#that really just makes me balk instead of rising to the occasion to help. i dont have the capacity to carry multiple ppl rn

[famewolf]

definitely been having one of those weeks were i dont really want to interact with the outside world and everything is too loud. it's not the worst thing ever but it just makes my tolerance towards people wanting things from me a lot lower

[cometcalloway]

@cloudpools

Lorian finds Lothric in his lonely tower room. The place gives him the creeps. So does the elaborate costume Lothric has to wear. So does the way Lothric startles at having a visitor and looks scared. Lorian judges Lothric for always acting so nervous, listless, and passive. He can’t help but judge, Lorian would be eaten alive in his world if he acted like that. But he can't figure out how he expects Lothric to act instead, either. The thought of being helpless to circumstances makes him deeply uncomfortable, on a deeper level of awareness than he’ll go. Judging Lothric feels safer. Judging him means the right kind of person would make helplessness just go away somehow. Lorian likes to think he’ll always be able to make helplessness go away.

“I’m... going to get married,” Lorian says, carrying himself in a stiff and overly-formal way. He arranges his features into a smile (he’s trying it out) because that’s an occasion that should be smiled about. “I wanted to be the one to tell you.” Because they’re still family. Because that should mean something, even if they hardly interact. Even if Lothric only has a few years left in his hourglass now.

Lorian didn’t walk with a cane the last time he visited, months ago. Lothric doesn’t hide that he’s noticed. For a moment he looks concerned, like he wants to ask if Lorian’s okay. Lorian balks at being pitied, much less by someone who complies with anything asked of him. Any attention to a weakness must be pity.

“Why are you telling me this?” Lothric says, finally.

“Because you’re my brother,” Lorian says.

Lothric flashes a complicated expression and subtly shakes his head. I don’t hate you, but I don’t know what that means. Lorian feels like he should argue his case, should patiently explain exactly what family means. But perhaps to Lothric, family has been the group of people who specifically arranged for him to live like this, die like this, dressed up in a costume and hidden away, meant for the flames. And Lorian isn’t sure what to do with that. Neither of them are very comfortable in the interaction, and it’s not long before Lorian wishes Lothric well and leaves. Lothric congratulates him on his way out, but there’s no pretense of warmth. It’s just a handshake, an echo of the connection Lorian showed in stiffly telling him the news.

Lorian supposes he didn’t share his news with Lothric after all, not all of it. Not the detail that he’s been set up with a merchant’s daughter, a clear sign that the son their mother is expecting, Ocelotte, will take the throne once Lothric’s symbolic coronation is over, despite Lorian being the oldest. It’s news of Lorian’s disgrace. Perhaps Lothric’s disinterest is justified, with an admittedly worse fate to contend with. It’s always so hard to tell how to interact with him, what’s going on with him. And on some level, Lorian truly doesn’t want to know. So much of his life would come undone, if he did.

_____________

Lorian is more nervous than he thought he’d be, the day he’ll be introduced to Nara.

He doesn’t trust his father in a general sense, but he does trust his father to care about the family’s public image. It already doesn’t look good for a prince to marry a merchant’s daughter, despite the growing influence of the merchant class. And Nara comes from a wishy-washy country, the sort of peace-love-and-human-rights place his father ridicules without hesitation. Therefore, Lorian reasons, he can expect Nara to be exemplary, to make up for everything else. The thought that society, the society he bled for and sacrificed soldiers’ lives for, is patiently expecting him to treat Nara how his father treats his mother to create exemplary doesn’t cross his mind. He had no qualms being hard on soldiers, but all of that was to protect civilians. Scaring or hurting civilians is incompatible with his idea of respectable knighthood, everything he was taught about honor. So if Nara will surely be exemplary, what is there to be nervous about?

He’s nervous because he’s never really had any close friends. And now he’ll be living with another person for the rest of his life. He’s been a prince, a knight, a general, always above people. It wouldn’t have been right for him to have a friend, so he never got one. He keeps fussing with his appearance in the mirror, long past the usefulness of fussing, and frowns. He’d like the way he looked better without the beard, but it wouldn’t look as kingly, and he’s not trying to make himself look like more of a loser. He’s dissatisfied with how he looks, and the dissatisfaction feels permanent. ...How’s he going to live with another person? It’s the goal for spouses to like each other, right? He hopes Nara likes him. He’s never had to worry much about whether he was liked or not, his rank usually enables him to more or less get his way no matter what people think of him, with leverage over anyone but his father. What if Nara doesn’t like him? It’s out of his hands. How can he do all the right things to earn it if it’s completely out of his hands? He’s already actively planning to hold back huge chunks of himself, and it doesn’t occur to him that that could sabotage a connection. It’s the goal for siblings to like each other, and Lothric doesn’t like him. Is that a bad sign? He sighs. Surely helplessness can always be beaten, never really exists for the right person. This unease feels uncomfortably personal.

He meets Nara in a gazebo in the largest of the palace gardens. He has a gift for her, a powder blue parakeet in a golden cage. It never crossed his mind that the bird could serve as a depressing visual metaphor for anything, he just thought it looked nice. He rises to greet her when she arrives, smiles (he’s still trying it out), and bows, with both hands resting on the golden griffin head of his cane. His first impression says that he and Nara are both tall, tidy, and purposeful. His idea of her before they met was that she’d be shorter, and more shy. But what’s not to like, if they have more in common? He wants to like Nara. Meeting someone he can get along with is a good outcome that can still be salvaged from this. He told himself he wouldn’t worry about being liked in return for these first few meetings; he’s not out to embarrass himself. He welcomes Nara to the castle, acknowledges that her journey was long, and says he hopes she finds her accommodations to her liking. He presents her with the parakeet.

He can’t help but notice that...well, he has a feeling that maybe she doesn’t like him.

[ncisjes]

I’d find you in every lifetime

Based off this beautiful gifset by @everythingismadefromdreams and this drabble by @mcgeekle where Ziva is prosecuting a case the team worked. Kudos to them both for creating this amazing AU I am having so much fun writing in. Also a huge thank you to @mcgeekle for letting me continue this. 

@benditlikepress @rareshbones

Read on AO3//FF

Take Your Time

Sipping her second drink of the night, she sits at the bar alone watching what feels like the same old news on ZNN. Being stood up was a rare occurrence for her, but this time she really could not fault the man. In the past two weeks they had agreed to get drinks after work on three separate occasions, and all three times she had bailed to work late. 

The Simmons case was moving along on schedule, but it was still too early to tell how the jury was leaning. Her opening argument was flawless, but the expert witnesses had not fared as well as she had hoped under the scrutiny of the defendants defense team. Their one hundred thousand dollar an hour retainer was clearly paying off for their client. 

Regardless of whatever lead the defense had, she was still determined as ever to win this case. Being new to DC, she needed to establish herself as a capable prosecutor. Her track record here had a much slower start than in New York, but that was mostly suffering through learning the quirks of the system and the judges preferences. She always knew the legal field was cutthroat, but D.C. gave New York a run for its money. 

Luckily for her, the jury had yet to hear from the investigators whose findings built her entire case. She had planned to call Leroy Jethro Gibbs as her first witness, but as life would have it an emergency case had popped up keeping him and his team from attending the hearing. 

Though it had been a month since she had seen him, she had to admit she found herself thinking about Special Agent DiNozzo quite a lot lately.  While his delivery could have been better, his charm was what intrigued her to invite him back to her office to try his luck again at asking her out once the hearing had concluded. There was just something about him that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Wondering what he would be doing on a Friday night like tonight, she imagined him sweet talking his way into some unsuspecting co-ed’s bed for the night.

