodded before wrinkling his nose. “You do like really spicy food.”

“I do,” I confirmed. “And Maverick does not. So, I make him food that isn’t as spicy. And, just like that, I don’t eat Nutella, and Conor doesn’t make me.”

Narrowing his eyes, Sam turned to Conor. “Is that why you always steal mine?”

Conor nodded sheepishly. “I’m sorry, mate. I’m really bad about that, aren’t I?”

“It’s free, Conor,” Sam pointed emphatically to the wall. “From the console.”

“Does that mean you’re mad?”

“It means stop leaving empty containers in my drawer. If you eat the last of it, at least get me more. Geez!”

“So, you aren’t mad?”

“I’m mad about the empty containers,” Sam scowled. “There is nothing nice about coming to work with all this fruit” he gestured expansively “and having nothing to dip it in.”

Conor opened his mouth to reply, but closed it just as quickly.

“He’s got a point,” I added, knowing I was entirely unhelpful. “I mean, what if I made meatloaf and no mashed potatoes? Or gravy? No either?”

His head snapped toward me, his expression horrified. “Sophia, what in the…. You would never expect someone to -” Without prompting, he cut himself off. “Ah, shit. I’ve been an arse, haven’t I?”

“You have been a complete donkey,” Sam intoned seriously. Then, with a smirk, he added, “I think you owe me pickles.”

Conor groaned at that. Sam loved pickles, but only specific kinds. Predictably, my boyfriend’s face pivoted to leverage his most beseeching expression at me.

Unfazed, I shook my head. “Nope. I’m not the one who ate his snack topping. I’ll give you the recipe, and you can make the pickles.”

“Love…”

“Taking his Nutella and not replacing it is rude, and you know how I feel about rude people.” I examined my nails closely. “And you are perfectly capable of getting whole radishes and matchstick carrots from the console, but nice try.”

“Brussels sprouts, too, please,” Sam asked politely.

All I could do with such a request was nod firmly. “And the brussels sprouts.”

“I don’t even like - “

“They aren’t for you,” I pointed out. “Although, I’m sure Maverick will appreciate it if you make a double batch of the radishes.”

“And Derek likes the brussels sprouts,” Sam pointed out.

When Conor sank to the floor with a groan, neither of us could restrain our laughter.  Who knew that ill-gotten chocolate led to pickling your worst enemies?  Then again, I guess Conor was about to find that out the hard way.

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[pcttrailsidereader]

14 Lessons from theTrail

As the 2021 hiking season is well underway, the time is right to share wisdom from seasoned veterans of the trail.  Brett Fisher (Backtrack) – http://www.wanderabout.org/ – suggested that the five lessons from the PCT as articulated by Anna (North Star) and Chris (Shutterbug) – http://wanderingthewild.com/ – along with the five more added by Bobcat –  http://roamingbobcat.wordpress.com/ – and finished off with his own four, would be worthy of publishing.  I agreed.  Reflection is such an important part of the PCT experience.  

These 14 lessons are a powerful reminder to each of us long distance hikers.  I love the positive spirit reflected in their words. You may have your own to add and you may take issue with some (I’m still chewing on #8) … please let us know.

Brett ‘Backtrack’ Fisher

North Star and Shutterbug noted that their thru hike of the Pacific Crest Trail taught them many things. Here are five of the most important lessons they learned on the trail.

1) Senses awaken in nature. After years of living in a city, our minds subconsciously created filters to deal with the contant  jumble of sensory information. It was thrilling to remove those mental filters and reawaken our senses in the great outdoors. The crack of a distant twig alerted us to an elk, almost hidden in the forest. We could smell day hikers’ deodorant and laundry detergent from several feet away. Our eyes tracked the subtle movements of a soaring hawk adjusting to shifting air currents. The longer we lived in the wild, the sharper our senses became.

2) People are good. On the trail, day hikers and trail angels gave us encouragement, kudos, and tasty food. Other thru hikers shared our joy during good times, and cheered us up during harder moments. Crews of volunteers labored to maintain the trail. The people we met in the small towns along the PCT were incredibly friendly and accommodating. Strangers went out of their way to give us rides, find us rooms, and some even offered us their homes for a night. The kindness and generosity we received went beyond anything we could have expected. We saw the fundamental goodness of people during our thru hike.

3) Hike your own hike. Hikers often tell each other to “Hike your own hike” (HYOH), recognizing a wide variety of backpacking preferences. We knew this phrase before starting the Pacific Crest Trail, but its meaning really sank in with a few hundred miles under our feet. HYOH worked for us in many small ways, such as our hiking pace — we walked slower than most thru hikers so we could take more pictures. But we also realized HYOH applied to larger life choices, such as our decision to continue hiking long trails, rather than immediately returning to desk jobs. To Hike Your Own Hike is to allow yourself to do what works best for you and your passions, and to support others in doing what works for them. The result is greater happiness for everyone.

4) Fewer possessions is freeing.  We found that the less we had, the happier we were. Each possession was not only physical weight to carry, but also mental weight. Carrying just one set of clothes meant no decisions about what to wear in the morning. Instead of carrying chairs, which could break or get left behind, we sat on the ground or on logs. Taking only the food we needed made meal choices simple. We didn’t bring bowls and plates, all of which we’d have to clean. Rather we ate right from our pot. With less items to think and fret about, our minds could relax and be open to all the beauty around us. The simple lifestyle is truly freeing.

5) Wilderness is home. As the weeks passed, we became more and more comfortable living in the desert, the mountains, and the forest. A primal part of us came to the forefront. Fresh air, clean water, and open space surrounded us and sustained us. As our relationship with the wilderness deepened, we felt more at home there than we did in civilization. We had not expected this, but it turned out to be one of the most powerful aspects of the hike.

                                                                     Photo Credit: Rees Hughes

These are the five added by Bobcat.

6) Joy is our natural state. On the trail life is reduced to its most basic necessities: water, food, sleep, shelter, safety from the elements and natural beauty. Because our minds are freed from having to handle what Northstar and Shutterbug call the constant jumble of sensory information, we are open to tackle deeper and deeper levels of thought. Because the trail is so long, at some point we run out of things to ponder, analyze, consider or solve. When that happens, the void that is left seems to immediately be filled with a sense of joy and peace. So, at our most basic level, underneath it all, this must be our natural state.

7) Life is a mirror (you get what you give). I have experienced this more than once on the trail: If I approach the road in a joyful and optimist state, I wait for a hitch less than five minutes; if I approach it with a bad attitude, it will be a long while before I get picked up. The kindness and generosity we received as hikers I believe is in direct correlation to our own state of open-mindedness. The opposite is true also. Fear attracts scary situation. People who feared bears had bear encounters. I started the trail worried about poisonous plants and managed to get poison oak on one leg and poodle-dog-bush on the other. When I became grateful for the cortisone cream two generous hikers gave me, the oozy mess cleared up over night.

8) All you need is love and gratitude. Somewhere in the first few hundred miles of the trail, I became so frustrated with my UV water purifier and so jacked up on iodine that I stopped using any sort of water treatment. Instead, I held the water to my heart and told it, sincerely, “I love you, please don’t make me sick, thank you”. The method proved excellent the whole trail, including with that one batch of “bear pooh water” (see “I believe in angels”). Inspired by my success, I also used this method as sunscreen (I love you Sun, please don’t burn me, thank you), bug-repellent (I love you spider, please stay off my tarp, thank you) and holographic deck (I love you trail, could I get a shady spot, mosquito free, by some water, thank you). Seriously, it works. Try it for yourself.

9) Freedom is an intrinsic quality. Before I left, a good friend told me that the PCT would likely be the one place where I could find enough space to accommodate my humongous need for freedom. All former thru-hikers I have met mention “freedom” as the greatest gift they received from the trail. All that fresh air, clean water and open space seeps into your soul and sticks. I think freedom is always in us, but sometimes our vision of it is clouded. Once we touch that quality within us, it remains wherever the end of the trail finds us. Some of us continue to wander, travel, explore or hike; others return to former lives and jobs from an expanded perspective. In all cases, you can take the hiker off the trail, but not the trail out of the hiker.

10) Laugh it off. Never mind great truths and life-changing discoveries; we know nothing. Any labeled identity we create for ourselves will be destroyed as soon as it’s uttered. I once wrote that my feet hurt, the next day my feet stopped hurting. I once wrote that I preferred solitude, the next day I found myself  hiking with a small group of fun people and loving it. I once was very upset at the thought of no-longer being a “thru-hiker”. I think we all feel that way. That is in part why we seek the company of other thru-hikers post-trail. Am I still a hiker if I’m not hiking? Who cares! Each experience is worth its weight in gold. I think it’s important to not take ourselves too seriously and as Dacia so eloquently put, to get out of our own way, learn to surf the wave, revel in the power of it, and let it all come together.

                                                                         Photo credit: Jim Peacock

And the final four from Backtrack.

11) It’s not a race. Lightweight, a hiker who hadn’t yet escaped the vortex at Casa de Luna, started a list in the Anderson’s trail register, “How To Win the PCT.” First on the list: Be the last to Canada. If you’re hiking northbound that is. Hiking a long trail is not a competition. There aren’t winners and losers. All of us get there only one step at a time.

12) It’s not about the miles, but what happens between the miles. I heard this from my daughter, Dances With Lizards, the only member of Team No Hurries to get to Canada this year. Maybe this is a variation of “the journey is the destination.” We live between the miles. Not in how many miles we’ve walked today, all week, or the whole hiking season.

13) It is what it is. It’s 105 degrees Fahrenheit. It’s 18 miles to water. There’s a thunderstorm right on top of us. The snake ate the rabbit babies. I am very hungry. It isn’t good and it isn’t bad. It is what it is and has no need for meaning. I take a break in the shade in the heat of the day. I carry 4 liters of water. I hunker down from the rain and lightning and watch the display. A snake’s got to eat, too. I eat some food. It is what it is, now and in this moment.

14) There’s pain but that doesn’t mean there is suffering. A day hiker descending Mount Whitney says to me, “Are we having fun yet?” I am huffing and puffing and legs burning on the way up and pant out, “I think we do this for other reasons than fun.” Walking on blisters hurts. Legs and knees and ankles and feet sometimes ache, and sometimes all ache at the same time. Sometimes I am very hungry. Sometimes I smell very bad and so do all my companions. My socks have holes in them. Yet, I laugh at the pain and discomfort. We laugh together. There is joy out here on this trail. Between every step and every mile.

15) add yours here …

[hearttoheartpublication]

22 questions text

Questions for Thea (Q+A section in a fashion magazine) 

What are your interests or activities that you enjoy doing?

So many! Food, anything to do with food. I love cooking and baking. It is my happy place. I love reading sewing and just fashion in general. Anything to do with fashion, I absolutely love. I’m very much into interior, interior decor and design. 

What places do you frequently visit or favorite places to go?

We frequently visit Taupo because my husband has a family batch down there, so free accommodation. Another favorite place would definitely be Lake Tekapo in the South Island. So beautiful.

What are you studying?

I've been studying psych for the last two years, but I'm now I'm going to cross credit to nursing. So looking forward to that.

What place do you want to travel to the most?

Israel. Definitely.

If you could eat only one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?

Hmm, I thought about this one, dumplings. I’d eat dumplings IF I never gained any weight, but if I did, I’d just settle for broccoli.

What's your favourite place to shop?

Briscoes - “Briscoes you’ll never buy better” - always there, house wifey.

How would you describe your fashion style?

Chique and casual. I can't afford my fashion style haha. If I could then I'd just be chique.

Who is your favourite fashion icon?

Karl Lagerfeld. I love so many, but I'll just start with him. I love him.

What's your favourite Met Gala look?

Well, that's really hard actually. There’s just too many, 2015, ‘Through the Looking Glass’ and 2019, the ‘Camp’ theme, had amazing looks. Gemma Chan, she's from ‘Crazy Rich Asians’, looked stunning and even Jared Leto, he looked awesome in the Camp theme. Also the heavenly bodies theme and Riri (Rhianna) in the Catholic imagination theme, all of that. That was awesome. I love so many.

If you could be a celebrity for a day, who would you be and why?

I’d be Riri! I'd love to go and have a nosey around her house, have just an endless supply of FENTY Beauty and just enjoy all her clothes and her food.

Where do you hope to five years from now?

Start opening up an orphanage maybe in 15 years. Maybe in 10 having, having a little family.

If money was no object, what would you buy?

I would definitely build an orphanage and try love and care for as many kids as possible. I’d also buy a jet ski and then I’ll retire and life’s good! 

What's your background or cultural heritage?

My mum is a cook Island and she's from the Island called Pukapuka. She was a Christian and dad is Fijian Indian and he has a Muslim background. It's very interesting because they vary obviously from two different faiths and happened to have families that just get on so well. So yeah, that's my cultural heritage.

What are some characteristics or personality traits that you like about yourself?

This will sound so arrogant but I'm an honest person. I always try to perfect Christ and that means being honest. I like to say I'm generous. I like giving and sharing with people, whatever it is that I have that I can. I like to say I always carry a lot of joy, I'm quite a joyful person and that's something I really like about myself. And I’m also consistent.

Who do you look up to the most and what qualities do you love about that person?

Jesus, because he's perfect. I also love Lisa Bevere, she's really cool. She’s an author, writer, a lover of God and just the way she speaks, the way she writes, I admire her very much. She's very bold, courageous, passionate, fierce, and she is an encourager and lover of people and woman, and I just love that, woman encouraging women.

So yeah, she's someone I feel inspired by.

What would be your perfect day. Plan it off from waking up to bedtime?

Honestly, a perfect day would be waking up and just seeing every single person that I love in a room and spending the whole day with them. Singing, laughing, talking, eating, playing games, doing some sports. Yeah, from waking up to bedtime, that would be a perfect day for me.

What's your all time favourite memory?

That's a hard one, but one that comes to mind - it’s a special memory. So my all time favourite, and that was learning how to write and spell my name with mum at the age of five. So my mum had passed away when I was six. So that's a very special memory.

What's the one thing most people don't know about you?

That I was a really shy kid growing up. That I was very timid and just run by a lot of fear and insecurity. So yeah, life wasn't very easy growing up. I had a lot of that over me, a lot of insecurity. So I used to not able to, share or express in any way how I felt. I was even too scared of talking. So yeah, I was very much that kid growing up until the age of 16 and a lot of people don't know that about me. They think that I've just always been this confident, talkative person, but no.

If you were going to get a tattoo, what would you choose and why?

There’s many, but I’d start with a lion. So my middle name, Arielle or Ariella which in Greek means lion of God. I feel like names are important and it's kind of like, you can morph into what your name means. I find that that's really significant. So I feel like I've become more of that person because with my life I grew up being very shy and fearful. A lion represents fierceness, boldness, and courage. And I love that. So I'd get a lion.

What book has impacted you the most?

Like I said, the ones in more recent years, but no seriously, it's Ella Enchanted, the first novel I had ever read. It really opened up and just got my imagination running wild. I absolutely love the storytelling. It like opened up this whole new love for reading. And because I read it and loved it, I developed this love for reading,

I would just read and read and read and it actually helped enhance my vocab, my speech and my comprehension. It made me do a lot better in school and now later in life it's really enabled me to articulate how I feel in life and yeah, that's how it's impacted me.

If you had to describe yourself in three words, what would you choose? 

Full of joy.

What's your all-time favourite quote/verse?

Well, that's a hard one. It's the most confusing quote. So I need to look at it because saying it was very difficult, but I love Proverbs. Proverbs, this is completely different, but I love Proverbs 3:18. It says, “She is a tree of life to those who take hold of her and happier all who retain her.” I really like to take hold of that and speak that over my life.

[mageicalwishes]

Read on AO3: here

Summary: Baz takes Simon to see the stars, but they end up doing a lot more speaking than stargazing. "Simon Snow’s schoolboy fixation has finally found some real-world truth - I’m plotting. Although, this time I’m not focused on bringing about the Chosen One’s destruction. I just want to make him smile." Inspired by Carry On Sparks, Week 4 - Plot @carryonsparks​ (Even though this is literally 3 weeks late. I write so slowly!)

TW - There is a brief mention of what happened in the forest in Carry On, so suicidal intentions are mentioned. It's nothing graphic or anything like that, but I thought it would be best to mention it!

Words: 9,221 

Baz

Simon Snow’s schoolboy fixation has finally found some real-world truth - I’m plotting. Although, this time I’m not focused on bringing about the Chosen One’s destruction. I just want to make him smile. 

Two years ago today, back at Watford, Simon showed me the stars. It’s a day neither of us will ever forget. In all of our, admittedly, limited conversations about our relationship, he’s always maintained that, that was the day he felt something shift (Even if he didn’t fully realise it at the time). There, somewhere between our stiff beds and the infinity of space, something happened that changed us. That remade us. And I think it’s finally time that I repay the favour. 

Unfortunately, though, I’m unable to just conjure up the universe with a flick of my wrist like he did (I’ve tried numerous times, to no avail), so I’ve had to concede to taking a more normal approach to replicating the magic of that night. I'm taking him on a date. Somewhere where the stars can shine down on him. 

In all our time together, we’ve never actually managed a traditional date (What with all the mess at Watford, the absolute catastrophe that was our “Great American road trip”, and all of our recent avoidance), so really, it’s long overdue. 

Only ... I'm not entirely sure that he'll actually be willing to go with me; given our current situation. But I suppose there’s little harm in asking - Things can’t really get much worse than they already are, and as they say … ‘Fortune favours the bold’. 

“Snow,” I call, prodding at his thigh. “I need you to get up.”

He’s flopped, utterly lifeless, on the sofa again - His threadbare pyjamas stained and crumpled, and a ghastly stack of unwashed glasses and plates littering the floor around him, where his tail lays, limply. 