Taking a long slow sip of her drink, she scans the room in hopes of finding someone to take home herself. Her eyes begin sizing up each prospect, noting their features and what she would like to do with them. Her gaze locks on a brunette that is all legs with grayish brown eyes which jogs her memory of a night a few months back. She cannot remember the woman’s name, but the curl of her tongue is still very vivid in Ziva’s mind. Seeing her arm wrapped around the blonde sitting next to her,  Ziva continues to scour the room in hopes of repeating the ecstasy her mind just recalled. 

Her search comes up empty as everyone in the bar has seemingly paired off. She’s about to signal for her tab and call it a night when she spots him out of the corner of her eye. He’s leaning over the bar talking to the blonde bartender who’s name always escapes Ziva. She laughs and leans over the counter, not only matching Tony’s stance but giving him a much better view down her shirt, Ziva is sure. Her fingers play with the condensation on her glass as she waits for him to notice her. He doesn’t disappoint, leaving the bartender without a second glance a few moments later and hastily making his way to her. 

“Ziva David. Fancy finding you here.” Tony leans on the stool next to her. 

“Hello Special Agent DiNozzo.”

“I see you’ve forgotten my name all ready.” He fakes offense.

“It is a lawyer thing. We have to be proper in court and it transcends into our personal lives.” 

“Deflecting really doesn’t help your case here counselor.” 

“I have not forgotten your name, Tony, and I see you have not forgotten your charm.”

“So you do find me charming.”

“I would not go that far.” She smirks.

“So what’s a girl like you doing here alone on a Friday night?”

“Who says I am alone?” 

“This seat is pushed too far in for someone to have just gone to the bathroom. Unless of course you’re waiting for someone, but judging by your empty drink and the condensation collecting on it you’ve been waiting for quite a while. Our hot shot lawyer from New York couldn’t have been stood up, now could she?” Returning the victorious smirk she had given him moments before. 

“Putting your investigative skills to use on your off time?”

“Only if it means I can sit down here.” 

“I do not think that is a good idea.” She cautions him, her eyes going from playful to serious. 

“Ah come on, who is going to see us? There’s none of you legal types in here. Plus I’m not your witness. Gibbs is.” 

“But you are still a part of his team which makes-”

He waves his hand to shush her, causing her to balk at him.

“One drink.” He holds up his pointer finger as if to make it concrete that they’re only going to have a single cocktail. Somehow she finds herself relenting. 

Taking his seat, Tony waves to the bartender he just abandoned to call her over. Arms crossed over her chest she stares back at him, not moving a muscle. He winks and makes the come hither motion with his finger,  hoping that all can be forgotten with a really good tip on his tab.  She scoffs, throwing the towel she is holding to the ground and walks through the swinging door to the back. 

“Guess we won’t be served by her any time soon.” Tony comments, shifting his body towards Ziva. Before she can respond the other bartender approaches. 

“Hey, sorry about that. Heidi can take things a little too personal sometimes. I’m Jack. What can I get you?” 

“Scotch on the rocks for me and for-”

“I will have another mojito, Jack, thank you.” Ziva answers, effectively cutting Tony off. 

“Sure thing.” Jack smiles and winks at her as he saunters off, causing Tony’s jealousy to spike for some unknown reason. 

“So, you come here often?” Tony asks, drawing Ziva’s attention back to him. 

“Is that what you really wanted to ask me? Generic pick up lines usually work to get girls to take you home with them?”

“I didn’t know that offer was on the table.” He leers at her, grabbing an ice cube from her drink and popping it into his mouth. 

“No I do not come here often, and no it is not on the table.” She glares at him. 

Jack arrives with their drinks, breaking the small amount of tension that had built up. Tony pays in cash and raises his glass to Ziva.

“To future offers. May they be successful and enjoyable for us both.” He gives her a big toothy grin before touching his glass to hers and taking a swig; his eyes never leaving hers. 

Ziva is the first one to break and look away, muttering something under her breath in Hebrew but still finding herself smiling before taking a long drink.

“So tell me, how does the rising star of Mossad find herself practicing law in America?”

“I see you have done your research.”

“It is what I do for a living.”

“Not well enough clearly or you would know the answer. How did one make the jump from Baltimore P.D. to N.C.I.S. with such subpar skills?”

“Answering my question with a question? Deflecting won’t work with me. I use  the same tactic all the time on the job. Nice to know you’re doing your own research on me too though.” He winks at her as he takes another sip of his drink. 

“For the case-”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night. Now my question?”

Their gazes lock and the power struggle begins between them, sizing the the other up, their pupils dilating and contracting with each breath. Finally giving in, Ziva breaks away to look at the bar door closing before her eyes settle on the ice in her drink, her hand fidgeting with the straw. 

“After serving in the Israeli army I joined Mossad at my own volition. I advanced quickly through the ranks, earning awards for my exemplary skills and talents. I had just become a handler when I decided to leave and come to America.”

“What made you do that?”

“My brother.”

Tony stares at her intently but does not push the subject. He can sense she is having difficulty discussing this. She takes a long swig of her drink before continuing. 

“He cautioned me about promoting any higher, said I did not know what I was getting myself into or who I was really working for. As a handler, I was given more access and told more secrets, but I still had some plausible deniability in the big picture of how Mossad operates. It was not until he was killed three months later that I realized he was right.”

Tony’s eyes study her body language as she tells him the bits and pieces of what seems like a much longer and much more painful story than what she is letting on. He doesn’t push the subject, instead letting the silence fall comfortably between them. 

“You did not ask me.” She comments after a few moments pass and the drinks lessen in their glasses. 

“What's that?” 

“The one question everyone wants to know; how he died.” 

He doesn’t meet her eyes as he finishes his drink. 

“I figured if you wanted to share you would.” 

She twirls the last of her mojito in her glass, watching the clear liquid dance through the crystal ice cubes. Pausing as if she is really considering divulging the information. 

“He killed a member of the secret service, Special Agent Caitlyn Todd. He was killed shortly after by what was reported as a terrorist bombing but really was Mossad cleaning up their mess.” 

Tony’s whole body tenses, not only because he knew Special Agent Todd but because he remembered the bombing that occurred following her death. The reports played for days on ZNN of the horrific injuries people had suffered caused by excessive shrapnel intended to inflict the most pain. The death toll seemed to climb by the second. 

“After his death I was obsessed with getting revenge. I had already lost a sister to a Hamas bombing and to have my brother taken from me the same way… I was determined to bring whoever took him from me forward. When I found out it was ordered by my own director… I could no longer remain loyal to an organization that operated that way.” 

Grabbing her glass, she drains the last of her drink before slamming it back on the bar nearly causing it to shatter. 

“I decided to come to America to bring justice for those who could not get justice for themselves.”

Her eyes are downcast as her fingers play with the condensation on her glass once again. Tony takes a moment to collect himself before tentatively reaching to touch her shoulder.

“Hey, I’m sorry for your loss, and I’m glad you’re here.” 

She gives him a shy smile, leaning into his touch. They stare at each other for a few moments before Tony breaks the contact. 

“Worked a case with Kate Todd. She was a good Agent.”

Ziva’s eyes widen in shock, not only because he knew her but that they both were affected by the same event. 

“I am sorry for your loss.”

“No, I’m sorry to end your night on such a downer. Didn’t mean to bring up such painful memories.” 

“It is alright. I did not mind spending it with you.” 

The words fall out of her mouth before she realizes what she’s said. Luckily she is saved by a man interrupting them. 

“Hey, Tony, sorry to bother you.” He leans on the bar beside him. 

“No worries McInterruptus. Ziva David, this is Timothy McGee, the other and less attractive member of Team Gibbs.” 

Ziva smiles at the glare he gives Tony before extending her hand.

“It is nice to put a face to the name. I read your report in the Simmons case on how the device’s design was flawed and ultimately caused his death. I was amazed by the immense detail you used and then I found out you have a degree in Biomedical Engineering from Johns Hopkins and a degree in Computer Forensics from MIT. Very impressive.” 

“Oh, you’re the prosecutor Tony wouldn’t shut up about and the boss wished he would have sent me to check up on instead.” 

Ziva laughs as Tony strikes McGee across the chest.  

“Quiet McTattletale.” 

“One in the same.” Ziva adds, still laughing. 

“Well it’s very nice to meet you Ziva. Tony I hate to steal you away but Abby had too much to drink and is in the bathroom puking. Jardine is in there with her but she’s probably cleaning every surface. We’re probably going to have to carry her out.” 

“I told you to watch her Probie.” 

“Yeah, you try taking her drink away when she’s ranting about people who say they’re vegetarians but eat chicken.” 

“Good point.” 

Tony stands to leave, pushing in the chair as he does. He stops to turn to Ziva before walking away. 

“Don’t move, I’ll walk you out.” 

She doesn’t understand why she listens. 

A few moments later Tony and McGee emerge from the back of the bar with Abby between them, each of her arms slung over their shoulders. Ziva sees a woman exit quickly from behind them, clutching her bag tightly to her as if not to touch anything. The group stops in front of her as Abby begins to babble. 

“Who’s this? Tony, she's pretty. You’re very pretty.” 

“Not now, Abs.” 

Tony motions for Ziva to follow them and she grabs her briefcase from the bottom of the bar before walking behind them. 

There is a cab waiting outside and McGee drops Abby’s arm to open the door before getting in on the opposite side. Tony struggles to keep Abby upright as she goes limp in his arms. Ziva comes up from behind to grab her other side and help get her into the car. She settles in the backseat with her head in McGee’s lap. 

“Tony did you get her number? Get her number!” Abby calls out as Tony moves to close the door. 

“We have her number Abby.”  

“It was nice meeting you!” McGee yells out to Ziva. 

Tony finally shuts the door, letting out a loud breath, his hand wiping over his face. 

“Sorry about that.” 

“It is quite alright. It is nice to see people taking care of other people.” 

“Do you want to share a cab?” 

“No, I actually live right down there.” She points to a grey building a little ways down the street. 

“Oh so you do come here often.” 

They both laugh at the implication. 

“Well I guess this is goodnight then.”

“Yes, goodnight Tony.”

“Goodnight.” 

He extends his hand and she meets him in the middle. The touch lingers for a little while too long, sparking electricity in them both. After several moments, Ziva finally breaks away, turning on her heel to walk away. He watches her walk until she makes it to her building, his eyes enjoying the way her legs strut in her tight pencil skirt. She pauses to wave to him before unlocking the door and going in. Tony turns to heads home, feeling excited for the first time in his career to attend court. 

[thechildoflightning]

Tectonic Plates- Ch1

Title: Tectonic Plates [Masterpost]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: None

~~~

Chapter Title: Divergent

Summary:

Since day one, Patton has always been an extraordinarily kind child. He's cared for everyone and always given people second chances. But when a group project, family strain, and medical issues begin to pile up, Patton has to learn that it's just important to take of himself as it is for others, and learn how to set appropriate boundaries.

Warnings: Memory Loss, Tics

[ao3 link]

~~~

Chapter One: Divergent

Patton quickly scrawls on his paper, desperately trying to copy down the lengthy requirements for the project, knowing that he will otherwise forget. Most of the rest of the class is scrambling around as they meet with their assigned groups. Patton’s pretty sure that his name had been called, but quickly forgot who was called with him. Instead of attempting to remember- which he knows will be futile- he decides he’ll let them come to him why he tries to get the rest of the requirements for the project down.

“Patton, right?” a girl says off to his side.

“Yeah,” Patton responds, “One minute.”

Quickly two other people join them, but Patton hardly pays attention as he continues to write.

“Can we get started?” the same girl repeats.

“I’m just finishing writing down the instructions.”

“Can’t you do that later?”

“I’ll forget, it’ll just take a second more,” he insists.

She huffs, but lets him continue.

Patton returns to his writing, looking back up at the screen and then down at the paper, trying to find where he left off.

“You’re at the third to last line,” the girl snaps, when he doesn’t immediately find his place.

Patton ducks his head, shoulders scrunching inwards, and finishes the last three lines without comment.

“Okay,” he says, putting it aside, “I’m done.”

The other three people have made a small circle with him. Most other groups are already chatting. Patton looks at his three partners and recognizes that he’s probably aware of them, but certainly doesn’t recognize them.

“Can we start with names?” he asks.

There’s a pause where none of them say anything.

“Hi,” he introduces, “I’m Patton.”

“I know,” the girl who spoke to him previously comments, “We have two classes together this year and we had math together last year. Do you really not know my name?”

Patton balks.

“Sorry,” he replies, as he tries to figure out what to share and what to leave out, because he knows how this goes. He’s seen as rude if he doesn’t say anything, but at the same time he really doesn’t want to share his whole medical history. He hates the casual ableism that expects him too. “I- uh, have memory issues.”

“Oh I get that,” one of the other members says, “I’m incredibly forgetful too!”

Yeah that's not what Patton meant. There’s a difference between forgetfulness and memory loss. But whatever, it isn’t something Patton wants to debate right now.

“Oh and I’m Alise,” she adds.

“Jack,” the boy at her side mutters.

The girl that originally interrupted Patton huffs but introduces herself as “Sabrina.”

Patton nods, scrawling each of the names on the page as his project even though he’ll probably forget that the names are there, and won't remember whose name was whose.

“Okay so I was thinking about the project and we have four weeks, so I started creating a timeline where each person can get their part done in a reasonable time in an orderly manner so we aren’t procrastinating or falling behind,” Sabrina says quickly, pulling out a paper and gesturing to it. “This project is worth a significant part of our final grade and it’s really important we do well on it.”

“Oh, uh, we actually get three extra weeks,” Patton says, “I have certain accommodations for schooling. This project we get to start with three extra weeks and then if we’re still struggling we can communicate that and potentially work other accommodations out too.”

“Accommodations?” the other girl asks. Patton fails to remember her name.

“Yeah,” Patton says, “I have accommodations in school due to disability. This project we get three extra weeks.”

“I don’t know about that,” the first girl says, and great now Patton’s forgot her name too.

“We do,” he says, “If you don’t understand or don’t believe me we can talk to Mr. Z.”

The girl hesitates. Patton waits.

“Okay… but like, those extra weeks are only if we need them, right?”

Yes. They extra weeks are there if they need them. Patton needs them. That’s why they’re there.

He doesn’t say anything.

“Right, so… we’ll just try not to use them then,” the girl remarks and what’s her name again? He looks down and there's three names scrawled across his paper, Jack, Sabrina, and Alise. So which one is she?

Patton could ask, but she doesn’t think she would take that kindly.

“Okay so here’s the plan…” she starts to explain, laying each part out. He’s already exhausted.

Patton ignores Dani’s and Liam’s arguing in the background, instead turning to watch Blythe enter the room and flop down on the couch next to him in preparation for family movie night.

“What are we watching?” she asks with a yawn.

Dani and Liam’s voices both rise to argue for their movie as their mom comes racing back in to settle them both. Blythe shares an amused smile with Patton. Patton rolls his eyes at his younger siblings- as if he didn’t get into similar bickering with his siblings on occasion- and turned back to his phone which had buzzed a few times in the past minutes.

He opens his phone to find a text string he doesn’t recognize. He frowns slightly and taps it. The texts at the beginning are a quick reminder or what it’s for: Patton’s newest group project. He saves all the numbers quickly and tries to commit their names to memory before glancing back at the actual texts.

They seem to be texting about meeting up one day, so Patton quickly finds the date planned.

“Hey Blythe,” he says when he finds it.

“Hmm?”

“Remember March 10th for me?”

“Sure,” she says.