It hurts to look at him like this; so far from himself. But that’s how it is most days. Simon Snow: the boy who was promised the world - promised glory and gold - and left with nothing, lying vacant and depressed in his living room. Some days are better, of course; but most aren’t. 

After America, I had hoped that things may be a little easier for him. That maybe some of his regained zest would stay with him. But nothing substantial changed. Without the sun, and the space, and the danger, he fell right back into it, all too easily.

Bunce and I do our best to help him, of course - Offering our companionship, or dragging him outside with us for some fresh air (I’d even considered spelling him with a ‘Cheer up, buttercup’ a few times). But realistically, there is little that we can do. He’s traumatised. He’s hurting. And all the magic and good intentions in the world can’t soothe his pain (As much as I wish they could). 

I try not to beat myself up over it, but it’s hard sometimes. I know I do all that I can, but my best efforts just aren’t good enough. They don’t make him happy. They don’t take away his hurt. I don’t know how to help him. So … I’m as good as useless to him now. 

Hauling himself over, he scowls at me. His eyes flat and ringed with red - The light behind them having dimmed, long ago. 

“For fuck’s sakes, Baz!” He gruffs. “Can’t you just leave me alone? I’m trying to sleep.” 

He gets snappy like this, sometimes - When he's let himself stew in his feelings for too long. But it's alright. He always apologises afterwards, when the haze has cleared. And I’m not exactly above losing my temper, either - So I have no real reason to complain. 

“I know, and I’m sorry but … I wanted to do something with you. Something time dependent. It’s already nine PM, and I really can't wait much longer, love."   

“Yeah well, you’re the one who woke me up at seven AM, to go and buy you blood from the fucking New Forest, when there’s a perfectly good butcher down the road! You know don’t mind getting you what you need, but that was seriously taking the piss! So forgive me for being a little sleepy!" 

I gulp, guilt prickling in my stomach. 

I knew he was mad about that, but I’d hoped that he’d have forgiven me by now - Considering that I'd already let him take my car, and supplied him with a, frankly, outrageous amount of chocolate, as a sorry. Because while it is true that I sent him on a three and a half hour round trip back to Hampshire (under the false pretense that the blood there tastes better because it’s ‘free range’), I really didn’t do it to be a prat. I only did it to get him out of the house for a while, so that I could whip up a batch of his beloved sour cherry scones, without causing suspicion. And while there were probably less infuriating methods of Simon Snow removal, I really couldn’t think of any at the time - So I had to make do. 

I just hope that when all is revealed he can find it in himself to forgive me. 

“I know,” I sigh. “And I do appreciate it. I didn’t mean to take advantage, it just … really is better.”

Dropping his shoulders, his face twists with remorse as he reaches upwards, pawing at his neck roughly. For Crowley’s sakes, now I’ve gone and made him feel worse! Just brilliant. 

“Okay,” he mumbles. “I’m just … tired. Sorry. I didn’t mean to -”

“It’s alright, I understand. I’m sorry too - For waking you up. But … if it’s alright with you, I’d still like to take you out tonight. I've got somewhere special in mind.” 

“Why?” he asks, suspicious. “What’s so special about tonight?”

"You don't get any clues, Snow," I chide. "That'll only spoil the surprise. But, if you come with me, then I can show you. It'll be just us two, so you don't have to worry about getting dressed up, or anything like that. And ... you don't have to come at all, if you're not feeling up to it. But you may end up liking it, if you do.” 

Gnawing at his lip, he tugs at the hem of his shirt, awkwardly. 

“No. I just - I haven’t - I need to, like … get ready. I haven’t … showered. Or done my teeth." 

As painful as it is to admit, that doesn’t really surprise me. He struggles to take care of himself, sometimes. I don’t know if it’s just because he forgets, or the effort feels too insurmountable, or … what? All I know is that he does. (I’m convinced that if Bunce and I didn’t keep him so well loaded with takeaways that he'd forget to eat half of the time). So, with a wordless shrug of agreement, I slide myself down onto the sofa besides him to wait (Clearly he’s rubbing off on me).

————————————————————————————

“Is this it?” he asks, as we pull into the carpark. 

He’s been jittery the whole ride here - His leg bouncing nervously, and his bottom lip ruddied where he’s been chewing at it. Like he thinks that this is all some elaborate ruse. 

“Well no,” I say, smirking over at him, as I undo my seatbelt. “This is a carpark, Snow. I had something a little nicer than this in mind, don’t you worry. I just need to go and set it up, first.” 

“Set it up?” 

“Don’t fret, you numpty. You can trust me. It’s nothing sinister.” 

Chuckling quietly, I reach forwards - Pressing my hand against his knee, in what I hope is a reassuring gesture. 

“Alright,” he murmurs, wriggling out of my touch, curtly (He still isn’t sure about me touching him sometimes - Says it makes him feel trapped). “Be quick then”.

I’m as quickly as I can manage (Although I definitely spend slightly too long fussing with my decorations). And soon enough, I’m pulling a blindfolded Snow behind me, our hands slotted together, loosely, as we stumble across the grass. The rough warmth of his skin against mine sending my heart aflutter. 

“Baz,” he coughs, his voice creeping with uncertainty. “Seriously, where are you taking me?”

“We’re in St James Park, Snow. We’ve been here before. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

“But … It’s late. What if we get mugged or something?” 

“If someone tries to mug us, then I’m sure you’ll scare them off with a cocktail stick sword, or something. And if worst comes to worst, you pack a mean punch. Either way, you’ll save us,” I shrug. 

Puffing out a slight laugh, he presses our palms a little closer together. 

“So … cocktail sticks. We’re having a picnic then?” 

“Hush, you,” I scold, miffed. “No more guessing. We’re almost there, so just wait and see, you impatient brute." 

Pulling us to a stop, I falter. Looking at it with fresh eyes, it’s a lot. It’s an awful lot. 

Besides a large willow on the edge of the lake, I’ve created a wonderful spread for us - All of his favourite foods sat in a wicker basket, in the centre of Bunce’s picnic blanket.

For aesthetic appeal, I’ve surrounded our space with an assortment of candles, held firmly in place with a ‘Stay Put’ (Since I imagine that setting ourselves alight would probably kill the mood). And I’ve spelled the raindrops, still clinging to the damp grass reeds, iridescent with a ‘Twinkle in their eye’. The glow of the flames dancing, ethereally, in their newly mirrored surface, so that the ground comes alive with a million watery fireflies. 

But I want this. I want us to have this. So there’s really no benefit to backing down now. 

“Alright,” I drawl, reluctantly dropping his hand, and taking a few steps away from him. “You can look now.” 

Urgently, he reaches upwards, tugging the makeshift blindfold from his eyes, and taking it all in. His face transforming into some shade of panicked horror, immediately. Merlin and Morgana. Curse my flare for the dramatics! It’s definitely too much. 

“Baz. Wh - What is all of this?” he stammers. 

Tense, I twirl a lock of hair between my fingers, in a hopeless attempt to focus on anything other than what a massive cock up this whole evening has been. 

“Well … I wanted to show you the stars.”

“The stars?” 

“Yes, Snow,” I bite. “The stars. You know, the little twinkly things in the sky.” 

I shouldn’t do that - The being rude to him. But for some reason it still seems to be my default defense setting. 

“I know - I know what a star is. I mean … why?” 

“Two years ago, today. Back at Watford. 'Twinkle, twinkle little star' … Ring any bells?” 

“Oh,” he breathes. 

“Yes. ‘Oh’,” I copy, my voice softening significantly. “I just - I wanted to repay the favour. I know that we had the truck in America. And, I know that this isn’t quite the same as the original. But … it’s the best I could do. We aren’t all supernovas, you know.” 

“Yeah … No. I mean … it’s nice. I just - I don’t know.” 

It isn’t at all convincing, but I do my best to let his slither of praise ground me.

Hesitantly, I step forwards, holding out my hand to him, in offering. He doesn’t take it this time, so I let it flop, grimly, to my side. 

“Simon, we can go home if you’d prefer,” I try. “It was just an idea. Nothing an 'As you were' can’t fix.”

He gawks at me like I’ve sprouted another head (Which is ironic considering that he’s the one with the dragon appendages).

“No. I want to look at the stars,” he rejects, jutting his jaw out, determinedly. “I just don’t really … deserve it. I didn’t even, like … realise. I mean, how do you even know the date of that?” 

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I sigh. “If you seriously don’t think you’re worthy of cheap finger foods and Fanta, then I’m afraid I’m going to have to revive some of my more creative Watford insults, because that is idiotic. You do deserve it. This and more.”

Staring down at the ground, as if ashamed, he tugs his lips upwards into a weak smile.

“And I only remembered the date because, at the time, I thought that, that was all we would ever get. That it was the closest we’d ever be to what I really wanted. So … I clung to every detail. It’s horrifically embarrassing, really. And painfully sappy. But … there we are. I didn’t expect you to remember, though. So please don't worry that you didn’t,” I reassure.

We’re slightly better at this now - The talking. 

We had a huge fight in the toilets at Heathrow after America (Since there really was no point in pretending that I didn’t know what he was trying to do on that beach), that basically boiled down to ‘You never tell me things’ ‘Well, you never tell me, either’. So, we’ve been working on being a little more open with our communication, since then. I try to be honest and tell him how I feel (However humiliating it may be), and he does the same. 

It’s clunky and unnatural, and it doesn’t always work (Obviously). But we’re trying. So it’s a start.

We haven’t gotten onto any of the more ‘heavy’ stuff just yet - The state of our relationship, the Mage, how afraid I am, how sad he is. Mostly we’ve just started fessing up to small things from our past - Like how lovelorn I was at Watford, or why he ditched his therapist. But, it’s only been a month. We stick to the past, right now, because the present is too painful (And I don’t really want to hear him say we have no future). But there’s hope. There’s a spark. There’s effort. So maybe one day we’ll get there. 

“Okay,” he agrees, his voice noticeably strained. “Then … let’s do it. I want to stay.” 

I grin, despite myself, and gesture towards the blanket. 

“After you, Snow.” 

————————————————————————————

“Holy shit,” he laughs, holding a hand out in front of his smile in an attempt to hide the mush of scone in his mouth. It doesn’t work, but I don’t really care (I’m disturbed). “They taste just like Watford’s. How the hell did you make these? Or did you steal them from Prichard?”

Biting down a smile, I arch my eyebrow up at him. Bright and smiling, he tries to copy me - Both of his eyebrows jumping upwards, clumsily. And I wish that I could tell him how amazing it is to hear him laugh again, but I don’t want to risk upsetting him. He’d probably just take it to mean that I only like him when he’s happier, which is just objectively untrue. I’d like him however he is. 

“Oh please, petty theft is below a Pitch,” I breeze. 

“Then how?” 

“I bribed her with enough Champagne to bring down a Dragon, and she gave me the recipe. It was really very simple, Snow. I’m surprised you didn’t manage it yourself” 

“What? Seriously?” he beams, the corners of his eyes crinkling, charmingly. “How much did it take? I offered her, like, half of my Goblin Gold for it, and she still wouldn’t budge!” 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. My bank probably thinks that I have a severe drinking problem now, but no matter. It’s worth it to see you smile.” 

Darting his eyes downwards, his face flushes with heat. 

“Penny would spell you silent if she heard you saying such sickly things, you know,” he complains, scrunching up his nose in disgust. 

It’s all fake, though. I know he doesn't really mean it. Whether he wants to admit it or not, he loves it when I’m soft with him. One whispered 'Love' or 'Simon' is enough to make him melt, even now. It used to be enough to get him to kiss me too, but not anymore (Practically nothing is). Although I don’t really care - It’s still incredibly endearing. 

“Oh I don’t doubt it. But, look … Bunce isn’t here. I’ve managed to lure you up here all alone, so I’m free to be as saccharine as I please, I'm afraid." 

“Whatever,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You’re so weird.” 

“Ah yes - Being nice to my boyfriend. Truly, I am a freak,” I tease. “Just … lay down, you nightmare.” 

“Lay down?” 

“Yes. It’s a very simple instruction, Snow” I deadpan, flopping myself back down onto the blanket, with a puff of laughter. 

“Yeah but … why?” 

“Because ... unless everything has gone loopy, the stars that I brought you out here to see are above you. So lie down and look. I’m not going to jump you, don’t worry.”

“Alright,” he says, carefully resting himself down on the blanket. “If you say so.” 

————————————————————————————

He’s tucked up against me now, staring up at the stars, happily - His head resting, heavily, against my outstretched arm, and his right leg draped over mine. It’s a little uncomfortable, to be honest, but I daren’t tell him. He’d only move away, and I so desperately want him to stay. 

Pointing up at a the sky above us, I draw his attention to a particular cluster of stars, and can't help but wonder whether they're the same ones that filled our room, or hung above us in America - Or if even they have changed, too. 

“That one is Aries,” I explain. “The Ram constellation.” 

“I don’t see anything,” he whines, pouting out his lips, childishly. 

Rolling my eyes, I grab a hold of his hand and pull out his ring finger, directing it’s point to trace the stars’ outline. 

“That’s just a random line.”

“Nope. It’s a Ram ... Although, I will admit that the resemblance is a little tenuous.” 

He turns to me, smiling brightly, and my heart clenches at the sight of him, so close and carefree.

“It’s a line, and you know it,” he chuckles. “How do you even know so much about stars, anyway? They all look the same to me.” 

“We have a couple of astronomy books back in our home library. My mother liked to stargaze,” I say, waving dismissively. “And … they remind me of you, so I like learning about them.”

“They remind you of me?” 

“Yes. All of your moles are like constellations. I’ve always thought so. And, obviously, that night with the stars only reinforced the link.” God, I’m disgustingly sappy. How can he bear it? 

“I see,” he sings, snuggling his head down against my chest. “Well … thank you for showing me.”

We lay together for a while, like that - His head moving with each rise and fall of my chest, and my shirt scrunched up in his fists. We don’t talk about all that much - just chatter about university and the new Nordic bakery Simon found just off of the Golden Square - but it’s nice. It’s normal. It’s us. 

Smoothing a hand down his waist, I take a deep breath, readying myself for what’s next. 

“Simon -” I start, my voice barely a whisper (Talking at full volume amongst the fragile calm that has settled between us feels far too disruptive).��

“Hmm,” he hums, the vibration of his voice tickling against my skin. 

“I need to tell you something. Something I should’ve told you a long time ago.”

Instantly, I feel his body stiffen, every muscle pulled taut with tension. 

“It’s nothing bad,” I reassure. “Or … I don’t think so, anyway.” 

“What then?” he asks, looking up at me, his brow knotted with nerves. 

“I just … I Love you.”

And with those three words, he pulls himself away from me, once again. Yanking his arms backwards, and wrapping them around himself in a defensive self-hug, as he shifts away.

“Simon?” I call, uncertain. “Are you okay?” 

He doesn’t answer; just yanks at his curls and shakes his head no. Fucking Hell. I’ve really messed up now.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to … ruin things. I just wanted you to know. Please don’t - it’s alright.”

“No, Baz,” he trembles. 

“No, what?” 

“It’s not - I just - I don’t -” 

Stumbling over his words, he jabs the heels of his palm into his eye sockets, in frustration. And I cringe, involuntarily, at the sight of it. It must hurt. 

“Just … take your time, love,” I ease. 

He sniffs, pitifully, then, and I think he may be crying. I’m on the verge, too - My throat thick with regret, and my eyes stinging, warningly - but I hold it in. Just. Crying would only make this worse, and it really doesn’t need to get any worse. I shouldn’t have said anything. I shouldn’t have forced my love upon him. 

Hanging his head forwards, he gives himself a moment to recollect his faculties - His breath thick and shaking. 

I wait, silently - Counting the stars above me in an attempt to ease my mind. Knowing that he’ll speak when he can - When he finds the words. 

And sure enough, picking at the grass beneath him, he finally does - Sobbing and broken though they may be: “I just … don’t understand how you can anymore?” 

“Understand how I can what?”

“How you can, like … love me.” 

My heart clenches at the sound of him, so earnest and afraid. Of course. Even after everything we’ve been through - Even after all I’ve told him - he still can’t see that I do. Still can’t believe that I do. And it’s my fault, I know. I haven’t managed to tell him properly before now. Not in a way that he believed. Not in a way that he could let in and hold onto. I should’ve tried harder. I should’ve just dropped my pride and told him outright and simple, rather than messing about with poetics. I should’ve told him months ago. Years ago! I’ve known for long enough. All I needed to do was let him hear it. But I didn’t. And now it’s too late. 

Helplessly, I reach out, cupping the softness of his jaw with my hand, and turning him to face me. He resists, slightly, but lets me do it. He refuses to meet my eyes, though - Staring down at the floor, blankly, a teardrop hanging from the tip of his nose. 

“Simon, listen to me. I’ve loved you for years. There’s plenty of reasons why I can, and do … I love your kindness. I love your morality. I love your bravery. I love your stubbornness. I love your fierceness. I love your smile. I love your heart. I love your mind. I love getting to spend time with you. I love how when we sleep, you always leave a light on for me because you know, even though I’m too proud to admit it, that I don’t like the dark. Or how … you always leave me a bit of your food for me to try -”

He’s staring at me intensely now, his eyes squinted and scanning across my face. 

“- I could wax poetic about all the parts of you that I cherish forever, if need be. But, to keep it simple, I love everything about you. Even if you don’t … necessarily understand it, it’s the truth. You just need to believe me. You need to trust me. I loved you then, and I love you now. Nothing has changed, in that respect.”

“I’m a disaster,” he mumbles, looking away, his brow furrowed, and deep, frowning creases forming besides his mouth. 

“I’ll give you that,” I smile, hoping to lift the mood. “But I love disasters.” 