Patton nods and closes his texts, going to the calendar app instead and landing on March. He stares at it for a second. He just said that date. What was it?

“What was the date?” he asks.

“March 10th,” Blythe responds back.

Patton nods and clicks on the date.

His schedule quickly comes up, and he frowns at the noticeable conflict.

“Blythe?”

“Ye- ACK- Yeah?”

“Doctor’s appointment, March 10th.”

“M’kay.”

Patton goes back to the group chat and texts out a quick apology, explaining he has a doctor’s appointment that day.

“Thanks Blythe.”

“No problem. Who do you think is gonna win?” she asks, nodding at Liam and Dani.

“Hmm?” Patton asks, putting his phone down. He turns to look at his younger siblings who are still arguing over movies, if much more calmly. “Liam,” he decides on, “He’s the baby. You can’t say no to him.”

“True- but he caves easily. My money’s on Dani.”

Patton settles in to watch.

Suddenly Blythe gets up next to him. Patton watches her with interest, expecting her to get involved in Liam and Dani’s movie debate. But Liam and Dani aren’t there anymore. In fact, Dani sprawled out against the other couch and Liam’s falling asleep in a bunch of pillows on the floor. Patton looks up and on the screen in front of him- the movies credits are rolling. Patton couldn’t say what movie. He doesn’t remember.

Holy shit did he just forget an entire two hours?

A full two hours. With no supplemental memories or feelings or- or anything?

Patton grabs at his mind and he thinks he was maybe… maybe content during the movie. The emotion is reassuring but he really can’t remember anything past that.

“I’m headed to bed- ACK ah-” Blythe announces, head twisting with a tic as she finishes her statement, “Night.”

She gets a chorus of replies and everyone else starts to move to return to their own rooms to sleep. Patton stays seated- still as he tries to process what happened.

“Pat?” Blythe asks, “Hey Pat, you okay?”

Blythe’s words draw everyone’s attention to him.

“I, uh-”

Is he okay?

Memory gaps like this- large ones with no additional information- have been happening more and more recently and they’re terrifying. It’s scary being somewhere one moment and then somewhere else the next and having to scramble for context clues to figure out everything in the middle.

Patton’s always dealt with time gaps, and while annoying he knows how to deal with them. But lately they’ve been getting worse and Patton doesn’t know what that means.

What if he forgets everything one day?

“Hey, hey,” Blythe soothes, coming back over to kneel at the couch in front of Patton. She offers a hand and Patton takes it. “What’s going on?”

What does Patton say?

“I- uh… Who won? Dani or Liam. With the movie?”

The room stops and Patton knows it’s his fault- it’s his stupid brain’s fault but he’s terrified right now and doesn’t know how to communicate that.

“Pat,” comes Liam’s small voice- much too small, “Pat do you not remember the movie?”

And how does Pat tell his little brother that no- no he doesn’t he has no clue what happened in the past two hours.

“Is Patton okay?” Dani asks. “Is he going to forget more?”

While Patton’s younger siblings worry over him- which while touching make Patton feel incredibly guilty- his mom approaches him.

“Blythe, can you please go help your Ma with your siblings?” she asks as she takes Patton’s other hand and rubs it comfortingly.

“Yeah,” Blythe responds easily, “ACK- Pat that okay with you?”

Patton nods and Blythe leaves.

“Do you know where you are?” is his mom’s first question.

“Yeah,” Patton answers and that’s relieving but he’s terrified, “yeah. We were going to watch a movie. For family movie night. Dani and Liam were arguing. Blythe sat with me. You and Ma were trying to get Dani and Liam to work it out. I don’t- I don’t remember after that. I think I had a good time though?”

“Okay. Thank you for telling me. How are you doing? Do you have any questions for me?”

Patton’s terrified. This is terrifying. But he can’t say that. It’s already bad enough, he doesn’t need to scare his entire family further. He never wants to hear that hint of fear in Liam's voice again, never wants to see the terror on Dani’s face as she considers that her brother might forget everything eventually.

“I’m fine,” he insists, “Are Dani and Liam okay?”

“They’ll be okay, but let's focus on you right now honey, okay?”

“Okay,” Patton agrees, not even trying to argue. He tilts his face down so he doesn’t have to look at his mom’s worried face. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say. His mom continues to rub at his hand soothingly. The dog tries to wiggle her way into his lap, and Patton lets her. Her fur feels nice.

His ma comes back into the room, because she and mom exchange words quickly for a moment while Patton gets lost in his head. Eventually she kneels at his side as well and takes his other hand.

A lump forms in Patton’s throat.

He doesn’t want to cry.

He can’t cry.

He knows it’s okay if he cries. But if he cries that means he’s hurting and his moms can’t know that he’s hurting because they’ll feel bad and there’s nothing Patton can do to fix it. He doesn’t know how to fix this.

“How you doing, love?”

“Okay,” Pat replies.

“Okay. That’s good. Do you know where your notebook is?”

“My backpack? Or my desk. Probably.”

She nods and carefully pulls her hand away, most likely going in search for it.

She returns soon after, the light blue notebook clutched in her hand. She flicks through the patches, written accounts of Patton’s memory gaps. Full gaps, not just missing info. The past few months fill up almost as many pages as the rest of the book. It scares Patton.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” his Ma asks him, firm but somehow gentle. It’s information she needs, but Patton feels safe despite not quite knowing the answer.

“Dani and Liam were arguing about movies. Blythe and me were talking about who we thought would win.”

“Do you remember what Dani and Liam were saying? It’s okay if you don’t- I’m trying to get a more exact time if possible.”

Patton shakes his head.

“Okay,” his ma says, “That’s alright. We’ll ask Blythe. And what’s the next thing you remembered?”

“I- Blythe got up to go to bed. Everyone was on the couches. There were credits on the screen.”

She scrawls in the notebook. Patton knows it has to have been about two hours.

“Anything else you remember?” his mom gently prods as his ma writes.

It’s a question that often makes Patton feel guilty because the answer is often more likely ‘no’ than ‘yes,’ but he knows it’s necessary.

“I- I remember feeling content, I think,” he says,”I don’t remember anything about the movie or watching it- but I think I had a good time. I’m pretty sure.”

It’s not a concrete memory, but it’s an emotional one and it’s something.

At least he seemed to enjoy the movie, or the time with his family, or something. Right?

“Okay,” his ma says, and writes it down. “Just to remind you- you have a doctor’s appointment on the tenth to talk about the recent large gaps in your memory. It’s in your phone calendar, and the big calendar in the kitchen.”

“Oh. I do? That’s good.”

They need to figure this out. Patton wants it to stop. And if it can’t stop, they need to figure out how to deal with it because right now Patton’s terrified. His family’s terrified. Patton knows they are and he doesn’t know how to fix it. He has to fix it.

“Yeah. Do you want to go to bed? It’s late.”

“Okay,” Patton agrees, His voice echoes. He feels hollow.

His mom helps him up, a hand on his back for support and a hand in front in case he loses his balance. His knees and back both protest the movement. He wonders how long he was sitting in the same position for them to lock up like that.

Two hours. Patton lost two hours.

He goes to bed. Tries to sleep. His moms tell him goodnight and that they love him. It’s a simple gesture, his moms have always been so good at telling him that they love him and Patton knows they do. He’s never questioned their love. They love him unconditionally.

It makes Patton hurt inside.

They love him unconditionally.

And yet, look at what Patton’s putting them through.

They’d never stop loving him, Patton knows that.

But maybe they should. Patton keeps hurting them. He doesn’t want to hurt them.

~

Taglist Below

-message me to be added or removed-

@mewithanie @eddies-spaghetti @lemonyellowlogic @savioursailor @goldteethandacurseforthistown @you-betcha-weirdo @gattonero17 

[ryqoshay]

How to Handle a Nico: Futatsumōde

Primary Pairing: NicoMaki Words: ~2.2k Rating: G Time Frame: Winter of Maki’s 2nd year of high school and Nico’s 1st year of college. Story Arc: Stand Alone

Author’s Note: Less than a day left in the first month of the year, so I’m a little late for a New Year’s scene. But I saw an Xmas NicoMaki post earlier this week, so at least I’m not the only one running behind... Also in my defense, I didn’t even see the pic that inspired this scene until halfway through the month.

Anyway, as soon as I saw the official pic posted of NicoMaki going to their hatsumōde, first shrine visit, dressed in adorable kimono, I knew I needed to write about them. I even set the pic as my desktop for the rest of the month. And even though I’ve posted it before, twice, I’ll post it again at the end of the scene for reference, and because it’s just that cute.

Maki was excited. So excited, in fact, she was having trouble remaining still while her mother tied her obi. It felt strange. Being this restless wasn’t normal for her, even when stressed about an upcoming exam or anticipating the next live performance with her fellow school idols.

Was it because she was going to be meeting up with her friends? Maybe? However, she had just seen everyone at the latest µ’s reunion where Honoka had decided they would go ice skating together. As luck would have it, this had also allowed Maki an opportunity to spend a significant amount of time with Nico, teaching her how to skate so she wouldn’t look foolish in front of everyone.

Maki smiled at the memories. Nico hadn’t lived up to her boast of becoming a better skater than Maki, but at least she had managed to not be the one who fell down the most during the reunion.

Nico-chan…

She would be seeing Nico as well tonight. The older girl was helping Nozomi and Eli at the local shrine where they were all meeting. The three college first-years had scheduled the end of their duties so they could welcome the new year with their friends. And they even said they would be changing out of their haori and into more festive kimonos for the occasion. Thus, Maki wouldn’t be the only one dressed formally this year.

Maybe that was why she was excited? Getting to see Ni… everyone in kimonos? She was certain Nico would be exceptionally cute. And everyone else as well, of course. Yeah, that was probably it. Maybe…

“There we go.” Dr. Nishikino said, stepping away to admire her handiwork.

“Thanks, Ma…” Maki’s gaze found the clock. “Is that the time? I need to go!” She scrambled to grab her kinchaku.

“One moment, Maki, my dear.” Her mother placed a hand on her shoulder. “I have one more thing for you.” She produced a corsage consisting of a pair of flowers with tassels. “I found this while I was out with friends and thought it would match your outfit perfectly tonight.” Quickly and efficiently, she secured it in her daughter’s hair, near the end of the braid she had woven earlier.

“Thanks, Mama.” Maki finally completed giving voice to her gratitude. Then, without even so much as a glance in the mirror to admire the new accessory, she turned, kissed her mother on the cheek and made a break for the door. “I’ll be heading to Nico-chan’s place afterward!” She said over her shoulder as a reminder to her future whereabouts.

“Have fun!” Dr. Nishikino called after her departing daughter. “Say hi to everyone for me and wish them a Happy New Year!”

Nico let out a weary groan as she let her haori slip from her shoulders. “You know, Nozomi,” she whined “I don’t mind helping out around here, but do you have to work us to the bone?”

Nozomi returned a smile that barely masked her own exhaustion. “But Nicocchi, this place has become so much more popular these last two years. It may have something to do with a certain someone posting online that she would be here.”

“But Nico-nii needs to let her fans know where she is!” The raven-haired girl insisted. “It’s not Nico’s fault she has so many adoring fans that want to come see the No. 1 Miko in the Universe.”

“Sorry, Nico,” Eli spoke up, her voice as weary as the others “but I think we all know Nozomi holds that title.”

“Nicocchi has worked hard.” The purple haired girl draped a kimono around the blonde, using the motion as an excuse to give her a quick hug from behind. “I’m fine with her using the title for a few hours.”

“I suppose…” Eli leaned into the embrace before sliding her arms into the sleeves.

Nico rolled her eyes at the display before turning to the mirror to start tying up her hair.

“Ready for me to tie your obi?” A voice came from behind a few minutes later.

Nico shifted her gaze in the mirror to see Nozomi. “Sure.” She replied with a shrug, turning her head back and forth to check for stray strands. “Thanks.”

“Is that what you’ll be wearing?” Nozomi motioned to the accessories Nico hadn’t had time to put on.

“Yeah.”

“Cute. They suit you two.”

“Ye… wha?” The part-time idol resisted balking so as not to disturb the sash that was being secured.

“You two.” The spiritual girl repeated. “Nicocchi and Maki-chan.”

Nico looked at the flowers in question; two sets of three, arranged from darker to lighter shades of pink. Well, perhaps the darkest could pretty much be considered red, but that hadn’t really been Nico’s intent when selecting them. At least she didn’t think so. Was she really so obsessed with the adorable redhead that her subconscious was thinking about her even when picking out hair adornments? Perhaps, she should be more upset by this idea, but she quickly decided it didn’t really bother her.

“But of course!” Nico proclaimed proudly. “Nico-nii will never fail to impress her No. 1 Fan.”

“Well you’ll sure knock her dead with this lovely number.” Nozomi chuckled. “There.” She patted the other girl’s shoulder. “All done. Want help with the flowers?”

“Thanks, but I can get them. You still need your obi tied.”

“I’m on it.” Eli said, coming up from behind Nozomi.

“Which means I can still help Nicocchi with those.” The purple-haired girl decided.

“Oh, alright.” The raven-haired girl gave in and handed back the accessories.

“Maki-chan! Over here!” Nico called on spotting the redhead in the crowd. She waved her hand high to ensure she had her attention before moving toward her. “You’re late.”

“Sorry.” Maki apologized upon reaching the raven-haired girl.

“Well, everyone else is already busy doing other stuff.” Nico explained. “Eli, Umi, Yukiho and Alisa are hanging ema, Nozomi and Rin are offering prayers and the girls of the Subgroup Formerly Known as Printemps are playing hanetsuki.”

“I see…”

“So you’re stuck with Nico for now.”

“I’m… alright with that.”

“Anyway, Maki-chan looks incredibly cute in her kimono.” Nico commented, her voice devoid of teasing and full of admiration.

“Th-thank you…” Pink dusted Maki’s cheeks.

Nico shifted her weight back and forth between her feet, obviously awaiting something.

“N-Nico-chan looks cute as well.” The younger girl said after a moment.

“I know, right.” The older girl posed to show off her outfit while displaying a toothy grin. “Love the hair décor, by the way.”

“Mama gave it to me just before I left.”

“She’s got good taste.” Nico reached up to touch the tassels. “Works well for us.”

“Us?”

Damnit Nozomi… Nico hadn’t meant to say that. Honestly, she hadn’t meant to tease, this time. But now that she had said it, she figured she may as well run with it.

“Of course! Pink and red! Nico and Maki-chan! A classic pair.”

“P-pair?” Maki’s blush deepened.

“Definitely.” Nico grinned. “So, what does Maki-chan want to do first?”

“Uhm…”

Nico quickly realized that the younger girl’s mind was still working through her embarrassment so she probably wasn’t in a decision-making mode.

“Maybe we could go draw our fortunes?” The older girl suggested.

“A-alright…”

Still smiling, Nico grabbed Maki’s hand and lead her through the throng of people to the omikuji stand.

“Ah, Nico-chan, Maki-chan, welcome.” A redheaded young woman clad in haori greeted the two with a bow.

“Hey, Anju.” Nico returned. “Thanks again for covering for us until the others get here.”

“You are quite welcome. Nozomi-chan does so much for this place so it’s our pleasure to help out in times like this.”

“And of course, Tsubasa is more than happy to use this as an excuse to spend time with Honoka-san.” Erena spoke up, approaching from behind her fellow idol.

“You asked A-RISE to fill in for you?” Maki asked of Nico.