“Baz,” he huffs, planting his head in his hands. “I’m being serious.” 

“Hey, look at me -” He doesn’t. “- So am I. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” 

“But, I - I mean, I can’t even do it back, properly. It’s not that I don’t - Don’t, like, you know. I just … I can’t do this properly. I thought, at the start, that maybe I could. But I can’t. We’ve been together for ages now, and all I’ve done in that time is be an absolutely terrible boyfriend to you! Even by my standards.” 

“Well, you did try to warn me,” I joke, shuffling slightly closer to him. “But … you’re not a terrible boyfriend, Simon. Don’t be unfair to yourself. This is good. You are good. And … after all, I’m the one who sent you on a pointless trip to the New Forest this morning. So, I reckon, if anyone is a terrible boyfriend right now, it’s me.” 

“But you - I mean, you deserve better,” he whispers. “I’m not enough for you, anymore. I don’t think I ever was, really. You’re … you, and I’m just me.” 

“You’re more than good enough for me, you halfwit,” I scold, softening my tone “Simon, you’re everything I want.”

“No, but … look around us. You did all of this, and I … I haven’t done anything.” 

“Oh, hush! You’ve done plenty. You’ve given me more than I ever could’ve hoped for. Even if you don’t see it.” 

“But that’s the point!” he groans, yanking at his curls. “You should want more than that! What little I do, isn’t good enough. You’re just clinging onto when things were alright! But they’re not anymore, don’t you see?!” 

I stare at him blankly, trying to figure him out. Why he can’t just accept what I’m saying, I’ll never know. 

“Look … I’ll admit that things between us have been a little difficult, as of late. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t love you, or that somehow you’re not ‘good enough’ for me. I want you however you are. And sure, I'd love if things were a little easier - For you, and for me. But there’s no rush.”

“Things have been 'difficult' for months now, Baz!” he cries, his voice bitter and defeated. “I’m so sick of lying to myself, and pretending that I’m going to get my happy ending. My head went wrong long ago! At this point it’s best if we just cut our losses, and accept that I’m unfixable.” 

I clench my eyes shut, pained. The utter hopelessness in his voice, a bitter pill to swallow. 

“You’re not 'unfixable', Simon. You don’t even need to be 'fixed'. Just … Listen to me,” I plead. “I understand why we are where we are, and I don’t mind. We just need to … work through it. What happened to you - I mean, Merlin, it’s your whole life! The Mage was despicable. He used you. He abused you. He stole your entire childhood, without even a second of thought over what it might do to you! But … what happened at White Chapel was awful. You shouldn't have had to watch that. But, it's so much more than that - Than him. It's everything. All the instability of your early years. The Humdrum. All the killing and the fighting. Whatever happened to you and Bunce at the end of term. How the Coven just … ditched you. Christ, even me, Snow! I mean, I wasn’t exactly compassionate towards you at Watford, was I? I tormented you. I just … everything that happened - That kind of trauma doesn’t just vanish overnight. It takes time. And I know that you’ve been told that a million times before, and you’re probably fed up of hearing it, but it’s true. It’s fine that you’re not … fine, right now. I don’t expect you to be. I don’t need you to be.”

Turning away, he shakes his head.

“But it's not,” he protests, his voice whining. “I’m no good to you like this. I’m no good to anyone, anymore. I’m not some superhero. I’m not some supernova. I’m just … nothing. I’m a burden - To you and Penny. All you do is go to uni and babysit me! And, we still haven’t … I mean, I can hardly ever even be kissed without getting all weird! What kind of fucked up boyfriend am I?”

“There’s more to life than snogging, Snow,” I chastise. “I enjoy your company, whether we’re doing … those sorts of things, or not. I’m not babysitting you, I’m spending time with you. And you’re not a burden. Needing help doesn’t make you some kind of problem. You’re our friend. You’re my - We want to help you.” 

“Yeah, but … I just want to be normal again. I just want it to all be simple. This is - I’ve ruined this.”

“Not true,” I argue. “This isn’t ruined. You just … keep focussing on what we don’t have, rather than what we do.” 

Reaching across the blanket, I grab a hold of his hand - Tracing my fingertips over the rough calluses there.

“This-” I enunciate, squeezing his palm for emphasis. “Is a lot more than we had two years ago. Nothing is ruined, it’s just, perhaps, not exactly what we’d expected.”

“Yeah but … it’s a lot less than we had when we first left Watford. I used to be able to … do it all properly. I don’t know what happened. I thought - I mean, it’s not your fault. I don’t know why I can’t just … do it.” 

“I know -” I sigh.

Because he does have a point. Simon never really liked to be touched first - To feel pressured. But it used to be manageable. We could hug. We could kiss. Sometimes we’d even end up snogging on the sofa, for the better part of an hour. And as long as he was in control for the majority of the time, he could surrender himself to luxuriating in my affections, occasionally.

Nowadays though, even a chaste kiss on the cheek feels incredibly risky, so I rarely try to initiate anything. It’s better to let him decide when we can or can’t. There’s no need for me to be greedy about it. 

And while I cannot deny that I miss it - being able to be close to him, in that way - I don’t mind. Not really. My whole life has been a practise in maintaining control over ‘powerful’ urges (Both Snow and non-Snow related), so I’ve had plenty of of experience in holding myself back. Screw the erotic gropefest that teenage me had always envisioned! As long as he’s comfortable, and he still wants this, then I’m happy to give or withhold whatever he needs. Being a little touch starved won’t kill me, but losing him probably would. 

“- I understand that it’s frustrating, really I do. But … sometimes you have to take five steps backwards for each step forwards. And I appreciate that it hurts, but as long as you keep on walking, you’ll get where you need to be, eventually. If we carry on trying (And I mean really, actively trying), then I’m sure things will get a little easier for us soon, love. But you need to give it time. You need to give yourself time … That’s just the arduous nature of progress, I’m afraid.”

Sticking out his tongue in a fake vomiting gesture, he laughs - A little hushed and wet, but genuinely amused, nonetheless. 

“Fucking hell! Don’t be so grim, Baz. You sound like a therapist!”

“Yes, well … there is a reason people pay to go and see therapists, you know.” 

Rolling his eyes, he shoves his hands into my chest, jokingly. 

“Yeah, and there’s a reason I stopped going to mine, smart-arse. Too much of that sort of crap!” 

“I know, I know,” I laugh, wearily - Not trusting this brief flickering of emotional relief. “I don’t mean to be all preachy - God knows you probably won’t listen, anyway! But, as disgustingly cliche as it may be, it’s true.” 

He pauses, sucking in a shaking breath. 

“I know, but - I can’t.” 

“Can’t what?” 

“Can’t everything, Baz!” he explains, utterly exhausted. “I mean you just - And I didn't … you know, do it back. I ruined it.” 

“You didn’t ruin it, it’s fine. You don’t have to say it back, Simon. That wasn’t the point. I just wanted you to know. I wasn’t counting on reciprocation. I don’t need that from you, it’s alright.” 

“It’s not ‘alright’, Baz!” he snaps. “None of this is alright! Just … stop saying that! You always say that!

“But it is alright,” I assert, leaning towards him slightly. “I’m only saying it because I mean it! I didn’t intend to make you feel … obligated. I seriously didn’t expect you to say it back, or for it to be some huge ‘thing’. I’ve just … never managed to tell you, properly, and after America -” After seeing him lying there on the ground, lifeless and beaten, his wings twisted and covered in blood. As good as dead. “- I just needed for you to know. Everything is perfectly fine, I promise. I don’t care that you didn’t - I’m not upset by how you responded, Snow.” 

“Well you bloody well should expect me to say it back! You should care! That’s the whole point! You’re supposed to want things from me. You’re supposed to expect things from me. You’re not just supposed to sit there and take whatever bullshit I give you, and keep on telling me that everything is fine and dandy, Baz!” 

“I do ‘want’ things from you, Snow,” I sigh. “I just want them to be on your terms, when you’re ready. There’s nothing wrong with being accommodating. And … I’m only telling you it’s fine because it is! Just because something is somewhat positive, doesn’t make it a lie - You only think that it does. And, I’m sorry but … you’re wrong. I don’t mind that you aren’t ready to say it back - Whether it’s because you’re unsure of how you feel, or you don’t want to, or you just can’t. I want you to say it when you want to - Not before. I wanted to say it now, so I did. If you don’t, then don’t. Simple!”

He growls at that, just like he used to do when I’d insult him. Except this time I really don’t understand that objection. 

“But - even if that’s true, it isn’t just that!”

“Then what?” I ask, exasperated.

I don’t mean to lose my temper with him, and I don’t really think I am (Not quite yet), but … I’m tired of arguing with him over even the smallest things. Everything I do is wrong. If I’m kind, he doesn’t believe me or accuses me of ‘babying’ him. If I snap, he takes whatever cruel thing that comes out of my mouth as my ‘true’ thoughts. If I hide my wants away, he has a problem with it. If I tell him, I’m pressuring him. All I do is lose. And while I know that I’m the one to blame, for being unable to figure out how to best be what he needs, I just wish that it would stop. I just wish that we could fix it. But we can’t. We don’t know how. 

“Well, like … I see the look in your eyes when I pull away, or I shove you off, or I snap at you, or when I just … lay there. It’s like - You’re so sad, but you never say! And … I know that it’s my fault, but I can’t seem to stop myself from doing it, and I don’t know why! I don’t want to do it. I just - I just want to be normal again. And I want you to stop lying and saying everything is fine, when it clearly isn’t.” 

“Snow, I’m not lying to you! I’m telling you that it’s fine because it genuinely is! How many times do I have to go over this? I don’t understand the problem.” 

“The problem is that I just - I don’t believe you,” he huffs.

“But why not? I wouldn’t lie to you. I just … wouldn’t.” 

“Because … it just - it means nothing to me, anymore, Baz! You got beaten down so many times in America, and all you did was keep on telling me that everything was fine, and reassuring me, and swearing that you were happy, when anybody who was paying attention could tell that you weren’t! So … how am I supposed to believe you when you tell me it’s alright now? How do I know you’re not just telling me what you think I want to hear, because you’re too afraid of me to tell me the truth?” 

“I’m not afraid of you, Snow,” I drone. “I could drain you dry in a half a second, if I wanted to.” 

And of course my insistence on being a petulant little git doesn’t help the situation at all - Only adding fuel to the, already, engorged fire. But it’s too late to take it back, now - So I let my little dig steep in the space between us. Rotten and unnecessary. 

“Not like that,” he groans. “You know I don’t mean it like that! Don’t be such a dick! I just mean, like … it’s like you’re afraid of hurting me. You think that I can’t take the truth, so you keep on hiding it away from me, but you’re wrong. I can take the truth! I want the truth! I’m not - I’m not made of butterfly wings, and it pisses me off when you treat me like I am!” 

“I don’t mean to … treat you differently,” I explain, taken aback. “I just don’t want to … pressure you, or make some idiotic mistake that’ll mess things up. But when I tell you things are fine, I’m not doing it to spare your feelings, I’m doing it because I mean it! All I’m doing is telling you the truth. I mean, what would you rather me do, Simon? You haven’t done anything wrong, and I’m perfectly fine, so what else is there? What, I mean - Do you want me to get mad at you over nothing? Because I'm telling you right now, I won't do it."

We’re both heated now - jaws clenched and words spat. And it’s just like old times, but it aches. It aches so bad. There’s no rivalry here, no facade, and no game. It’s just us - Fighting because we don’t know what else to do. And it’s so painfully real - so painfully vulnerable - that it near shatters my heart. 

Tonight was supposed to be a relief, not a rematch. But here we are, once again - Right where neither of us wants to be. 

“At least then I’d know you’re not being fake, just to protect me, or whatever it is you think you’re doing!”

And with that, he jumps up, and stomps over to the edge of the lake - Sitting himself down in the mud, away from me. End of conversation. End of argument. But there's no point backing down now. If we're going to do this, then we may as well do it properly, and get this whole catastrophe over with ASAP. So I trail after him, helplessly. 

Dropping myself down besides him, the words come tumbling out before I can stop them - So desperate and broken. My mask well and truly dissolved. 

“Simon, I’m not like that, anymore. You know that. I don’t want to fight with you.” 

“No, Baz,” he whines. “I shouldn’t have - I know that you don’t want that. Neither do I. I just mean that … you’re allowed to, like, complain. You’re allowed to fight back. You’re allowed to tell me when I’m being a prat - Or when I’ve hurt you. None of that would make you a bad person. None of that would put us back where we were. All it would mean is that I know what you’re feeling. What you’re really feeling. I want to know. Even if you think I don’t.”

“You know what I’m feeling,” I plead. “I keep on telling you.” 

He shakes his head in disagreement, apparently unconvinced. 

“Only sometimes. And half the time you ‘telling me’ is just you saying you’re fine when you’re not. I know it is. You’re hard to read, but even you slip sometimes,, and I can tell that I’ve hurt you, or that something is bothering you, but you just … don’t say.”

“No, but … even if things aren’t necessarily great, I’m still fine. I’m still okay. I’m still happy. I’m not lying to you, Simon. What would be the point?” 

“I don’t - I mean, I don’t think you are ‘lying’, exactly. I just - I don’t mean to make it sound like I’m calling you a liar. I know you wouldn’t … do that. But I think, maybe, you honestly do think you’re fine (Which is why you say that you are), when you’re not really.” 

“What?” I ask, glancing over at him. “I’m not sure that I understand what you mean. Can you - Can you explain?” 

“I don’t know, Baz,” he winces. “I just - I’ve been speaking to Penny … about you.” 

Shifting himself forwards, slightly, he stares, expressionless, in front of him - His gaze a thousand miles from where we are. And I wait for him to elaborate, but it doesn’t come. 

“Okay,” I drawl. “And what did Bunce have to say exactly?” 

“Um, well … I, like, tried to explain to her what I think you’re doing - You know, when she pulled me out for one of her ‘chats’. And I mean, don’t worry - I didn’t tell her any detail about your personal business, or anything. I just wanted her to help me understand. And … she said that you sound like you’re in … denial.” 

“‘Denial’,” I repeat, confused (And, perhaps, a little defensive). “In denial about what?” 

“How you are,” he explains. “I just mean … I think she has a point. I don’t think you’re, like … normal.” 

Finally, he looks over at me, and I raise an eyebrow in question - Unsure of what to say. 

“Shit. Not like that,” he moans. “I don’t mean it in a bad way. I’m just - I’m not good with my words. I just mean that ... while, you may be better on the outside, I think that inside, you’re just as bad as me.” 

I pause for a moment, unsteady, trying to find my words. But, unhelpfully, the only one that my brain seems to be capable of supplying right now is ‘Fine’. Maybe they do have a point, after all. 

“Snow,” I huff. “You don’t have to worry about me. I don’t want you to. I’m perfectly normal … mentally.” 

“But you would say that! I really don’t think that you are, though. You’ve never been fine. Not the whole time I’ve known you, Baz.”

“That’s not true,” I insist. “I. Am. Fine.” 

He looks at me like it’s a lie; but it’s not. I mean it. And while I will concede that perhaps I’ve had a few moments of … concern, compared to him I’m golden. He’s the priority right now, not me. Because despite whatever may have happened in the past, I’m fine now. I can cope. Whereas he … well, I’m not sure that he can. 

“Then what was that night in the forest about? Hm?” He challenges. 

I steel, suddenly - His words suffocating my body. 

We both know what was happening in the forest that night, but we’ve never actually spoken about it properly (There was no need to - I coped). I was overwhelmed and I acted a little … rashly. A moment of weakness - Nothing more, nothing less. It’s not like I’d ever try to do it again. 

“That was a blip,” I dismiss. 

He scoffs - Dull and unamused. “You can hardly call that a ‘blip’, Baz. I mean ... what if I wasn’t there. What would you have done? -” 

I don’t answer him, because I can’t. I don’t know for sure what I would have done. Maybe I would’ve … gone through with it. But maybe I would’ve snapped out of it - I always had before. 

Mercifully, though, he spares me the discomfort of having to reply.

“- And even if it was a ‘blip’ (Which it isn’t), what about the night I found you in the catacombs? Or all the nightmares? Or all your family stuff? Or how stressed you get about school - How hard you push yourself? Or the whole vampire thing? Or everything that happened with … Lamb?” 

I cut him off before he can continue (Since I really don’t need a list of all things I’ve been weak enough to let my hurt show over). “I’ve told you there was nothing with Lamb. He convinced me that he could help. And I was playing a part, just like I was supposed to - I didn’t mean to make it sound like …”

“I know,” he sighs. “I didn’t mean like that. I know that. I just meant - I mean, I could tell that you were beating yourself up over it - over what he’d done - but … you were only trying to help us find Agatha. You couldn’t have known.”

“Okay.” 

“But … that wasn’t my point. Specifics don’t really matter. My point was that … you’re not ‘fine’. And I know that … I’m not either. But, I just wish that you didn’t feel like you have to pretend to be perfect and unbothered all the time, because of me. You should be able to get help, too. You should be able to … feel whatever it is that you’re feeling, without panicking about someone else seeing.” 

“So … you’re saying that, really, we’re just as bad as one another?” 

“Sort of. I mean … it’s not, like, a contest, or something. I just meant that, maybe, we’re both not exactly one hundred percent.” 

I laugh, bitterly. “We match.” 

“We match,” he echoes, nodding his head.

“But even if what you’re saying has some merit -”

“Which it does!” he interrupts.

Glaring over at him, I roll my eyes, but don’t object. 

“- Which maybe it does. I don’t understand why you’re bringing it up now. How I am is irrelevant to my little ... confession. And it doesn’t affect my ability to be honest with you?” 

“Okay,” he breathes. “Just … let me try to explain, then.”

“Okay,” I nod. “Go ahead, Snow. I’m listening.” 

“I’m bringing it up now because … I don’t want you to hide yourself away from me, anymore. It’s getting us nowhere. I just want - I mean, I want you to try and … not to do that. If you want something, ask. If I’ve upset you, say. If I’m being unreasonable, let me know. Don’t just … sit there and take it because you think it’s the noble thing to do, Baz. Please. I know that I … do the same sort of thing sometimes, but I don’t want you to, as well. I just - I don’t know how to tell what’s real or what’s just something you’re doing to try and be kind - Or to, like, protect yourself, I guess?” 

I gawp over at him, chest heaving unsteadily. 

He definitely has a point. I’ve been walking on eggshells around him for months. Carefully skirting around all that I want - all that I feel - in an attempt to stop it from consuming me. From consuming us. Convinced that it would destroy us both - Everything inside of me far too large, and hungry, and frightening, to handle.

“I just think that, if I know that you’re being … open with me, then it will be easier for me to believe you. To … believe all the nice things that you say or do, rather than questioning why you’re doing them. Whether it’s ‘cause you want to, or ‘cause you think it’s because that’s what I need from you in the moment, or ‘cause now’s the only ‘safe’ time to do it. I know … you’re not lying when you say you’re okay, but I think maybe you’re oversimplifying things, or, like, hiding the bad bits of how you feel. I just … if you say instead, it might help us. You won’t have to be so … frightened. And I might find it easier to accept what you say at face value, you know? I don’t know … maybe it’s stupid.” 

Exhaling, he stares down at the floor, gnawing at his bottom lip, anxiously - His words heavy on my mind. 

And, swallowing my pride, I speak - My voice crackling with emotion: “It’s not stupid. It makes sense, I - understand where you’re coming from. And, given that, I promise that I’ll ... try to be a little more forthcoming about how I’m feeling - More accurately descriptive. Even if it isn’t, necessarily, what I think you might want to hear.”

“Really?” he asks, disbelieving. 

“Really.” 

“Good,” he says, lips sparking upwards into a faint smile at my offer. 

“But … I’m somewhat apprehensive about it?” I break. 

“‘Apprehensive’? Why?” 

“Because I don’t want to end up accidentally pushing you further away from me. You’re already so … far, sometimes. Talking about how I feel really isn’t essential for me. I’ve always managed perfectly well without doing it, before -” He scrunches up his face, clearly objecting, but he let’s me continue uninterrupted, this time. “- I don’t mind being … cautious. I like being cautious. If I just blurt out every single thing I’m thinking or feeling, you may … get the wrong idea. And it’s not that everything I think about us is negative, or anything like that, it’s just … occasionally a little bleak. You already doubt that I’m committed to this - that I still want this - and I'm do everything I can to prove it to you, but I’m not sure that the message has gotten through to you. I want to stay. I want you to stay. I want us to be … together. And, I’m afraid that, if I’m entirely open, I may scare you away. That you’ll mistake my … desperation, for dissatisfaction or unhappiness, and think that I don’t want you. When I do."

He nods, understanding. 

“The absolute last thing that I want to do, is to mess this up,” I continue. “And, I’m not entirely sure that what you’re asking for won’t end up doing that. I just … want you to be sure that this is really what you want, before we go ahead and commit to it.”

“I know,” he whispers, sliding closer to me and grabbing hold of my hands. “I don’t want any of that bad stuff to happen, either, but I’m sure that this is what I want. I want to try it. Avoiding how you feel isn’t helping either of us, but ... maybe this will.” 

“You avoid things, too,” I argue. “I understand that you don’t want to seek professional help at this point, and that’s your prerogative - But you still refuse to talk to Bunce and I about how you’re feeling. How is that any different to what I’m doing? Surely that isn’t helping us, either?”  

As the words pour out of my mouth, my stomach pangs with shame. I don’t know why I’m, seemingly, so keen on shifting the blame over to him. We were working towards a resolution, and none of this is his fault (I’ve never thought that it was his fault). But maybe I’m just too cowardly to admit that my attempts to help have only hindered us. Maybe I just don’t want to bear the viscous twisting of guilt alone. Or maybe I’m just an arsehole (It wouldn’t surprise me. As much as I try to be a ‘good’ person, I so frequently miss the mark. It’s a wonder somebody as righteous as Simon can even tolerate my presence, to be honest, yet alone enjoy it). 

He doesn’t rise to the bait, though - Just sighs tiredly, and thunks his head down onto the edge of my shoulder. 

“I know I do. And you’re right … that doesn’t help us, either. But - I promise to try and stop, if you do. I want to get better, Baz,” he chokes. “I want us to get better.” 

Lulling my head over, I look at him - His Adam’s Apple bobbing, showily, and his boring blue eyes brimmed with tears. And, utterly overcome, I press a quick kiss to his hairline - Chaste and feather-light. 

“I want that too,” I admit, mumbling against him. “So we can do it together. I’ll do my best to be open with you about the more … difficult things, and you do your best to reciprocate. Sounds simple enough.”

It really doesn’t, if I’m honest. It sounds about as much fun as pulling teeth. But if this is what he wants - if this is what he needs - then who am I to argue? Trying something is better than trying nothing, after all. 

“With our track record, probably not,” he chuckles. “We really aren’t very good at this.” 

“True,” I breath. “But I’ve always loved a challenge, Snow. Why’d you think I went after the one guy I couldn’t have?”

“Because you couldn’t help it,” he softens, pressing closer - The heat of his face against my chest, welcome in the dwindling temperature of night. “You’ve told me that much.” 

“I know. But, Snow… if we’re going to do this, then I need you understand that whatever I say - whatever I think - I still like you as you are, right now. I still like us as we are, right now. I’d rather work with you through a rough patch, than lose you all together. I wouldn’t - I really wouldn’t be happy anywhere else. I choose you, Simon - However ‘you’ may be. Good or bad. Through thick and thin. Okay?” 

“Okay. I’ll … try to remember. And - I’m sorry … about today. I didn’t mean to mess it all up. I wanted to say it back, I just … panicked. I didn’t mean to - I never mean to ruin things. To ruin us. I really do want to be able to, like, love you properly … ‘Cause I do … love you. I - I love you, Baz.” 

Endlessly pleased, I take his face into my fands, and turn him around gently - Meeting his eyes face-to-face. My heart soaring gleefully within my chest at the sight of him - His cheeks flushed and a sweetly shy smile spread across his face. Because there it is - Finally. It’s all out in the open now. 

I love him and he loves me.

“You see that is more than ‘proper’ enough for me, Snow,” I beam, impossibly light. “So don’t go giving up on us yet. There will be plenty of time for us to figure out all of our … mess, later. But, I think that we’ve done more than enough talking for one day. So just … forget about all of that right now, and stay with me here. Okay?” 

“Okay,” he agrees, his voice wobbling, slightly. “You - Do you wanna’ show me the stars again, then? I’ve forgotten which constellation is which, already.”

“Of course you have,” I laugh. “You’re a hopeless study, I’ve always said so. But yes - It would be my pleasure to reeducate you.” 

And so, taking his shoulders in my hands, I roll us over so that he’s flat on his back - Holding myself up above him, and resting our foreheads together. Simon breaking into a smile, beneath me - Wide and bright and shining. And he’s a little bit of a mess - fat streaks of tears still staining his face, and his hair pulled into a wild matte - but it’s everything that I’d wanted. Everything that I’d hoped. 

Simon Snow is beautiful when he’s happy. 

“Just … one more thing.” 

“Anything,” I smile, smoothing his hair backwards. 

“Say it again.”

“Say what again?” 

“Basil ... you know what,” he coos. 

And I do, so I give it to him without hesitation (We’ve already had more than enough of that): 

“I love you, Simon Snow. Now and always.” 

And he smiles … and smiles … and smiles.

[beautifulletdownfics]

‘someday, someday’ :: tumblr edition, #30 :: the epilogue

June, five months later.

Seattle

“I can feel the love of my girlfriend in the building!”

“Oh boy,” I said under my breath, walking towards the sound of Harry’s booming voice.

“He’s been annoyingly upbeat all day,” Harry’s manager said from his spot walking next to me, “He’s lucky nobody’s hit him with a tranquilliser gun.” 

I laughed, “I’m extremely sorry. I’ll try to keep him out of your hair for a few days.”

“Nina!” Harry squawked out my name, still out of sight. The empty corridors of the venue made his voice carry throughout the whole place.

I landed in Seattle a few hours before, there was a hold up at the airport customs, but I slept on the plane so wasn’t feeling too foggy from travel. Harry had a show here tonight, and then two sold-out nights in Los Angeles before we had a small getaway planned in Jamaica. He was on a ‘micro tour’ which consisted of forty dates across Europe and the US, promoting the EP that dropped back in March and also giving Harry a break from writing his next album. I went to the opening night show in London four weeks ago and hadn’t seen Harry since.

We rounded a corner, and I saw him, jogging towards us in a tour hoody, jeans and fluffy socks with no shoes. Harry’s cheeks were red, and his eyes were wide with joy, my tummy clenched at the sight of him; at the sight of how happy seeing me made him. 

“Hello!” Harry yelled happily, not slowing at all before crashing into me and holding my body tightly against his, “Hello, you’re here! I love you. I’m so fucking in love with you.”

“I’ll see you later, mate,” His manager said somewhere behind me, “Soundcheck is at three, okay?”

Harry must have held up a thumb in agreement because we were left alone a moment later, my face pressed into the warm material of his jumper and my arms wrapped tightly around Harry’s back.

“Do you speak?” Harry asked, swaying us from side to side in a hug, “Because when I saw you a month ago, you could speak.” “Hi,” I bleated out, thickly, “I’ve missed you.” He squeezed me almost too tightly, “I missed you too. So much. I’m so excited about this week.”

I threaded my hands behind his neck then, needing to show my affection. I managed to get in half a dozen kisses to his jaw and side of Harry’s mouth before he loosened his grip and covered my mouth with his. The kiss was slow and heated me all the way through, feeling Harry’s body after so many weeks lit a fire in my gut.

He felt it too.

“Lemme show you my dressing room,” He said between pecks to my lips. “I’ve missed you so much.”

It wasn’t far away, Harry took the handle of my suitcase from where his manager had left it and then strode off down the hallway, leaving me to trot along behind him trying to catch up. I skipped passed him, slapping my hand gently to his bum and turning back to give him a cheeky look.

Harry shook his head and muttered something to himself just as we passed a door he disappeared into. I skidded back to follow him, taking in the small but inviting space we had just walked into. Harry shut the door behind me and had me engulfed in another kiss before I could get a good look at Harry’s space on tour.

His palms pressed against the base of my spine before Harry expertly unclasped my bra under my shirt, his fingers moved around to dance across my nipples.

“Well that feels odd,” I said as he attached his mouth to my neck, my bra sitting strangely over my shoulders and bunching under the fabric of my shirt. There was a reason the layers usually came off in a particular order, Harry jumped the gun though, and I can’t say I blamed him for it.

“Odd?” Harry questioned, lightly squeezing my left breast as he sucked behind my ear. It sent a rush of heat straight through me, and when I stumbled against him, Harry laughed against my chin. “That’s more like it.”

A moment later, my shirt and bra were off, and Harry gently pushed me back until I was pressed against the closed door. His eyes sparkled when he pulled back to look at me, his own cheeks flushed with desire while his chest heaved up and down. I reached for his belt loops, missing the feeling of him against him and wanting to feel his hardness against me again.

“Harry,” I whined.

“Fucking look at you,” He breathed, taking a finger and tracing it down from my neck, between my bare breasts and then down to the button of my jeans, “Can I keep going?”

“Does this door lock?” Harry reached behind me to the handle, and I heard a satisfying click, “Yes.”

A smile grew across my face, and I reached up for Harry’s shoulders to pull him down for another searing kiss. His fingers congregated at the top of my trousers, quickly flipping the button out of its spot and unzipping them. We giggled our way through him trying to peel the tight skinny jeans from my legs, he kneeled in front of me as he struggled to get my shoes off and then the jeans over my feet. My palms rested on Harry’s back as I hunched over in laughter. My laughter died, though when the trousers were gone, and Harry looked up at me from the floor, his warm breath fanning against me. 

Before I could think he pressed a kiss below my belly button and tugged down my knickers, “You’re so beautiful,” Harry said, “I missed this so much.”

+++

“C’mon, we have a job to do,” Harry flung open the door to his dressing room and pulled me down the corridor.

“A job?” I ran a hand through my hair, hoping I didn’t look like I’d just had three orgasms. “Yes, I’m on crew afternoon tea,” Harry told me impatiently, “So we’re making cookies.”

“Cookies? Where on earth are we making cookies?”

“Here,” He held out his arm in a big reveal, the catering kitchen before us, “I have use of this kitchen for the next hour. Morning tea is at two.”

“We’re making cookies.”

“Yes.”

“You’re such a charming idiot,” I grinned, “I love you.”

His face lit up as he took his phone out of his pocket and gave it to me, “You DJ and I’ll be ... What’s that guy's name? The cooking one?” 

“Jamie Oliver?” 

“No,” he shook his head, still trying to think of the name himself. Harry was looking over what had been left out on the bench, it seemed whoever was letting Harry use the kitchen was protective of their space and had elected to put everything he would need in plain sight. 

“Gordon Ramsey?” I tried. 

“No, the other one ... That’s different.” 

“Noel Fielding?” 

Harry stopped short and looked at me with a sceptical look on his face, “Noel Fielding,” he said flatly, “He’s the host, he doesn’t cook, Nina!” 

“Paul Hollywood then.”

“No.”

I smiled, “You’re not giving me a very good indication of who you mean.” 

“Ainsley! That Ainsley guy, with the grin,” Harry demonstrated the nature of the grin in question. 

“That’s a girls name,” I said, not finding the name familiar in the slightest. 

“Ainsley is badass,” Harry blew me off, “I’ll show you.” 

We spent the next twenty minutes fumbling our way through the cookie recipe Harry saved onto his phone. He was adamant we double the recipe, so there was plenty for everyone. Halfway through I was banned from helping anymore after I went rogue and decided not to measure out the chocolate chips, instead I was eyeballing the amount.

“Don’t mess up the recipe!” He reached for the bowl and tried to intercept the chocolate chips I was shaking in.

“You can never have too many choc chips, Harry.” “Yes, you can! That’s why they tell you how much to put in! It’s about ratios, Nina!”

“Ratios don’t apply to chocolate chips, you measure that shit with your heart.”

He glared at me, looking every bit the disagreeable child, “If there’s too high a chocolate content the cookies will burn. It’s a chemical reaction! They’ve got—”

—You need to cool it on the Bon Appetite videos, mate.”

“Mate!” Harry latched onto my waist and dug his fingers in to tickle me, “Boyfriends don’t get ‘mate’, thank you very much.”

When we presented the cookies later on at crew afternoon tea Harry admitted that maybe I hadn’t completely ruined the batch, he ate four before anyone else got to them, and I didn’t try very hard at all not to be smug about how much he liked the treat. I watched him happily prattle away to different people, shovelling more cookies into his mouth with abandon as the social gathering went on.

“You made cookies so you’d have an excuse to eat cookies, didn’t you?” I confronted him when Harry handed me a cup of tea a little while later, “You’ve got a little bit, c’ mere.”

I wiped the corner of his mouth where a smudge of chocolate sat with my thumb, avoiding the heated look he was giving me, and he settled onto the sofa next to me, “I did nothing of the sort.”

“Hmmm,” I smiled, blowing onto the surface of my tea to cool it.

+++

Los Angeles, Day Two

You’re so cute when you play xx

“Concentrate, Harry,” I snatched the sticky-note he wrote for me off the end of his finger and stuck it to the piano.

“It’s true,” He pressed a kiss to my cheek and stood up off the stool, finally looking as though he was ready to take soundcheck seriously.

This was Harry’s idea, as so many crazy ideas were. He waited 24 hours after I joined him in Seattle before trying it out on me, casually mentioning that it would be cool if I could play the song we wrote together on stage with him one night. As with so many things, Harry broke the idea to me slowly, and I was swayed from my status of categorically absolutely not to where we currently were. Which was us both up on stage behind a grand piano during his last Los Angeles soundcheck. 

A roadie set up a microphone at the piano for me to sing harmonies despite my telling Harry over and over I wouldn’t be using it. I knew what Harry was thinking though, that the more we rehearsed it through, the more I would get lost in the song and find myself humming along supporting Harry’s voice where the song needed it. He was using my instinct against me.

Or he would if he ever got to actually singing the song through. For now, he seemed content to mess about and get crew members to request songs for me to play.

“Harry,” I was finally reaching my threshold, my nerves eroding my ability to play along much further.

He looked at me and his face fell slightly, but he gave me a warm smile, “Okay, let’s do a proper run through.”

“Thank you.”

I started the intro slowly, closing my eyes to enjoy the way the sound of the keys spread through the venue. I really did love this song, and despite how often I heard it since it’s release, there was still a warming kind of magic to it. It took me back to meeting Harry and him seeing my musicality for the first time last year. They were such sweet memories, and I loved thinking about how little I knew at the time; how much I underestimated what Harry’s effect on my life would be.

When Harry started singing into his microphone I opened my eyes to watch him, he was facing the empty stadium, still as he let his voice carry. He told me earlier he was thinking about changing a few runs tonight but he didn’t want to distract or take away from the fact this would probably be the only time we played it live together. 

By the time he started singing the second chorus I had tears in my eyes and his band were all quiet watching. None of them was setting up for the next song or distracted on their phones, everyone was watching Harry perform to the empty theatre.