“We offered.” Anju replied, having overheard. “We happened to be here praying for the success of our holiday live when Nozomi-chan and Eli-chan were talking about tonight.”

“I see…”

“So, are you two here for fortunes?” Erena indicated the cylindrical box on the table between the two pairs.

“That we are.” Nico pulled her offering out of her pouch. “C’mon, be good, be good.” She muttered, shaking the container before pulling out her fortune. “Alright, you’re up, Maki-chan.”

Maki made her own donation before accepting the cylinder. Her shake was far less vigorous than Nico’s, instead being a single, measured snap.

“Geez, Maki-chan.” The raven-haired girl complained, beginning to unroll her scroll. “You’re so serious about it, like you’re performing surgery or something.”

“Well, I am going to be a doctor.” The redhead replied simply.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t have fun with… eh?” Nico cut off as she read her fortune.

“What’s wrong?” Concern laced Maki’s voice. “Oh…”

“As if Nico wasn’t cursed enough…” the older girl’s shoulders slouched. “But studies? Really?”

“At least it’s a small curse…?” the younger girl seemed uncertain in her assurance. “And I can keep helping where I can.”

“I know.” Nico sighed. “You’re a good tutor, Maki-chan. Maybe you should look to becoming a teacher instead of a doctor.”

“I’m not sure Papa would like that.” Maki considered, beginning to unroll her fortune. “Mama might not mind thou… buweehh?”

“Great Blessings” Nico read, furrowing her brow and pushed closer to the other girl to get a better view. “Romantic Relationships? What the heck?” She borrowed Maki’s habitual phrase.

“N-Nico-chan…” She heard the other girl sputter.

“Oh ho…” Anju crooned. “And who is the lucky one to capture the maiden Nishikino’s heart?”

Erena blinked as though confused and quickly glanced back and forth between the two girls across the table. “I thought…”

“Maki-chan doesn’t have time for silly things like dating.” Nico blurted, a bit quicker and louder than she intended. Geez… She didn’t think she’d ever get used to saying or hearing that.

“Oh?” Erena raised an eyebrow, not appearing convinced.

“T-that’s right…” Maki agreed, her ears turning red.

“I see…”

“And besides, Nico is an idol. And everyone knows idols can’t date, right?”

Erena paused before agreeing. “Right…”

“Well the important part is that you two are happy.” Anju spoke up. “Maki-chan’s Great Blessing sounds interesting and it seems you have a plan to address Nico-chan’s Small Curse. So, I believe you’ll both be fine in the coming year.”

“Sounds good to me.” Nico nodded, suddenly wishing to move on. “Thanks for the fortunes.” She said before turning to the girl next to her. “Where to next, Maki-chan?”

The redhead opened her mouth to reply but snapped it shut when her stomach let out a loud growl instead.

“Food stalls it is.” Nico laughed. “But first we need to find a place to tie this stupid thing.” She waved her fortune around for effect.

As Nico grabbed her hand, she was pleased to see Maki’s blush fading and a smile begining to tug at her lips. Even if the younger girl was a bit slow on the uptake when it came to figuring out their relationship. Even if Nico herself really shouldn’t be seeking a relationship given her current career path. Even if… well, a lot of things, perhaps Maki’s fortune was right. Perhaps this would be a good year for the two of them. And Nico found herself looking forward to it.

“Nozomi! Eli!” Nico called to her fellow college first-years. “What’s up?”

She and Maki had just finished a run through the food stands and were heading over to find the others.

“I just got a message from Anju.” Nozomi explained as the couple approached. “Seems they’re getting busier than I anticipated. I tried reaching out to the girls who are taking the next shift, but they can’t come any earlier. So I’m heading back in to change.” She smiled at the others. “But no need to wait up for me. You three can head back when you’re ready.”

“Nonsense.” Eli shook her head. “I’m staying.”

“As am I.” Nico stated.

“Nicocchi, you don’t…” Nozomi started.

“I agreed to help today.” Nico interrupted. “And that includes extra time if it becomes necessary.” She turned to the girl beside her. “Sorry, Maki-chan, I know we were going to hang out after this, but…”

“I can help too.” Maki stated, as firmly as Nico had before. “You have extra haori, right, Nozomi?”

“Of course.” The spiritual girl replied with a smile.

“Then we can hang out while we work.” The pianist turned back to Nico.

“That depends on how hard Ms. Taskmaster over there decides to drive us.” the part-time idol crossed her arms and huffed.

“I can assign you two to the same station, if you want.” Nozomi offered. “But don’t think I won’t separate you if things…” she smirked “get out of hand.”

“Says the girl who… ”

“Nico… ” Eli interrupted with a pleading tone.

“A-anyway, uhm, let’s go.” Maki sputtered past her own embarrassment.

For the first time in far too long, Maki was the one to take Nico’s hand as she began to lead her toward the temple. Glancing back, she caught a fleeting expression of confusion that was quickly replaced by one a lot happier. Even if she knew she would be busy studying for foreseeable future, perhaps Anju was right. Perhaps the most important thing really was that they were happy. And right now, Maki was happy; so was she. So if this was any indication, it would definitely be a good year. And Maki found herself looking forward to it.

Pic referenced:

Author’s Note Continued in Followup Post

[kiruuuuu]

Oneshot in which... I don’t even know how to summarise this. Maestro threatens Blitz with an Italian dessert, I suppose. It’s insanity. Enjoy! (Rating T, humour, ~1.8k words) - written for @magehir because the world needs to suffer under the ideas we come up with :)

.

“A-ha! Just the man I was looking for!”

Blitz is this close to simply turning around and booking it as fast as his legs will possibly carry him. His day has been going great so far, he had an extremely productive meeting with Sledge concerning their cooperation with a few certain CTUs, stumbled over Rook trying to get rid of some chocolates of which Blitz more than gladly relieved him and now he’s on his way to fetch his lunch from the fridge in the canteen – but was not at all prepared for the Italian train which keeps running him over unexpectedly.

Maestro who was until just now busy with putting the finishing touches on what looks to be a panna cotta, now whips around and strides towards Blitz with worrying speed. Despite him instinctively cowering before the tall man, he gets dragged in by the collar like a dog who misbehaved – and there isn’t even anyone present whom he could ask for help, not that it should surprise him the canteen is deserted when Maestro is fuming in it.

Recently, the Italian has been in a decidedly rotten mood, extremely easy to anger and not even placated by Sledge who normally has a similar effect on him as horse tranquillisers should (Blitz hasn’t tried it so he can’t know for sure), meaning he turns the whirlwind into nothing more than a soft breeze. Before Maestro’s temper flared for real, Sledge was one of the most popular people on the base purely due to his ability to rescue whoever currently was sentenced to listening to the Italian. In the past week, however, not even Sledge’s gentle touches achieved anything and so everyone has taken to avoid Maestro whenever possible.

Especially Blitz.

Because for some reason, Maestro has taken an, uh, odd liking to him. He doesn’t really know what else to call it seeing as he sees no rhyme nor reason in it, but it seems like he’s being hunted down regularly, only so Maestro can preen in front of him. There’s no established ritual but a lot of similarities between each separate instance and most of them involve Maestro bragging about a variety of skills, inviting Blitz to compare their abilities, be it in archery or gutting a rabbit, and more often than not he displays his really quite impressive body: sometimes he traps Blitz against a wall, showcasing his arm muscles, puts a foot up on the bench where Blitz is sitting or similar antics – and while he’s undeniably attractive, he’s also very much taken.

This is the problem with the whole situation. Maestro reconquered Sledge’s heart immediately upon his return (or maybe it was never not in his possession, with how private the man is it’s just as possible they were in a long distance relationship all these years without anyone noticing) and has been madly in love with him, propagating this fact to everyone who didn’t ask with an uncomfortable amount of gory details. Since Sledge can usually tame him a little, people prefer them being together to Maestro being broken-hearted (and no one wants to imagine that particular horror) but it seems the Italian is fickle enough to shift attention pretty quickly.