His head slowly turned around to me when I started singing along behind him. He smiled through the next few lyrics, removing his mic from the stand and walking over to be closer to me. Our voices did sound lovely together, although I felt horribly exposed doing so. I stuck to just doing what the voices on Rodger’s recorded version did. We were missing the strings and some of the effects from the piano, but there was a simple beauty to just performing the song with this grand piano in front of me.

The instrumental came and I focused on getting the more complicated piano part I had written sounding perfect. Harry’s music director told me earlier if I wanted to extend it I could, but again, I was wary of settling too much of the attention on myself. This was Harry’s show and I wanted his fans to see him in a different way, not to be introduced too much to the idea of me.

“Fuck, that was amazing,” Harry said into the microphone as I played through the final few chords. He was grinning ear to ear, watching my hands on the keys. 

“Your voice sounds beautiful,” I told him.

 He reached over me for the yellow sticky-note stack and black sharpie, scrawling something out before tearing off the note and sticking it to the piano right in front of me.

I love you. x

+++

“You nervous?” “More nervous than I’ve been in years,” I hurried back without looking at who was speaking, I recognised the voice of Harry’s manager.

It was halfway through Harry’s set on the second night in Los Angeles. We were getting a charter flight from LAX straight after the show to Jamaica for four days. But before that, I needed to get through what was about to happen next.

There was a grand piano on stage that wasn’t usually there, and Harry’s band were going to clear off for the song, leaving just Harry and me on stage. He was confident that our relationship would stay under wraps. It was easy enough to let the thousands of fans in the audience believe that I was merely the girl who helped Harry write the song. 

Harry’s band members came off, offering me wishes of luck as they all scrambled in different directions; some needing the bathroom and others on the hunt for a snack. I could hear Harry talking to the crowd, and I tried to tune into what he was saying.

“I have a treat coming up for you now,” He said slowly into his microphone, looking over his shoulder at where I was standing, probably checking I was there. The crowd roared.

“I’ll kill him for this,” I said to nobody in particular. 

“You were magic at soundcheck,” Harry’s drummer told me, “Have fun out there.”

“The story of the next song is probably my favourite of any of my songs,” Harry’s voice drew me back, I ran my hands down my skirt and ruffled my hair nervously, “It was a sad little broken song until this person came along and saved it … I’m so excited to have her here tonight to play it with me … Now, you all need to give her a very warm welcome because I am absolutely sure she will never agree to this again. For one night only, this is Nina Lawrence joining me to play my favourite song from the EP, Life Is Grey.”

I stumbled up the stairs and into the stage lights, crossing quickly to the middle where Harry was standing at his microphone. His face was cracked open in a huge smile that made me laugh at him as he opened his arms for a greeting hug. It felt oddly platonic, but he whispered he loved me right into my ear, turning back to his audience with one arm over my shoulder and the other held out wide, encouraging the applause being sent out way.

He took both his hands back to his microphone after a moment, and I shuffled behind him to find my place at the piano. It had been a long time since I was last on stage playing an instrument other than my trumpet. The sticky notes from soundcheck were still stuck to the piano and I smiled at them both.

I adjusted the microphone at my mouth and held my fingers over the keys, strumming out a few chords as Harry told the story of the song and thanked the crowd for the umpteenth time. Then, he turned to me and smiled, “Let’s go,” he mouthed.

I nodded once and started playing without breaking eye contact. 

+++

Whitehouse, Jamaica

“Chin up!”

Harry’s neck snapped back, his eyes hitting the ceiling, “It was! I swear, I looked down for a second.”

“You can’t look at your fingers,” I lowered myself onto the piano stool next to him, “It’s bad technique.”

“I was just checking,” He mumbled pathetically, ducking his cheek down to his bare shoulder to scratch at an itch.

“Your fingers are still there,” I told him gently, resting my hand on his thigh, his small yellow swimmer shorts showing more of his legs than I was used to, “It sounds lovely.”

“It sounds nothing like when you play it.”

“You’re grouchy, did you have a nap at all?” “No,” Harry frowned, when his fingers missed three notes in quick succession, “Shit.” “Don’t stop,” I encouraged, giving his leg a squeeze, “Keep going. A few missed notes are no reason to stop.”

I could feel droplets from my wet hair drip down my back, and one must have hit Harry because he turned to look at me with a smirk on his face as he inspected what I was wearing, “I like holiday Nina. She’s a bit of an exhibitionist.”

“Shut up! I’m wearing the same thing as you!”

Harry’s eyes dropped to my chest, biting his lip as his eyes hovered over my floral bikini top, “Trust me, it’s not even close to the same thing.”

“We’re fifteen metres from the beach!” I exclaimed, jumping up from my spot and stomping toward the kitchen, “Swimmers are perfectly acceptable attire.”

“I’m going to miss seeing your arse like this,” Harry had followed me in, he went over to the bar cart and got out two clean glasses, “Margarita?”

“Please,” I responded petulantly, my gaze going out over the small pool to the beach beyond our private condo. 

Harry stayed here years before when he was writing songs for his first solo album, and I loved that he brought me here too. It was private and secluded and beautiful … And came with a baby grand piano where I was continuing to teach Harry to play.

We took our drinks out to the ocean, dipping down in the warm water when it was a comfortable depth to sit and sip at the cocktails. This was our evening routine before cooking a meal together—a sunset swim, a few cocktails and usually, sex in the shower before dinner. Harry was very good at the holiday thing.

“I’m going to write the album in London,” He said after a long silence between us. “Well, as much as possible anyway.”

I waited a moment before responding, “Are you sure?” “I am,” Harry replied quickly. 

It was a decision he was taking his time on making, all his previous albums had been written in Los Angeles but for his next Harry was tossing up the idea of staying in the UK. I didn’t want to influence his decision at all, but in truth, the thought of him working overseas filled me with dread. I had grown so used to having him around, and the last four weeks, while he was on his micro tour, was insight enough into what it would be like if he wrote the album abroad.

Even worse was the thought of him writing the album in Los Angeles and then going straight into touring it worldwide. 

“What are you thinking?” He asked finally, “You’ve gone quiet on me.”

“I don’t want to jinx it,” I swam a little closer to him, accepting the seat when he hitched his leg up in front of him.

Harry kissed my shoulder, his free arm snaking around my waist in the water, “Jinx it?”

“Well, obviously I’m extremely biased to the writing in London plan …”

“You are?” Harry grinned up at me, freshly freckled from the sun and his nose a little pink.

“Yeah,” I moved my arm around his shoulder and took the final mouthful of my margarita.

“I love you,” He told me, “You’re a lot of the reason to stay in London. I don’t want to write overseas and then disappear on tour. We’ll never see each other.”

I frowned, “You shouldn’t stay just for me.”

“I also think it’s time to try something new with my music,” He continued, “I’ve always run away to write … Usually, with a broken heart or a deep sense of dissatisfaction in my life. This time will be different in so many ways. I don’t have a reason to run away.”

“You know if you stay in London, you’ll end up coming to a hundred symphonies?” 

“Sounds great,” Harry replied without blinking. “And my nosy girlfriends will be crashing in your living room after we day drink all summer in your backyard?”

He nodded, “I volunteer as Designated Driver.”

I screwed up my face, “You’ll probably end up with my hair ties all through your car, and I’ll take all your warmest socks?”

Harry mocked seriousness, “Right we’re buying you your own pair of those hiking socks, you can’t just rifle through my draws willy nilly.”

“I always eat more than half the ice cream,” I continued.

“You’re not going to convince me otherwise,” Harry kissed the side of my mouth, sweetly, “I love you, Nina.”

“And I love your socks.”

++

HELLO!

And now we’re really done!! Thank you so much for reading along and an every bigger thank you if you reached out at some point to say you liked this story. Your encouragement is worth more than gold.

xx

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

The Girl Next Door (Part 6) - Brothers

Summary: Dean and the reader have their first proper date out and the reader makes a visit to see her brother...

The Girl Next Door Masterlist

Pairing: Neighbor/Mechanic!Dean x baker!reader

Word Count: 6,000ish

Warnings: language, angst, discussed past suicide attempt

A/N: Enjoy!

Reader’s POV

“Dean?” you asked when Dean had been driving for nearly half an hour that Sunday night for your date out. He hadn’t given you any hints before he’d left your house that morning, simply told you to wear something comfortable on your feet. “Where are we going?”

“Music festival,” he said with a smile. “They got food, beer, music. You’ll love it. I swear.”

“Thanks,” you said once you got a wristband at the gate and were wandering around with Dean about fifteen minutes later. He was munching on something called a donut burger but you weren’t daring enough to try that one out. You got some fried dough to snack on as you walked around, waiting for the music to start. Something touched your hand and it took a moment to realize it was Dean’s. He kept brushing it up against yours, not looking at you but you let yours bump back twice before he grabbed it and laced your fingers together.

You walked until you found a spot to watch the first act come out, done with your food by then and Dean returning to wrap his arms around you. You smiled, nuzzling back into his chest.

“Warmer?” he asked.

“I don’t remember the last time I got a hug was is all,” you said. You felt him squeeze you again, relaxing his arms as he lazily kept them around you. He moved a little to the music, even if the band playing was only the opener to the opener. After a while though he snuck off and returned with a box of cheesy fries, smiling as you shared them between the switch of bands.

“You know…” he said, popping a fry in his mouth. “This whole not getting hugs thing, totally not cool with me. You should get one at least once a day.”

“Are you volunteering your services?” you teased.

“Naturally,” he said, eating another fry. You rubbed your bare arm as the sun was starting to go down, Dean shrugging out of his flannel. He held it out and it took a moment for you to realize he was giving it to you. It was far too large but it smelled nice and was soft and warm around you. “Not get along with your family?”

“Jack, not so much,” you said, nibbling on a fry. “Our parents aren’t around anymore.”

“Sorry to hear that,” he said.

“Jack’s...not the most stable of people lately. We agreed that when he was better, I’d give him his half of what they left behind for us but…”

“But Jack didn’t seem so great this morning,” said Dean.

“He hasn’t been great a long time,” you said. “He’s better than he was though which is saying something.”

“Well I hope he gets the help he needs,” said Dean.

“Me too,” you said. Dean reached over and moved a piece of hair the wind had caught and tucked it behind your ear. He let his finger linger over your cheek, pulling it away to get more food. “Thanks for getting me out of the house.”

“Thanks for getting me out of the house,” he said.

“Sam doing okay?” you asked.

“Mhm. Told me about your jedi mind trick you did on him after I ran out with Avy. Thank you,” he said.

“I was just trying to help,” you said with a shrug.

“You know this music festival is here next weekend too if you’d like to come back,” he said. “Different bands and all that.”

“You think you’re getting a second date, Winchester?” you said. He shrugged, a shit eating grin on his face. “I’d love to.”

“Perfect,” he said.

You went back over to the stage when the next act came on, Dean’s arms around you again. The music was better this time around and you moved to the beat slowly, Dean following your lead as you stood in place. By the time the main act was up, you were glad Dean had given you his shirt, still toasty warm. You’d have to remember to bring something the next weekend. You nuzzled your cheek against his arm, forgetting where you were for a moment. Dean didn’t say anything though and simply kissed the top of your head.

“Want to head home?” he asked as the last song was ending. You nodded, taking your time to walk back to his car, holding hands once again.

The drive home felt much shorter and soon Dean was walking you to your door, giving your cheek a kiss.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said.

“Goodnight, Dean,” you said, giving one back. His lips twitched up, an ever so subtle tinge of pink on his face. “Dean?”

“Hm?” he hummed, halfway towards turning away. You’d taken off his flannel and were holding it out to him, Dean looking to it and back to you. “S’better on you anyways.”

“I mean obviously but…” you teased.

“Cute,” he said, flashing you a smirk. “See you around, sweetheart.”

“Later, Dean.”

“Please don’t, please don’t, please don’t,” you said, the box slipping from your hand the next morning. It was raining and you’d tried to rush as you tucked them away in your car but you were about five seconds away from losing the entire batch. You went down to your knee in the driveway, feeling it scrape open but you were able to rest it against the ground and get a better grip on the boxes. You winced as you stood up and got the boxes safely away in the back. “Ow. Fuck.”

“Hidy ho, neighbor,” teased Dean, he and Sam popping around the other side of the car, a pair of raincoats on them.

“Hey guys,” you said, slamming the trunk shut. “Taking a walk in the rain?”

“Sammy’s this close to going all Misery on me if I don’t take him out for fresh air every once in while,” said Dean, Sam narrowing his eyes at him.

“The doctors said light physical activity is good for me. Plus I’m not so dizzy anymore,” he said.

“Wait. You’re not dizzy when you’re regularly taking your medicine and resting? Who’d a thought?” teased Dean again.

“Oh come on, Sam. You really weren’t taking your stuff when you were supposed to?” you said. “No wonder you felt like shit.”

“No one ever said the Winchesters weren’t a stubborn bunch. God, Jess used to tell me that all the time,” he said.

“Shocking,” you said, both sets of eyes going down to your knee. “I gotta run and do these deliveries. Summer kid took the day off again.”

“Let’s get that taken care of first?” said Dean, nodding to your cut. You rolled your eyes but waved them onto the porch out of the weather, both of them humming at the smell coming through the open front door. “That smells amazing.”

“Always smells extra good in here on rainy days,” you said, heading back to the kitchen. You stuck a band aid on your knee, both of them cocking their heads from the front door. You groaned and ripped it off, getting a bottle of alcohol and cleaned off the cut in view of them, slapping a bigger bandage on. “You two happy now?”

“For the most part,” said Dean. You popped back outside and locked up the front door, throwing up your hood under the porch. You were slower on your knee, Dean turning to Sam. “Hey, Y/N. Want some company this morning? Free manual labor in it for ya. This one could do for a field trip.”

“Dean. We annoy Y/N enough as it is,” said Sam.

“Well my track record this morning isn’t so great. As long as Sam doesn’t do any lifting, you guys can tag along. Kind of boring is all,” you said.

“I mean, I will take literally any kind of adult interaction I can get,” said Sam.

“Alright then. Hop in.”

“Ah, Sinful Sweets. Best part of my day,” said Teddy, giving you a smile when Dean set down a box of mixed pastries on the counter.

“I always thought the cafe here made their own desserts,” said Dean.

“Eh, we used to. We’re more restaurant now than back then. We still get the avid morning crowd that wants a danish to bring to work though,” he said. Dean hummed and you headed out, getting a tsk from him once you were outside and heading for the car.

“You really sell your stuff in there and let them claim it as their own?” said Dean.

“They’re a consistent customer,” you said with a shrug.

“Doesn’t seem right, with how hard you work and all,” he said.

“I don’t need a big bakery with all the overhead. The way things work now is fine,” you said.

“Alright. Where’s our next stop?” he asked.

“I got a platter of cookies to deliver to the barber shop and then I was probably going to grab lunch at the diner,” you said. “You can join if you’d like. I got...stuff I’d rather do on my own after that though.”

“Maybe Sammy and I’ll go have lunch with the boys at the garage,” said Dean as he smiled at you. “I got a feeling we may be starting to actually annoy you.”

“No. I’m just...busy this afternoon,” you said. “I’ll take the company any other time though, seriously.”

“Well, uh, let’s do this last delivery so we can grab some grub, hm?”

You took a deep breath as you walked into the waiting room two hours later, signing in and barely sitting down before a nurse grabbed you. You followed her back down the hall, entering the room and taking a seat on the couch by Jack. He picked at a thread on the pillow, doing his best to pretend you weren’t there.

“Hey,” you said.

“Did you really have to call them on me? Do you know how much trouble you got me in?” he said, shoving the pillow aside as he glared at you.

“If you had rang my doorbell and politely asked about your share of the inheritance, I wouldn’t have needed to,” you shot back.

“They questioned me if I’m a danger to myself or others,” he said.

“Are you?” you asked.

“No!” he shouted, just in time for a doctor to walk in the room. “Great. Dr. Evil is here.”

“Everything alright in here?” asked Dr. Hank, taking a seat across from you both.

“Peachy,” grumbled Jack.

“Jack. We’re here today to talk about what happened yesterday morning. You showed up at your sister’s home unannounced,” he said.

“Lots of people drop by families houses unannounced all the time,” said Jack.

“You aren’t allowed to do that and you know that,” he said.

“Why not?” you asked. You caught the flash of surprise on Jack’s face as the doctor turned his attention on you. “He does kind of have a point. People do that.”

“Yes but we are trying to put structure back in Jack’s life here-”

“Control,” mumbled Jack.

“...Structure in Jack’s life,” said the doctor with what looked like a glare in Jack’s direction. “Your brother has certain rules, as do all our patients, when it comes to day passes.”

“Listen. I get it. I think Jack gets that we aren’t at that point in our relationship to be free to walk in and out of each other’s spaces,” you said, Jack staring at the floor. “But the reason I came here is to understand why you wanted your share of the money right then and there.”

Jack shrugged, the doctor sighing.

“Your sister asked a question, Jack.”

“I’m the older brother,” mumbled Jack.

“Do you need help with something?” you asked. Jack laughed, staring at you.

“Help? I want to go home. I’m tired of doing what other people tell me all day long. You say one little sarcastic thing here you get locked in your room for the day with nothing to do or you get privileges revoked or they make you feel like an idiot. Structure? I’m not even allowed to choose when to go sleep, when to wake up, when I can eat, what I can eat. I have no control over anything in my life and the second I try and get some here, I get in trouble and- ”

“That’s enough Jack,” said Dr. Hank. You looked at Jack, saw the way he was staring at you. You’d seen it before.

The way Sam looked up at Dean in the backyard after the fire. The way Sam looked up at you in Avy’s room on Saturday night. The way Jack had looked at you the night you came to the decision to send him to that facility.

He was asking for your help. Only this time he wanted help with something else.

To leave.

“I will not give you your inheritance,” you said, Jack blank faced. “But I will take you out of here and you can stay with me if you listen to my rules and I mean all of them.”

“I don’t think-”

“Quiet,” you shot at the doctor. “I sent my brother here to get help. It’s been a year. You’re clearly not helping so I’m taking him.”

“He may be a threat to-”

“Jack. Do you want to live? Yes or no?” you asked.

“Yes,” he said quietly.

“You gonna hurt me if I yell at you for breaking a rule?” you asked. He shook his head.

“No. Never,” he said.

“Great. No threat. Now I’m taking him home right now or I’m getting my neighbor’s law firm on the phone. Your choice.”

“Jack,” you said, rubbing your temples as you drove him back to your house. “Yesterday. You don’t want the money do you. You wanted to runaway. That’s what you wanted it for. Isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled from the passenger seat.

“Why didn’t you say something?” you asked. “I could have done something.”

“Cause you hate me,” he said, staring out the window.

“I don’t hate you,” you said.

“I hate me.”

You pulled over on the highway, Jack frowning at you.

“Our first new rule is you talk to me. You didn’t talk to me, didn’t talk to anyone back then. I’m not going to let that happen again, alright?” you said.

“I’m older. I’m supposed to take care of you, not the other way around,” he said.

“I don’t care. Besides, you’re only two years older, doofus,” you said. “Second rule. You will go to a therapist we pick out together, daily.”

“Y/N. I didn’t like-”

“Third rule. You don’t have to be scared. Crack a joke or make a comment. You can still be you, Jack. Eat what you want when you want. Stay up late and sleep in. You decide those things. I don’t want some mindless thing running around. I want my brother. I want a happy big brother. That’s all,” you said. “And I’m sorry I haven’t been by to visit since Christmas. That was wrong of me.”

“I did sort of yell at you last time. It’s okay,” he said, running his hands up and down his thighs. “I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you,” you said. He froze, swallowing hard. “I forgive you, Jack. Nothing you did was your fault. Let’s go home now, okay? We can run to the store and get you anything you want on the way. Some new clothes, maybe some food you’d like in the house. I got a whole bunch of lemon cookies on the counter. You love those.”

“You can’t possibly forgive me,” he said quietly.

“I’ve had a pretty good reminder lately of how siblings are supposed to treat one another. We’ve been doing a shitty job of it for years. So we go home and we start over,” you said. “Deal?”

“Just don’t send me back there and you got whatever you want.”

“I want you to get a job too, Jack,” you said, getting out of the car a few hours later, bags in hand. “Something part-time right now.”

“A job?” he asked.

“Yes. You need money to buy yourself things you want and I want you back out in the real world, not whatever crap they’ve been shoving down your throat the past year,” you said.

“You could have left me there,” he said, stopping halfway up the driveway.

“Once you settle in, I want us two to talk. Something...something seems really off about that place and with you Jack. I want you to stop taking any medicine they gave you until you see a new doctor. We can look tomorrow,” you said.

“Do we have to?” he groaned.

“Until I’m not afraid that every time I leave the house I’m going to come home and find something horrifying, then yeah, you’re seeing a therapist. I think it’ll be good for you,” you said. “Come on. We’ll order pizza, get you moved in.”

You both watched a soccer ball come rolling up to you a few seconds later, Avy and Dean out in the front yard, Sam laughing from the front porch, probably at Dean for kicking it so hard if you had to guess.

“Nosey neighbor?” asked Jack.

“Those are the Winchesters. I just started dating the one walking over here so play nicer than you did yesterday, please,” you said.

“Hey,” said Dean, nodding when he saw you and Jack standing there. “Sorry about that. I forget my own strength sometimes.”

You giggled, cutting it off when you saw Dean staring at Jack.

“I’m moving in,” blurted out Jack. Dean hummed, giving him a smile. “Until I’m...better. Feeling better. On my own two feet.”

“Alright. Be nice to your sister for me. You ever need somethin’, just come on over. We’re going through our own thing right now but Y/N’s had our backs more than once. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of you, Jack,” said Dean. Jack nodded, Dean doing the same back. “Y/N we uh, wanted to invite you over for dinner. Sammy’s in the mood to cook with some supervision of course. Jack, you’re welcome to join us.”

“Y/N can go. I can get...” he trailed off when he caught your face.

“We’ll be over in a little while if that’s okay?” you asked. Dean smiled and pecked a quick kiss on your lips before he headed back with the ball. “You just can’t stand to go like, four hours without seeing me, can you?”

“Even four hours is too long, sweetheart!” he laughed, kicking the ball back across the yards and over to Avy.

“He’s a dork,” you said, waving Jack with you to the front porch. “We’ll get pizza tomorrow. I promise.”

Half an hour later, Jack had his room settled and knew the ground rules you’d set for him. He would go to therapy every day during the work week and he’d find a part-time job to work at. You’d help him get a car if he decided he wanted one in a little while but for now you were driving him around. His curfew was nine during the week and ten on the weekends unless he was out with you and he most certainly did not want to find out what happened if he lied to you.

“Jack? You ready to go to dinner?” you shouted from the bottom of the stairs.

“Do I have to?” asked Jack.

“Yes,” you said, leaning against the door to his new room.

“Why? It’s your boyfriend and his family,” he said.

“Because Dean was nice enough to invite you. He would very much like you to feel good again too,” you said. Jack lifted his chin. “No, I didn’t tell him anything specific. Just said you had some stuff going on.”

“What? Don’t want your boyfriend to know your brother tried to off himself?” he said, smirking as he walked down the stairs. You shut your eyes and took a deep breath. “That was a joke by the way.”

“I haven’t known Dean very long. I don’t share things like that yet and it’s not really mine to share,” you said as you followed after him.

“You like this guy, huh,” he said. “You seem different from Christmas. Happier.”

“Slowly getting there. The Winchesters...their family has their own problems but they stick together. I figured...maybe we could try that,” you said.

“Y/N,” said Jack with a smile. “What happened...that’s not something I don’t think I can ever get over. I have to live with it.”

“Yeah. You do. But you’re going to live with it. You’re not leaving me too, you got it? Or else I’m going to kick your ghost ass,” you said.

“You always lost when we wrestled,” he said.

“Maybe I just let you win,” you said, grabbing the container off the front table. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he said.

“It’s only three of them,” you said as you locked up after the two of you and cut across the yards. “Sam’s the tall guy in the beanie. Avy’s Sam’s six year old daughter. Dean’s temporarily living with them while Sam’s recovering from a car accident.”

“Must have been pretty serious,” said Jack, pausing at the bottom of their porch.

“It was. Come on, Jackie,” you said, holding out your hand.

“You haven’t called me that in a decade,” he said.

“Better get used to it again,” you said, tugging him up the steps. You rang the doorbell, Avy popping around the corner, giving you a smile. “Hey, cutie. I brought some lemon cookies for dessert.”

“You’re the best neighbor ever,” she said, opening the door for you. You laughed and handed her the container, stepping inside and slipping off your shoes. “Hi.”

“Hi,” said Jack, taking off his sneakers. “Uh, I’m Jack, Y/N’s brother.”

“Do you make cookies too?” she asked.

“No. Y/N’s the baker,” he said, giving her a smile. She took off for the kitchen, the both of you heading over to it, Dean watching Sam like a hawk from the countertop.

“Dean. There is such a thing as personal space,” said Sam while he worked over the stove.

“I mean, we’re all used to that horrendously ugly mug of yours but if you decide to pass out, I’d rather we not go to the hospital for the third time in a week, hm?” said Dean.

“I loathe you,” said Sam.

“Yup. These guys are definitely brothers,” said Jack. Sam turned away, Dean nudging him that he’d take over. Sam gave him a nod when Dean hopped to the ground and swapped places with him. “I’m Jack. Dean said it was cool if I stopped by.”

“No, no. That’s great. Y/N’s family is plenty welcome,” said Sam. “Dean said you’re moving in?”

“Yeah, for a while,” said Jack, glancing at you. “Until my new warden says I’m allowed to go.”

“I got one of those too,” said Sam, pointing over his shoulder at Dean.

“Maybe we can swap sometime,” said Jack. Sam laughed, Dean narrowing his eyes at Sam when he spun around.

“Hey, meat’s done. Finish making your tacos yourself. We’re hungry,” said Dean, patting Sam’s arm.

“Alright, bossy,” said Sam. Jack raised an eyebrow in your direction but you shook your head. “I had a bit of head trauma. Tonight’s the first night I’ve been allowed to actually cook since it happened. Dean’s a worrier if you couldn’t tell.”

“I think I got that part,” said Jack. Dean rolled his eyes and went over to get a cookie but Avy frowned and shook her head at him.

“Come on, Avy. One?” he asked.

“You’ll spoil your dinner,” she said, walking past him, Sam giving her a fist bump along the way.

“That’s my girl,” he said. “Avy, you help Uncle Dean with the plates while I whip these up.”

“You got it,” she said. You got a drink for Jack and yourself from the fridge, Dean nodding for everybody to eat outside on the back porch. It took a few trips but eventually everything made it out there.

Jack and Dean were both pretty quiet, mostly listening to Avy talk about her summer camp, Sam asking questions every so often. She got bored quickly though and went over to her swing set, playing on it while Sam kept an eye on her from his seat.

“Medicine?” asked Dean. Sam sighed and stood up, returning after a minute. “Good boy.”

“So, Jack. What do you do for a living?” asked Sam.

“Nothing at the moment. I need a part time job. I’m looking for one,” said Jack quickly.

“You ever work on cars?” asked Dean. Jack shook his head but Dean shrugged. “I work at Hunter’s over on main. Our old boss just retired last week and we could use a guy. As long as you’re not a complete idiot and got a clean driving record, we could-”

“I don’t know anything about cars,” he said. Dean stared at him.

“Eh, we’ll keep you to the basics at first. Pays pretty good, even part time.”

“Yeah, I think that sounds good for you, Jack,” you said.

“Uh, thank you. I appreciate it,” said Jack.

“Great. Now Benny will get off my ass about finding extra help,” teased Dean.

“You know, I really don’t need-” started Sam, Dean cutting him off.

“Sammy,” said Dean. “Enough. You’re not working in the garage.”

“Sorry,” mumbled Sam, staring out at the yard.

“So this is your house Sam?” asked Jack after a moment. Sam hummed, giving Jack a soft smile.

“Yeah. I was a lawyer before all this. My wife and I...our old house had a fire, about four years ago. Avy and I moved in here after that. We crashed at Dean’s for a month or so,” said Sam. “It’s a beautiful neighborhood. S’nice place to recover from stuff in.”

“I hope so,” said Jack. Sam raised an eyebrow, Jack looking to you. “Just tell your friends about me already.”

“If you want to, you can but you don’t have to,” you said.

“I tried to kill myself about a year ago,” said Jack. Sam blinked a few times and nodded, Dean remaining quiet from his corner of the table. “I got in a nasty fight with our parents. I don’t even remember what over. I left their place and went back to mine. Y/N and I didn’t talk so much then. She was off being a med student and the good child and I was...depression runs in our family apparently. Dad had it, kept it quiet. Life seemed...it seemed better if I went away. So I took a bunch of stuff...and I got a text from Y/N saying I better call her because I’d really scared her based on what mom and dad had said when they’d just talked. I thought what had I just done but I could already feel it all...stuff was shutting down. I called for an ambulance and called my parents and I guess they sped over and it was rainy out and…”

“And our parents caused the big pile up on Highway 12 last year,” you said, resting your head in your hand.

“That’s why you left med school,” said Dean.

“I saw so much that night and thought what idiot was speeding in the rain like that,” you said. “Turned out it was our parents and they came in...I had to identify them...and then I find Jack in stall twenty mid-overdose and it’s a miracle he had no permanent damage,” you said, Jack looking down at the table. “I sent him away to get help but when I went there today, I realized I just put him somewhere I wouldn’t have to deal with him. He wasn’t getting help there. Jack, you barely look up when people are talking to you anymore. I bet that place made you feel even shittier about yourself, not better.”

“Jack,” said Sam, putting his hand on the table. “I’m sorry if this is too personal but were you at Bryerwood by any chance? Up north a ways?”

“Actually, yeah,” said Jack, turning his head. “Why?”

“Nothing,” said Sam, shaking his head. “I can’t disclose other cases.”

“That’s lawyer talk for that place is sketchy,” said Dean.

“Jack...if you ever felt...inappropriate things took place there or you experienced them, I’d like to put you in contact with another lawyer at our firm. This may be...a possible class action type of situation,” he said.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what those things would have been. I don’t think I could tell the difference right now,” said Jack. You closed your eyes, Dean’s hand sneaking under the table to give your free hand a squeeze.

“Well I’m sure your sister will get your head on right. Hell, she’s been helping me do it and she probably didn’t even notice,” said Dean. You opened your mouth but Jack beat you to it.

“But you’re not nuts,” said Jack.

“You’re not nuts either, Jack,” you said. “You were sad and lonely and I was a workaholic and so were mom and dad and...we screwed up and didn’t help you. Their tough love crap made it impossible to talk to them about what we needed or wanted. I get that. I didn’t even want to be a doctor, Jack. You were brave enough to at least go your own way. I’m sorry none of us helped you and that I basically ignored you the past year.”

“You were going through your own stuff,” said Jack. “It’s not your fault. I’m the one with the messed up head.”

“Can we talk about something else?” you asked. Dean started asking Jack a few things about cars and music. You tuned them out, Sam’s voice piping in every so often. You heard a laugh, one of them belonging to Jack. Something was nudging you and you realized it was Dean poking you in the ribs.

“Want to take a walk? Jack’s going to hang back with Sam and Avy,” said Dean. You stood up with him, glad to get some time alone. You were partway down the block when Dean wrapped his hand around yours. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry. That was...sorry. That was way more family drama than you needed to hear,” you said, taking a deep breath. A finger tapped under your chin and you moved your head up, Dean offering a sweet smile to you.

“Hey. You’ve been there for us with our crap. We can be there for you and Jack’s crap too,” he said.

“People aren’t as sweet as you, you know,” you said.

“Yeah they are. Thankfully I got my own sweetie right here,” he said, bumping your hip. You let out a small laugh, Dean walking closer to you. “I think it takes a lot of guts to help out your brother like that.”

“I should have-”

“Should have what? You had trauma that night too from the sounds of it. I’m sure you were trying to do the best thing for him, send him to a place that would help him. You weren’t in the right frame of mind to take care of him. Now...maybe you are,” he said.

“Yesterday morning, I thought he was just pissed off Jack again. He was asking me to get him out of there and I didn’t realize.”

“Jack’s a big boy. He could have spoken up,” said Dean.

“Who knows what they’ve been drilling in his head the past year though. He didn’t used to be so timid. Always a little innocent but...then Sam said-”

“Hey. Jack’s not there anymore and maybe once he starts talking to a good doctor, he’ll want to share some of those things but right now, just focus on the fact that Jack is probably happy tonight for the first time in a long time,” said Dean.

“I don’t know if he even knows what happy is anymore,” you said. Dean shrugged, kicking a rock with his sneaker.

“He’ll learn,” said Dean. “How are you holding up?”

“Me? I’m fine,” you said.

“Ah. Well. I’m fine too,” he said. You twitched up your lip, leaning your head against his shoulder. “You know, all that stuff you guys were talking about, it wasn’t your fault either.”

“There were so many things I could have done differently,” you said.

“You know Sammy’s accident? We had a little fight before that,” said Dean. You lifted your head, Dean swinging your hands together. “Avy was already in bed. I called him and bitched him out, told him to get his ass home and stop working so much. Sammy got pissed and I got pissed and he said fine and then got in his car. If I hadn’t of done that...Sammy wouldn’t have been in that accident.”

“But you had no control over that other driver,” you said. “Or that Sam would choose that moment to leave work.”

“Just like you have no control over an argument you weren’t involved in and a brother that never told you how low he felt and parents that decided to speed in the rain and the rest of it. Neither one of us had control. I’ll be honest, I was feeling pretty shitty about that whole thing until I started hanging out with you. So you don’t feel shitty either, alright?”

“Okay,” you said, squeezing his hand.

“Okay then,” he said. “You know...there’s a practice in town that’s a pretty good. Our parents went to him when they had marriage problems.”

“Your parents don’t seem the type,” you said.

“My deep seeded fear of commitment comes from them,” said Dean.

“Yet we’re dating,” you said.

“You must be extra special then,” he said. You cocked your head, Dean darting his eyes down to your lips. “I moved in to take care of my brother, not fall for the girl next door you know.”

“How’s that working out for ya?” you asked.

“Horrible,” he said, pressing his lips to yours. “You taste like sugar. How do you always taste like sugar…”

“Fancy thing called chapstick,” you teased.

“Never heard of it,” he laughed, spinning you around before walking again.

“Dean,” you said, grabbing his arm and wrapping yours around.

“Mhm?”

“I’m very happy I met you,” you said.

“Me too, sweetheart.”

A/N: Read Part 7 here!

[patchwork-panda]

If A Moment Is All We Are (6/?)

As usual, story text below and AO3 link: Here

“Ring, ring! Guten morgen, Kusunoki-san!”

I groaned and brought my hand over my face, trying to block out the sunlight filtering through the blinds so I could go back to sleep.

“Dazai-san? It’s too early in the morning for this. What do you want?”

“What do I want?” Dazai sounded uncharacteristically surprised. “It’s one in the afternoon, Kusunoki-san! You completely missed your Entrance Exam!”

“I WHAT?!”

I sat up immediately and threw the futon covers off. As promised, Kunikida called me yesterday morning after I left the Agency offices, to check up on me and see how I was doing in my new place. However, when I asked about the exam, the only thing he said was to “be ready at ten the next morning.” Without any idea of what the Entrance Exam was actually going to consist of (although Kunikida was insisting on secrecy, I knew better than to try asking Dazai), I’d gone online to look for study guides for police academy recruits and detective school hopefuls. Then, at some point in time, my old high school strategy of studying like a maniac the night before kicked in... Without meaning to, I ended up staying up until four in the morning.