At first, he outright ignored Blitz for the most part, talked over him whenever he was having a conversation with Sledge, but a short while ago this tilted over into the complete opposite. Blitz can’t believe Sledge hasn’t noticed yet or maybe he’s scrambling to save what’s still to save behind the scenes, it’s hard to tell also because he feels too guilty to raise the topic to the Scotsman. He doesn’t want to be accused of being a homewrecker. On various occasions, he’s told Maestro to back off, leave him alone; he hasn’t encouraged him in any way though this only seemed to fuel the Mediterranean macho even more.

“Here, taste my cream!”, Maestro demands and points accusingly at the impeccably presented dessert he seemed to have prepared for no one but Blitz.

“I have my own lunch”, Blitz replies, vaguely intimidated, and chooses to ignore the double entendre.

“This is your lunch! Never in your entire life will you ever eat panna cotta cooked to such perfection again – I make the best panna cotta on this continent and you will test this fact for yourself, cesso!”

Blitz doesn’t know what the nicknames Maestro has given him mean but based on the nature of all the others it’s probably dripping with honey. He asked Alibi about one once and she just snickered and said that’s cute. “Look, thank you for offering me food, but I really don’t think -”

“What, you don’t like it? I don’t believe you. Everyone likes it! You’re still growing, right? If you’re not fully grown yet, you need calcium, secchione, and just look at you.” Maestro inexplicably starts poking him, testing his muscles by pinching them harder than necessary and this, of course, is exactly the moment the door to the canteen opens. He throws a panicked glance over to his teammates who seem frozen to the spot in fright as the Italian proceeds to grope Blitz openly. “Here, there’s plenty of room to grow, you baby, you’ve probably never felt real muscles in your life!”

He realises with dawning horror that Maestro is not only inching closer by the second but also seems to be flexing at him, pushing his chest out so his already tight shirt leaves next to nothing to the imagination and yes, he’s – he looks good but could he please get out of Blitz’ face? Preferably soon? “No, I don’t -” Panic is now audible in his voice and he can see more and more people quietly file into the room. “Please stop, Maestro, please just -”

“Have you even seen any? Huh?! I’ll show you, boy!” Maestro has basically backed him into a corner now and Blitz can feel the heat radiating off him.

“I really don’t think this is the why are you taking your shirt off please put your shirt back on what are you -”

“This is what a well-trained body looks like!”, Maestro booms and fluffs himself up like a bird trying to attract a mate and Blitz has literally never been this uncomfortable in his life.

“This is really inappropriate”, he whispers meekly because he doesn’t have the voice for anything else seeing as Maestro is looming over him like an ancient God come to life and uh, wanting to catch up on a number of things. He also looks ready to suffocate Blitz in his chest hair.

“I’ll show you inappropriate”, Maestro shoots back, either not thinking about his words at all or, in fact, considering them very deliberately, “and now taste my fucking cream!”

Blitz is 90% sure no one else in the room is breathing at this point. It’s clear Maestro hasn’t noticed their audience though he’s actually not sure he’d stop if he had. “I don’t want -”

Opening his mouth was quite clearly a mistake as a spoon gets shoved into it, almost choking him and no, this, this is the lowest point in his life.

He’s being accosted by a man almost 10 years his senior who would drive him insane were he forced to stay in a room with him for longer than a few hours – not only that, it’s a foul-mouthed, loud, arrogant Italian who is in a relationship with one of Blitz’ best friends, making this whole situation all kinds of awkward, but on top of that, he’s currently trapped, being molested and violated with dessert and unable to escape because that would mean putting his hands on Maestro’s half naked body. And he’s not doing that. He’s absolutely not doing that.

And while his life flashes before his eyes, he thinks: Damn, this panna cotta is fucking good.

“What’s going on?”, the one voice comes from beside them that Blitz really didn’t want to hear in exactly this moment. Sledge is nonchalantly leaning against the counter next to them, a fond smile playing on his lips as if he was watching an old couple bicker good-naturedly instead of his boyfriend deepthroating his best friend with a spoon.

“I can explain”, Blitz rasps, prompting a death glare from his nemesis.

“You will explain nothing, cesso!”

Sledge’s brows are rising in amusement but as he doesn’t look like he’s going to interfere any second now, both of the two burst out at the same time: “He won’t stop flirting with me!”, Blitz complains and it pains him to speak it out loud, especially in front of everyone, but the truth needs to come out because - “Why would you ever choose him over me, amore?” - he’d hate if he were the one to taint Sledge’s wait what.

Wait.

What?

The two of them stare at each other, probably a perfect mirror in how open-mouthed and unflattering they look. “Are you seriously thinking -”

“Seamus and I are just friends, why would you assume -”

“You’re nothing but an insect to me, needing to be squashed, you’re not -”

“Is this why you’ve been haunting me all this time?! Because you thought -”

“How dare you, I’ve been proving myself to be the better man all this time, showing you all the things you lack, you wet noodle!”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, excuse you, you really are a weak excuse of -”

“Then why were you so worried about me stealing Seamus away, huh? If I was no competition in the first place?”

“You seemed willing to stake a claim on something not belonging to you, I was merely -”

“Gentlemen, please.” Both of them shut up simultaneously at Sledge’s soft baritone, whipping their heads around to him in agitation. “Apologise to him for calling him a toilet and a nerd, Adrianito.”

Blitz balks. Is…. is that what those nicknames meant?

“I will never”, Maestro announces, dramatically turns on his heels and stalks away, his exit made less impressive by him having to fight his way through the thoroughly stunned crowd. He also leaves his shirt behind. And his panna cotta.

“Is that”, the German speaks up with hesitation and points to where his personal demon has just disappeared, “is that how he shows jealousy?”

“Oh yeah”, Sledge confirms with a wide grin. “That’s how he establishes dominance.”

His eyes narrow. “If you knew this entire time, why didn’t you interfere?”

“Are you kidding me? This was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.” And with a chuckle, Sledge leaves as well, probably to appease his livid boyfriend.

Blitz rubs his face with a deep sigh and then notices half of the base still staring at him. “Fuck off!”, he barks at them and watches them scramble to get away in satisfaction. Maybe now he can finally eat his lunch in peace.

And like this, no one will watch him eat the panna cotta. It really is delicious.

[losille2000]

Green-Eyed Monster, one-shot

TITLE: Green-Eyed Monster CHAPTER NUMBER: ONE SHOT AUTHOR: Losille2000 WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Actor!Tom GENRE: Romance/Drama FIC SUMMARY: Sometimes it’s difficult balancing a romantic relationship with a career and other obligations, but sometimes chances have to be taken. Sometimes, even, the green-eyed monster needs to be let out of his cage to get results. RATING: T (language) WARNINGS:  None. AUTHORS NOTES: This is for the Anon who sent me a kind message requesting a fic. I don’t always do requests, but this sprang to my mind soon after I received details. Thank you, Anon, for the messages. Also, Happy Birthday, again!

Green-Eyed Monster

What right did he have anyway, accusing her of being impossible to pin down for a date? This was the man who spent the better of the year out of the country for his career and he had the fucking audacity to insinuate she didn’t want to make this relationship work because she was too busy with her own career, friends, and family? Well, screw him. If he kept harping on about it, he was going to have another thing coming to him.

 “Ja,” said the resonate, but demanding and terse, English voice on the other end of the mobile call. “Are you there?”

 She clenched her jaw. Gritted her teeth. Okay, maybe they had a lot of things they had to work on—neither one of them had given an inch in their respective lives for each other since they’d started whatever this was between them—but that still didn’t give him the right to act like this. And on her birthday of all days!