I’d set multiple alarms to keep myself from oversleeping but there must have been a power outage in the middle of the night. Or, maybe the alarms hadn’t worked. Or worse, I’d somehow managed to sleep through all of them.

“Yeah, everyone’s wondering where you went,” Dazai continued, ignoring the unintelligible, frantic noises coming out of my mouth, “I was thinking of coming by your apartment to check on you but it sounds like you’re okay and the Port Mafia didn’t come and try to kidnap you again...”

“I’m fine!” I exclaimed. “Tell everyone I’m fine and I’m ready for the exam and I can be there in thirty—no, twenty minutes!”

Clothes, clean and dirty, flew through the air as I desperately searched for something that didn’t look like glorified pajamas.

“Dazai-san, you’re close to the President, right? Could you please tell him to give me a second chance?”

“Hmm, I dunno...”

Dazai’s voice sounded far away. I thought I heard the crackling of a bad connection from his end of the line and my heart nearly stopped.

“Please, Dazai-san!! I’m begging you!”

And at the worst possible moment, I stepped on a T-shirt I’d thrown aside and slipped. As I hit the ground, my cell phone went flying out of my hand. It bounced on the tatami-covered floor until it settled against the pajamas I’d just discarded, several feet away, disconnecting my call and nearly shattering the screen in the process. Racked with nerves, I crawled forward on bruised hands and knees and reached out to pick it up... The first thing I saw when I flipped open my device was the time. The actual time.

The phone rang again and I answered.

“Dazai-san.”

“...Kusunoki-san?”

“It’s only eight-thirty in the morning.”

***

“Kusunoki-san! Over here!”

As I watched Dazai waving cheerfully at me from across the street, looking very well-rested, even happy, I suddenly understood why Kunikida was always choking him. I didn’t consider myself a violent person but after everything that’s happened, being in Dazai’s presence was starting to bring out the worst in me... I could feel thoughts of revenge brewing inside my head the moment I laid eyes on him and that shit-eating grin.

“So?” he asked brightly, “How did you sleep last night?”

“Poorly,” I snapped, wishing I could make his head explode just by glaring at him. “I might’ve gotten a little more rest if you hadn’t woken me up so early.”

“But Kusunoki-san...”

Dazai blinked innocently at me.

“I was afraid you might miss the exam and oversleep so I thought I’d give you a wake-up call.”

“How thoughtful of you...”

I took a long swig of the coffee I’d filled my thermos with. Even after the shock of possibly missing the exam had worn off, I was too wired to go back to sleep. So, I’d brewed myself the strongest batch of coffee I could possibly make, downed half of it and taken the rest to go. I was so cranky and irritable that I’d spilled coffee on my best shirt, ripped a hole in the only professional skirt I owned and somehow bruised both shins on the way to the door. I had to settle for a plain white T-shirt and jeans, and after the incident with Akutagawa, I barely had enough hair to put into a ponytail. Combined with the bags under my eyes, I probably looked like a serial killer; I noticed people went out of their way to avoid me on the bus on my way here, which honestly suited me just fine. Unfortunately, as I stood before Dazai, who was wearing the same nice work clothes as usual, I felt severely under-dressed. At least, if anyone asked, I could honestly tell them this was Dazai’s fault.

“Do you give all your coworkers wake-up calls?”

“Only when it’s important,” Dazai chirped, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “But maybe I should do it more often. I gotta say...”

He grinned wickedly at me.

“I kinda liked hearing you beg.”

At once, I felt the blood rushing to my face.

“You—! You pervert—!”

“Anyway,” Dazai said, effortlessly catching the thermos I threw at his face, “Shall we go to the test site?”

Seething, my face as red as the brick building that housed the Armed Detective Agency, I seriously considered not following him inside, but the lure of passing the test and finally being able to control my powers was too strong. Muttering angrily under my breath, I walked through the front door and into the elevator, where Dazai was waiting for me.

“We’ll be going to the main office,” he said, pushing the button for the fourth floor once I was inside, “where you’ll have two hours to complete a written, multiple-choice exam. The exam is typically conducted in secrecy, so the President has asked the Agency staff to come in after lunch today. That way, nobody will come and bother you while you’re taking your test. We’ll have the whole place to ourselves.”

I raised an eyebrow. Seeing the suspicious look on my face, Dazai chuckled.

“Something on your mind, Kusunoki-san?”

Yeah, if they wanted to make sure nobody ‘bothered’ me during the exam, why did they send the most bothersome guy they had?

“Just wondering why you’re here when everyone else was asked to stay home.”

Dazai grinned.

“Because.”

There was a soft “ding” and the doors slid open.

“Because...?” I prompted him as we proceeded down the darkened hallway.

But Dazai didn’t speak again until we’d stopped at the door at the very end of the corridor. There was a placard on the center of the glass bearing the words “Armed Detective Agency.”

Dazai put his hand on the knob and his cheerful smile changed into a smirk.

“Because I’ll be your exam proctor.”

The door swung open and without knowing why, I braced myself.

I wasn’t actually sure what I was expecting, but to my relief, it was just an ordinary office. A spacious, well-decorated office, but an ordinary office nonetheless. Dazai sounded every bit as amused as he looked.

“What were you expecting? A police interrogation room?”

“Not at all, I just wasn’t expecting anything nearly this nice.”

It was the truth. The office, a sizable, well-lit space, made for a pleasant exam room, with its high ceilings, large windows and pretty green-tiled floor. Everything in the room had clearly been color-coordinated by a professional and as I stepped into the room, I thought I could smell flowers. The detectives’ office had been divided into two sections by a pair of lush, well-kept hedgerows and I stared at the colored glass panels of the client booth as we walked past.

The main chamber was an open office space where most of the desks had been lined up into two long rows on either side of the room. One desk was set apart from the others and had been placed at the head of the room, just a couple of yards away from the far wall. Unlike the other work stations, this desk’s surface was completely bare and as we approached, we passed a row of old-fashioned latched windows, all of which had been left unshuttered, filling the room with bright, natural light.

“This is a beautiful office,” I marveled as Dazai pulled up a couple of chairs.

“Isn’t it?”

Dazai sighed.

“If only we were a little higher up. Then I could have a better view of the city next time I throw myself off the roof.”

When I looked at him, he just smiled blithely and placed several sheets of paper, stapled together to form a packet, face-down on the table.

“Alright, here’s your test. You can start whenever you’re ready.”

He snapped his fingers.

“Oh and before I forget...”

He started fishing around inside his pockets for something, probably a pen. Curious, and slightly unnerved by the strange metallic clinking noises I was hearing, I watched as he shook out his trench coat and mumbled to himself. I was about to ask just how many pens he had in there when he produced a pair of handcuffs from somewhere inside his clothes.

“I’ve got something for you, Ku-su-no-ki-saaan.”

His cheerfulness was downright unnerving when paired with the handcuffs in his grasp. I took a step back as his grin stretched wide.

“I don’t want them.”

“What are you so nervous about, Kusunoki-san?” he asked sweetly.

The handcuffs glinted in his half-bandaged hands as he advanced on me.

“These are an important part of your Entrance Exam.”

“I really don’t see how handcuffs would be part of a written exam,” I stammered, backing away.

“Well, if you could just give me your hand—”

And before I could make a run for it, he seized my left wrist.

“—I’ll explain.”

I was yanked forward. There was a flash of silver and hollow click and I looked down at my arm to see that one of the cuffs had closed around my left wrist.

“What are you doing?!” I yelped, simultaneously trying to yank my left arm back and hide my right arm at the same time. I probably looked every bit as ridiculous as I felt but I had to stop him before he could finish placing the other end of the cuffs on me...!

“I’m getting you ready for your exam,” Dazai replied nonchalantly, grabbing my left wrist back with ease. “I said I would explain, didn’t I? Now hold still...!”

There was another click and suddenly, I was hand-cuffed to my least favorite detective in the Agency. Out of pure shock, I stopped trying to fight him.

“Alright, let’s see...” he said.

He raised his right hand, now cuffed to my left, up a little and gave it a shake. My left hand followed and shook along with his. Then he raised his right arm all the way up in the air until my left arm was forced to go along with. When he moved it back to his face so he could scratch his cheek, I abruptly pulled my arm back and gave him the dirtiest look I could manage.

“Dazai-san.”

“Hm?”

“Why am I handcuffed to you? How am I supposed to take a written test like this?” I said, shaking my own cuffed wrist meaningfully as Dazai’s wrist jangled and bounced along in its metal prison along with mine.

“Well, your right hand is still free isn’t it?” Dazai pointed out. “You know, the one you keep using to throw things at me? But seriously, though. We need a way to make sure you don’t cheat. Do you remember what my Ability is?”

I remembered.

“No Longer Human. It lets you nullify any other Ability User’s powers.”

Dazai clapped his hands together jubilantly and I was jerked forward again.

“That’s right! In other words, I’m here to make sure you don’t somehow activate your Ability during the test. We can’t have you looking into the future and getting the right answers that way, now can we? No, the test isn’t meant to test your Ability. The test is meant to help us see what you’re really made of... Now then, the rules! Rule number one: no using your special Ability. If you cheat...”

He pointed jovially to our wrists, shaking the cuffs again for emphasis.

“I’ll know. And I’ll fail you. You with me so far?”

I swallowed and nodded.

“Good. Rule number two: you and I have to stay handcuffed together at all times. If you undo the handcuffs at any point during the exam or if you force me to undo the handcuffs for any reason, you also fail. Understand?”

I nodded. It was a strange rule and to be honest, this whole setup smelled like bullshit but if keeping me from using my Ability was that important, I could go along with it. I just had to last the two hours and pass this test and then I would finally learn the secret to controlling “The Story of Your Life.” It was just too bad the one person who could keep my Ability from randomly activating happened to be Dazai. But first...

“Uh, Dazai-san? Before we start the test...”

“Yes?”

“...Can I go to the bathroom?”

***

Who the fuck wrote this test?!

My short bathroom reprieve (sans handcuffs) had lulled me into a false sense of security. Perhaps there was no test at all and this was just another one of Dazai’s pranks. I don’t know how he’d managed to convince the others to let him pull this off but he’d done it and now I was sitting here looking at the poorest excuse for an examination known to mankind.

It looked like a normal test at first, having the kind of formatting I’d seen back when I was still in school, including a space in the top left corner for my name and today’s date. However, the entirety of the first page looked like it was ripped straight from an online personality quiz, half of the second page was full of high-school level math questions and although Dazai had said I’d be taking a multiple choice quiz, right there on the third page was a short answer essay type question. When I looked at my “exam proctor” for an explanation, he just flashed me his most charming smile and informed me I still had ninety minutes left to take my test.

Then, when there was one hour left on the clock, Dazai’s phone rang. The sound echoed loudly in the unnatural stillness of the empty office and I watched with vengeful glee as Dazai struggled to find a way to reach into his right coat pocket with his free hand without taking me with him.

“What happened to turning off your phone during exams?” I quipped when he finally pulled out his device. “You know, to not distract me?”

“Oh? Do you find me distracting, Kusunoki-san?”

He winked.

“Don’t worry, this won’t take long.”

Scoffing, I turned my attention away from him and back to my ridiculous “test.” As much as I hated to admit it, the soft light of the mid-morning sun was very flattering right now. All that light coming from those big, open windows had turned the room into something akin to a photographer’s studio, smoothing out Dazai’s complexion and lending his eyes a warm, amber glow. Unfortunately, with that personality, those good looks were all but wasted on him. I watched him put his phone up to his ear and was surprised to find his expression had turned serious.

“Seriously?” he whispered, over what sounded like panicked shouting on the other end of the line. “Now?”

Feeling my eyes on him, he glanced at me, tried to make a subtle shooing gesture with his right hand, abruptly remembered he was still handcuffed to me and settled for turning as far away from me as possible to hide his phone. I continued to stare at him as he spoke in hushed tones into the receiver.

“But we still have an hour left—Yes, yes, I understand. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

He hung up and turned his head to see that I was still watching him. At once, he purposefully angled himself so that I couldn’t see the caller ID on his cell and stuffed it back in his coat.

“Something you want to ask me, Kusunoki-san?” he inquired innocently, “A question for your handsome proctor, perhaps?”

“Please don’t put words in my mouth.”

I frowned.

“What was that call about?”

“Oh, nothing important,” he said dismissively. “You just focus on finishing your test.”

“Are you sure?” I asked nervously, “It sounded pretty serious to me.”

But no matter how I tried to ask, he wouldn’t give me a straight answer. After a few rounds of this, he suddenly sat up and laughed maniacally.

“Okay, it sounds like you’re almost done with your test! In that case, you have five more minutes before I collect your paper!”

“Wait,” I yelped, the blood draining out of my face, “I’m not done!”

“Four minutes and fifty-five seconds!” Dazai sang and I rushed to look through the questions I’d marked for checking.

The room was getting warmer. I could feel myself sweating as the five minutes wore down to almost zero. Dazai really wasn’t kidding. When I tried to argue for more time, he just pointed at the clock on the wall and started making ticking noises in the most annoying way possible. I was at the very last question left unanswered (“At 10 am, Train A leaves Yokohama, headed for Tokyo at approximately 55 km/h. On a parallel track, Train B leaves Tokyo for Yokohama...) when all of a sudden, I felt the odd sensation that we were being watched by something.

Something inhuman...

I looked up.

There, outside the window, standing directly in front of my desk, was a petite girl in a brilliant red and yellow kimono, seemingly hovering in mid-air. Her long black pigtails and elegant clothes fluttered eerily in the wind and as her sharp blue eyes focused on me, I was suddenly chilled to the bone. And then, before my eyes, an enormous, glowing apparition in the shape of a pale kimono-clad woman slowly materialized behind the girl. It stretched out its snow-white fingers and pulled out a long, thin sword, a Japanese style katana, and turned horrible pupil-less yellow eyes to the windows—towards us.

“Dazai-san.”

Slowly reaching out with my cuffed hand, I carefully touched my fingers to Dazai’s. I felt him shift next to me and I knew that he could see the girl too. His shoulders looked stiff and for once, he wasn’t smiling...

“This isn’t part of the exam, is it?”

[nosleepstillweak]

cruller

My favorite type of donut is a cruller. Pity the man that begins his own love story with a monologue about his favorite pastry, but I feel like there’s something to be said here. It’s not like your traditional cake or long john or eclair. A cruller is in an avenue all its own. For one, it just looks cooler. Who doesn’t like a twisty donut? The dough is shaped into this endless spiral that flakes beautifully in the oven. Furthermore, the consequent increase in surface area also leads to the creation of these little pockets that are the perfect space for the outer glaze to nestle into. Top the whole affair off with a flawlessly reduced jelly filling and it’s like eating ambrosia. This opinion definitely isn’t mitigated by the fact that a literal goddess is the one to serve me these treats every morning, yet I still face opposition.

“You’re just a fucking weirdo, Jason.”

These are the words of my donut-apathetic comrade, Malachi. He’s a bit of an old-head, if you were to ask me, but sometimes the bluntness of his responses are in my best interest. As of late, he has been the staunchest--and sole--opponent of my onset infatuation with the owner of our newly discovered cafe destination.

“These twists taste like garbage. Admit it, you just have a thing for Donut Girl.” A key indicator of his disdain is the fact he continues to call her “Donut Girl,” even though her name-tag would lead me to believe that she actually goes by Sadie. Then again, given my previous history with “Pizza Chick” and “Gas Station Lady,” it’s fair to say that I haven’t necessarily made the best name for myself when choosing my romantic interests in the wholesale industry.

“Unsubstantiated opinions on Sadie aside, you can’t tell me that this isn’t a damn good donut.” I mean, he could, but he’d just be a liar. I take another bite in between sentences. “Plus, I don’t think you saw the way she looked at me this time. That was definitely some sort of signal.”

I can’t say that I’m not offended by Malachi’s responding scoff. “Yeah, a signal to round up all the idiots. I can’t believe you’re twenty-three years old and you still crush after women like you’re in a teen drama.” He scowls at me as I finish off the last of the half-dozen with a smile on my face. “Those donuts literally taste like sugar-coated metal.”

“Oh, heaven forbid they contain the slightest hint of high fructose corn syrup.” In traditional old-head fashion, Malachi is the type to complain about foods nowadays being too sugary; he gets a headache from eating a rope of black licorice. “Gather ‘round, folks, Old Man Malachi is mounting the soapbox again to preach about the dangers of processed foods--”

“Oh, fuck you, I’m leaving.” He, rather dramatically, snatches the coat off the back of his chair and storms out of the bakery. I can’t wipe the grin off my face when I remember that we literally work at the same office and will see each other again within the next ten minutes. What I find to be less amusing is the fact that he left me the entire bill, including his cinnamon-free cinnamon twists and extra-large black coffee. In lieu of my irritation, I take the situation as just a form of preparation: true love isn’t cheap.

“Here’s your bill.” A slip of paper slides across the table and then I’m blindsided by the sight of an immaculate Sadie smile. Now that’s priceless. I can’t describe it in words, but it’s just so… damn. By the time I’ve regained my senses, she’s gone off to help the next customer. I glance over the receipt, fishing through my wallet to produce the proper total and a hefty tip. My eyes widen when I catch something hastily scrawled at the bottom of the slip: a phone number. Next to a poorly-drawn smiley face, but that’s beside the point; the Sadie of Sadie’s Bakery just gave me her phone number. As I get up to leave, I even catch a glimpse of her smiling softly in my direction. I more than happily return the gesture. Malachi will come around eventually, but this train is definitely already in motion.

***

I have to hand it to Malachi because the first few weeks of my relationship with Sadie did actually feel like a teen drama. Our initial correspondence was nothing to write home about. I’d pick up a cruller every morning at the bakery and we’d chat for as long as it took for Malachi to spitefully gulp down his coffee and claim that we were running late for work. In between breaks at the office, I curated a myriad of internet bakery memes. Then, at night, I would bombard our text conversations with dancing donuts and cake icing videos and pretend to not absolutely lose my mind whenever she responded with a laughing face emoji. This continued for a while until I had to stage a self-intervention from giving myself diabetes. Sadie was surprisingly understanding and even offered to make me a sugar-free batch; had Malachi not physically taken my phone and responded with “no and goodbye,” I would have accepted.

In spite of his continued opposition, the train kept on moving. Sadie was actually the one who asked me out; I know, the misogynists are quaking in their boots. After she made the first move at the bakery, I wasn’t super surprised that she proposed the idea of dating one morning when I stopped by to pick up an office order. That being said, her delivery did not keep me from turning completely red and whooping at the top of my lungs in the otherwise moderately quiet cafe. I honestly still don’t know why Sadie got so embarrassed; she literally owns the place. All that being said, Sadie and I were officially a couple. Now, I just have to let Malachi in on it so he can be a supportive best friend and help guide me through my new--

“Jason, I love you, man, but this seems like a terrible idea.” Okay, ouch. This hadn’t been the first time he’d ever said these exact words to me, but for some reason, they hurt more this time around. “This is so sudden! I seriously worry that you’re getting ahead of yourself. What do you even know about this Sadie girl anyways?”

“Uh, well, for one, she runs the best bakery in town.”

“Debatable. Dinah’s Breakfast Cafe has killer pastries.”

“Unlike Dinah, Sadie’s smart and funny.”

“And you learned this from your 2 A.M. meme conversations?”

“Okay, either way, look me in the eyes and tell me she’s not beautiful.”

“Do you really want me to call your girlfriend hot?”

I throw a straw wrapper in his face and pout, genuinely upset. “That’s not the point and you know it.”

“Look, dude, I can understand that your initial feelings may be strong, but I just don’t wanna see you get hurt again. Physically or emotionally.” Malachi fixes me with a serious look and I suddenly feel like sinking back into my chair. “Especially after Gas Station Lady, I was hoping you’d make a little bit of a better assessment of things. I mean, like, do you even know how old she is? Friends? Family? Does she have any past relationships? Who’s to say that she isn’t hanging out with one of her ex-boyfriends right now?”

That last comment was a low blow and more than a little melodramatic, but I suddenly feel like I don’t know enough about Sadie to defend her. Now that I think about it, maybe everything is moving too fast.

“Just… be careful, man. Maybe reconsider. Again, the last thing I’d want is for you to get hurt.” Malachi shoots me one last sympathetic smile before walking out of the breakroom. Maybe there’s some truth to Old Man Malachi’s words. I stare at the cruller in my hand for a moment. When I finally move to take a bite, something inside leaves a sour taste in my mouth. The jelly filling doesn’t taste quite the same as before.

***

After that awful conversation, I decide it's best to have a heart-to-heart with Sadie. Our text conversations dry up for a couple of nights and I try to avoid the bakery as much as possible to give myself more time to think. However, as it turns out, the inevitable conversation didn’t end up being as painful as I thought it would be. Sadie actually laughs when I tell her that I don’t know anything about her; she says the same could be said about me. We spend the rest of the evening making donuts together and giving each other a basic autobiographical rundown.

Sadie Marissa Jenkins II is a first-generation British--it was at this point in our month-long relationship that I finally noticed the accent--immigrant who’d moved here in order to pursue her studies in culinary arts at the local university. She lives with her older sister, and her dog named Muffin, and she prefers riding her bike to taking the metro. She spoke of no past relationships and is in fact not currently cheating on me with another man. I was quite happy, and a little smug, when reporting my findings to Malachi.

“If you think she’s the one, then knock yourself out.” He’s speaking very nonchalantly for a man who’s wrestling with a stapler. “She actually gave me a free coffee this morning, so maybe she’s worth keeping around.”

“So free coffee is all it takes to get Old Man Malachi’s blessing?”

“Hardy-har-har.” He flicks a loose staple at my forehead. “This better work out, because I’m not picking your ass up again when you get dumped out of a pizza delivery car in the middle of town.”

“At least she didn’t run out of gas.” I jokingly shoot finger guns in his direction, snorting when he feigns a shot to the chest as he exits the breakroom. There are still a couple of crullers left over in the Sadie’s Bakery box on the counter so I help myself to one--and immediately gag. Okay, they actually do kinda taste like metal. They’re probably just stale from sitting out all afternoon. Yeah, that’s probably it.

***

I decide to lay off the crullers for a while and instead take the time to learn more about Sadie. What I learn instead is that both of us have pretty uninteresting lives, but I think it’s the thought that counts. Plus, her accent is precious and I can barely pay attention when we have midnight baking lessons at the bakery. These lessons are always followed by her getting into my car, me offering to drive her home, and us making out in the backseat instead. This goes on for several nights and I have never once complained about it. That is, until tonight, when she decides to take a chomp out of the side of my neck.

“What the--!” I instinctively push away from her and inspect the injury with my hand. My fingers come away smeared red.

“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry!” Her hands hover over me as I frantically press the sleeve of my jacket to my neck to stop the bleeding. “I got carried away. Did I hurt you?” I mean, judging by the fact that I’m literally bleeding, I think it would be fair to assume that she did, in fact, hurt me. Nonetheless, I manage a smile.

“It’s fine, Sades.” Probably. The bleeding has stopped, anyways. “Honestly. I mean, it’s not like you said some other guy’s name, or something weird like that.”

“What? What other guy? When was there ever another guy?” Sadie jolts away from me like I’m made of fire. “What do you know about another guy?”

“Uh, nothing! It was just a joke.” A bad joke. “An American joke.”

“Oh. I see.” She nervously picks at the leather of the car seat, her teeth gnawing at her lower lip.

“Really, the biting thing was fine.” Probably. I lean forward and place a small kiss on her ear. “In fact, dare I say that it was kinda hot.” I don’t know what response I was expecting, but I was not physically prepared for the look that she gave me when I pulled away. Then, we were back at it again. From that point in the night on, it was just so… damn. Maybe I was just hallucinating before; I think the crullers taste just fine.

***

“You look tired.” Malachi inquires with a wink as he takes another sip of his morning coffee. To be quite honest, I probably feel worse than I look; after the whole biting incident and my subsequent flirtatious response, Sadie kinda took things into her own hands. I think it’s fair to say that what happened in that car stays in that car. Probably.

“I was just busy last night.”

“Busy?” Malachi snorts into his cup. “With Sadie?”

“Oh, shut up,” I tiredly flip him the bird, “don’t say it like that. We’re literally adults. It’s not like teenagers kissing behind the bleachers, or something.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, I forgot when you got so mature. Just eat your damn cruller.” He shoves the half-dozen towards me and I nibble at one for a bit before taking a bite… which still tastes awful. Did she change the recipe for the filling? I need to talk to her about that. “Then again, maybe you’re right. I don’t remember them wearing scarves in August in teen dramas.”

I literally choke on the bite of cruller in my mouth. Okay, so maybe the biting incident wasn’t fine. You live and you learn.

***

“Uh, hey there, Sades.” I make my way into the sparsely lit kitchen of the bakery. “Whatcha’ up to?” My real question is, why does the kitchen look like a literal crime scene? There’s donut filling smeared all over the counters; there’s even some on the wall.

“Oh! Uh, nothing, just washing my hands. Cleaning up.”

“Did you cook something?” I look around the kitchen a bit. No pots or pans. Not even a baked good. “I don’t see anything.”

“N-No, not really. I was just preparing something for a batch I was going to bake tomorrow.” For a baker, that’s a totally normal thing to do. Probably.

“Alrighty, then. Should we head out now?”

Sadie smiles, but her face still seems tight. “Lovely.”

***

“Something’s off about Sadie, man. I’ve been getting these weird vibes lately.”

“Oh, so now you see it.” Malachi rolls his eyes, taking a bite into a fresh-baked, sugar-free twist. “Did you two have a fight? Does she not like it when you burp halfway through your sentences?”

“What? No, to both.” Well, actually, that’s a hard maybe on the latter. “Nothing specifically happened, per se, but, like, the vibes were off. She was acting really strange last night.”

“What’d she do, exactly?”

“Well, she…” Washed her hands? What exactly am I supposed to say in this situation? “...actually, never mind.”

“Good. Because, if you were about to say some kinky shit, I literally would’ve punched you in the face.” He chortles as I push hard against his arm. “Look, man, relationships are weird. Whatever’s on your mind, just work it out with her. Better now than later. Regret hurts like a bitch, dude.”

I stare down at the cruller in front of me and swallow thickly. “I think you’re right, man. I should just talk things out with her.”

***

Oh, god, I was wrong. I was so wrong. Screw talking things out. Malachi was right. Regret does hurt like a bitch. I should’ve listened to him, the first time. I wish I could go back and listen to him. I should’ve known something was wrong from the random nighttime hand washing. Or from the biting incident. Or from when any human woman found me to be conventionally attractive. Maybe that’s it. Maybe she’s just not human. She probably isn’t, given that she’s pulling this shit. She’s literally crazy, and I fell for it.

You wanna know what was in those crullers? The jelly filling: it wasn’t cherry or strawberry or whatever other random red fruit we thought it was. It’s straight-up human remains. ...Plus a shit ton of sugar and preservatives, but that’s beside the point. That’s why Malachi thought they tasted like metal. There’s iron and calcium in blood and bones; she was just feeding us metal. People. And I ate them! Almost every day! For two months! Oh my god, what’s wrong with her? What’s wrong with me?

Malachi, or Mom, or Gas Station Lady, if you’re reading this, just know that I love you all. Actually, this is an inner monologue; you’ll never see this. Poetic cruller bullshit aside, this is absolutely crazy. Oh god, she’s back. Oh god, she has a meat grinder. Why would she have a meat grinder? This is the worst day of my life. Oh god, this is the last day of my life. I’m about to die. She’s about to grind me into bits and make me into donut filling. Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god. I should’ve known better, I should’ve--

Fuck, Malachi, please, don’t eat the crullers. Don’t eat the--

***

“I knew there was something up with you!”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh god, he even told me that you were acting strange recently--”

“Malachi, please, calm down. What’s the matter?”

“Cut the bullshit, Donut Girl. What did you do to Jason?”

A pause. Then, she smiles. “Welcome to Sadie’s Bakery, the best baked goods in town. Could I interest you in a cruller?”

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

You will be mine - Chapter 17. Denial [Park Jimin x Reader]

Title: You will be mine - Chapter 17. Denial ➔ Chapter 18. Here! Pairing: Park Jimin x Female!Reader Published: 25 June, 2020 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore

You will be mine Masterlist | Masterlists

It took me about two weeks to recover enough to leave the hospital. They instructed me to stay at home, but I just didn't feel like being stuck in the house alone. It didn't mean of course that I was glad to attend school again, I just didn't have better things to do.

On my first day, Yojin was waiting for me in front of the school entrance with Hoseok by her side. I wished some kind of a cheerful welcome, but instead, she was standing there, with her boyfriend embracing her in his arms, lips locked together.

I could have been an evil friend, destroying their lovely little moment, but who am I to disturb them? I walked past them and entered the school, walking to my locker. Soon enough however I heard quickening steps behind me.

"Y/N, you are finally back." Yojin wrapped herself around me from the back. I chuckled at her enthusiasm. It's not like we have not seen each other, she was constantly in the hospital, visiting me.

"Am I supposed to be happy about it?" I grinned as she finally let me go and I could turn around.

"Now you are able to see Jimin, every single day." She winked at me, which made me roll my eyes. Hoseok chuckled at his girlfriend's cheeky behaviour, but I, on the other hand, didn't find it as funny as they did. Jimin visited me in the hospital on a couple of occasions, however I already knew the reason behind it. It was all because I have asked him to act as if nothing happened.

"Yay!" I spoke with a very clear irony. I didn't miss the confusion across their face. I didn't tell her that Jimin rejected me after all. It was not on the top of my list, I rather wanted to forget it.

"What is going on? I thought you wanted to tell him." She looked at me with a puzzled expression. Of course I did tell her about my naive little idea of confessing my feelings, but once you get rejected, it's not as easy to talk about it. "Come on, you need to be more courageous." She smiled softly, but I didn't feel the need to return it.

"I'm good." I shook my head as I walked up to my locker to take out my books.

"Why are you giving up? That's not the person I got to know you as." She frowned with an unspoken disappointment in her voice.

"I'm not." I replied simply, closing my locker behind me, before I started walking to my class room.

"Stop!" She said firmly as she grabbed my wrist. "I know you. Something is going on." Her tone was demanding and I could see on Hoseok's face that he was rather surprised. He didn't see that powerful side of her just yet.

"Okay." I heaved a sigh. "I will be straightforward with you, because you seem to want to get on my nerves about it. I will not be confessing my undying feelings for him, because I already did." The slight sarcasm in my tone was more than clear. "I got rejected and that is where the story ends." I sighed, pulling my arm out of the dumbfounded girl's grasp, turning around and walking to my class.

"Wait." Hoseok stopped me this time. "Jimin rejected you?" He asked with furrowed brows, but I concentrated more on how painful his words felt. Thinking about it was hard, speaking about it was even harder, but hearing it from someone else's mouth was the worst of it all. I felt a lump in my throat appear. "Are you sure?" He asked as if he was trying to torture me.

"Unfortunately, yes I am sure, so I would very much appreciate it if we could just forget about it. I would be most grateful." I didn't even wait for them to follow me, I left them to walk to my class, this time without being disturbed.

Not long after I took my seat in the class room, Yojin found her way and took her seat beside me. She didn't talk about what happened, she didn't mention it, she spoke about anything that came to her, except that. Which I was very happy about.

However throughout the third class, she pushed a white paper, rolled into a ball, in front of me. I looked up at her with questioning eyes. I didn't need words to make her understand what I meant. She shook her head, reassuring me that the subject had nothing to do with Jimin.

I opened the letter and read its content. It was once again a sensitive subject, but I couldn't just avoid everything and anything.

"Are you going to do anything about the girls? Are you going to the police?" It said on the paper. Yojin's handwriting was very feminine, with curved letters and thin lines. I picked up my pen and started writing my reply.

"I will not do anything. I will be giving my statement to the school today, but I will not report them to the police. They have been expelled already anyway." I wrote and pushed the paper in front of Yojin without even crunching up the paper again. It didn't even take her a couple of seconds, her reply was in front of me once again.

"What do you mean? It's not like they have pranked you, stole your books or wrote ridiculous stuff on your tables. They have attacked you, causing you to spend 3 weeks in the hospital." I furrowed my brows at her words. I knew she was right, but I just didn't feel the need to go any further. I started my answer, but I felt it was unnecessary anyway. I took the paper, hid it in my pocket and shrugged my shoulders as she looked at me. I could see the upset look on her face, but I just pretended to focus my attention on the lesson.

As soon as the bell rang and I stood up to pack my books away, Yojin got hold of my shoulder.

"Are you seriously not going to do anything? Nothing?" She asked with a desperate expression across her face. I shook my head as a reply as we started walking out of the classroom. "But why?" She asked again. I stopped in front of her and looked straight into her eyes.

"I don't want to. They have been expelled, they have got what they deserved. I don't want to dig into it any deeper. Let's just finish this school year like any other normal student would." I was almost begging her, I really didn't want to talk about it.

I left her in the corridor as I walked up to the principal's office to give my statement. His secretary was already waiting for me and immediately rushed me to enter the principal's office. I followed her instructions and took a seat in the office.

It took me about an hour to explain everything that happened and answer his questions, which made me skip a class. He has tried to convince me, that a report to the police would be more than helpful, but I didn't agree. I thanked him for taking his time to listen to me and than I left his office, trying to leave the whole mess behind me with it.

I went to the cafeteria to take some ramyeon, that was on the menu for the day. Although it looked nothing like the original soup, I was hungry and I needed something to fill up the emptiness in my stomach. I also took an apple and a bottle of water, before I decided to go out to the basketball court.

It was rather quite outside, barely any students were lurking around. The weather was chilly, but refreshing enough to clear my mind. I sat down on one of the benches and started eating my lunch, from the tray placed on my lap.

"Good to see you back." A shadow appeared in front of me. I didn't need to look up to recognise his voice.

"Thanks." I smiled at him. "Although I am not so happy to be back.

"I thought it was your decisions to be back." He frowned as he sat down.

"Believe me, I regret most of the decisions I make." I chuckled and he returned the happy mood in the form a grin.

"Are you feeling any better?" He asked as I was picking up another batch of noodle with my chopsticks.

"Yeah, I feel brand new again." I spoke, slurping in the least feminine way.

"You know, you don't always have to act though. You have friends for a reason." He spoke reassuringly and I nodded in agreement.

"I know. But sometimes people just don't want to talk about things, isn't that right?" You asked, feeling like it was just about the right moment to bring up his little secret which has been digging into you for a while.

"What do you mean?" He asked with furrowed brows and a confused look.

"Danah?" I stated and he visibly tensed up. As if it was a very sensitive subject, which made me even more curious.

"I don't want to talk about that." I looked away, his gaze fixed on the ground.

"That's fine. And I don't want to talk about things either." I nodded and turned my attention back to my food. I didn't want to push the subject. I knew how I would close myself off if people forced me to talk about something, I didn't want to in the first place.

Notes: If you enjoyed it, don't forget to like the chapter. Thank you :)