 “Yes, I’m here,” she said though her teeth.

 “Look, I’m sorry. Truly,” Tom said.

 He sighed into the phone, the sound of scratching audible through the line afterward. If she wasn’t mistaken, he was nervously fidgeting with his slightly overgrown beard again. She liked the look of the beard well enough, and she loved the way it rasped her thighs when they made love, but she’d spent the better part of a fortnight trying to convince him to trim it up a smidge. Frankly, she could do without a mouthful of whiskers every time she kissed him.

 “I’ve really got to go, Tom,” she replied, looking at the mountain of paperwork on her desk. “The longer I spend on the phone arguing with you, the longer I have to stay at the office.”

 He sighed again, this time more peevishly. “Please let me know about later. I want to take you out today, on your actual birthday, for a change. Before I have to go to my thing tonight.”

 His… thing. Oh, right, the premiere. She waited for him to bring that bit up, too, about how she refused to attend any public events with him because it seemed so… permanent. For a relationship that had been on and off for a little less than a year, with no defined roles beyond that of close friends who fucked, it wasn’t something she wanted to get involved with. None of that attention had ever appealed to her. Especially when she knew how quickly her life would change—how invasive and nasty people could be. Accompanying him to anything like that was tantamount to a pledge of love, and she didn’t know yet if that’s what she was feeling for him.

 “Speaking of,” she said, some demon inside of her making the voice come from her mouth. She knew she should shut the hell up, lest she make the gulf between them even worse, but nothing she did dispossessed her of the thoughts in her head or the devil sitting on her shoulder. “If you’re so keen to get me all to yourself, why don’t you cancel your appearance?”

He scoffed. “You know I can’t do that. I’m second billed!”

 “Yes, right, well, so the fuck am I,” she deadpanned. “I don’t like it any more than you do, Tom, but this is our life. And until we agree to meet halfway, this is how it’s going to be.”

 At that moment, her boss, Bill, stepped out of his office with his overcoat hanging on his arm, ready to leave for lunch. Older, wealthy, the definition of a silver fox, she’d once fancied she had a thing for him. But that was going on seven years ago, and she didn’t necessarily like how he handled his love life. As his assistant, she’d been tasked with sending too many break up gifts through the years. What he had turned into, though, was an intelligent man and a very faithful, giving friend.

 Which, of course, Tom hated. It wasn’t that Tom didn’t trust her—he simply seemed to hate not being able to show possible challengers for her hand that he had her. In fact, the irony of it was that Tom and Bill would probably be the best of friends if they pulled their heads out of their respective arses. Instead, both men resorted to their testosterone-driven hindbrains when she was around, thinking they were each protecting her from the other man, though for very different reasons.

 Bill stopped in front of her desk and rested a hip against the edge, fingering the silky petals of the two dozen red roses delivered to her this morning, from Tom. In hindsight, she hoped he realized he should have just left his birthday wishes at that. Not the calls and texts, trying to get her to commit to taking the afternoon off work to be with him.

 “I have to go. Bill is taking me to lunch.”

 “Are you—,” he spat, but stopped himself. He reined in his voice, just barely, before continuing. Not that what he said was much better said evenly. “Maybe you shouldn’t go with him if you’ve got so much work to do?”

 Enraged didn’t even cover it. “Get stuffed, Thomas. You had better have a change of heart by the time we meet up later or I’m locking your arse out of my flat. Clear?”

 “Crystal,” he said a moment before the line went dead.

 She tossed her phone on the desk, letting her body sag into her seat and her forehead fall on the calendar book in front of her. She hated arguing. Absolutely hated it. But for goodness sakes, something had to give if this was going to work. They couldn’t keep going on like this.

 “Trouble in paradise, love?” Bill asked, a triumphant laugh in his voice. He’d told her Tom was a jealous one. She hadn’t believed him. Sure, she liked knowing Tom wanted to keep her all to himself, but when he didn’t allow her to have the same access to him… well, it just wasn’t going to work.

 “Sod off, Bill.”

 He laughed loudly. “Come on. I’ve booked us a table at Le Gavroche.”

 “What’s the occasion?” she asked, collecting her purse and coat.

 He helped her into the coat and they made their way to the lifts before he spoke. “I thought we were celebrating today?”

 “We are,” she chuckled lightly. “Le Gavroche is a little much for lunch, though.”

 “When have I ever skimped on you, Ja?” he asked, a salt-and-pepper eyebrow rising curiously.

 She shrugged. He hadn’t really. That’s what made him a good boss. Other assistants got the short end of the stick, as far as she was concerned. He gave her a more than healthy salary, exorbitant bonuses, and additional gifts. His office philosophy was that if the company did well for him, then he did well for the staff, which made them all work very, very hard to impress him.

 They made small talk, and he received a short call from one of their clients in the cab on the way to the restaurant. Soon they were seated in the sedate ambiance of one of the finest French restaurants this side of the Channel. Two Michelin stars, to be exact. He ordered wine, and they chose their main courses—she went with Coquilles St. Jacques—before he looked across the table at her with a look of concern.

 “What?” she asked.

 “How long have you been working for me, Ja?”

 She frowned. Great. He wasn’t about to fire her, was he? “Uh, seven years.”

 “Right,” he said, nodding his head, scratching his square jaw.

 “Why?”

 He stretched back in his seat, relaxing against the pillowed booth-back behind him. “So you would say we know each other pretty well, right?”

 “Bill, I go to your family Christmas parties,” she said. “If that doesn’t mean we don’t know each other well, then I don’t know what does.”

 “True,” he responded. “Then you wouldn’t balk were I to give you a little advice, would you?”

 Her frown deepened. “Advice?”

 “Yes. Advice,” he said.

 “Have I done something wrong?”

 He started. “What? Of course not, Ja! You’re the best assistant I’ve ever had. In fact, I’ll be loath to break in someone new.”

 She felt her world closing in around her. This wasn’t happening. “Excuse me? You sound like you’re going to—”

 “Oh, God, no!” he said, waving a hand at her. “I spoke too soon. Let me start at the beginning. Please. You’re not going anywhere. Verity Investments needs your talent. You’re brilliant!”

 She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I’m not understanding.”

 “When was the last time you took a holiday, Ja?” he asked. “Like a real honest-to-god holiday with sun and surf and no work at all. Not days off to visit doctors and such.”

 Ja laughed at him. “With all due respect, Bill, keeping your life and business running smoothly does not lend itself to holidays.”

 “My point is,” he began, “is that we need to do something about that. You need to have a life, too, and I’ve monopolized you for seven years. Though your work has only got better, it has also made you rather…intense… with your work. You’re in there all hours of the day, shutting yourself away from having a great life.”

 “I like my life just fine,” she replied, even though she rethought that the second after she said so. She loved her job. She loved her boss, her fellow co-workers. A dream, really. But he was right. She hardly ever saw her family, and her love life… well, her love life left a lot to be desired. The number one reason she didn’t want to meet Tom halfway was because she didn’t have enough brainpower left in the day to manage that relationship. Relationships were tough enough on their own, but adding in who he was… well, she just couldn’t do it.

 Bill gave her a knowing glance with a shake of his head. “You know that’s not true. You didn’t say it earlier, but I heard it in your voice when you were on the mobile with Tom.”

 “If he only knew you were helping him out right now.”

 “Yes, well, we’ll just keep that between us, shan’t we?” he said. “He needs to have a healthy fear of other men in your life. It’ll keep him on top of his game.”

 “All his game is doing is giving me grief,” she said.

 Bill rolled his eyes. “You are probably one of the most intelligent women I know, but sometimes you can be quite dense.”

 “Why?”

 “He’s been in London for three whole months doing Hamlet, and you’ve hardly seen him at all,” he said.

 “That’s hardly my fault,” she said. “He was rehearsing all the time and I had things to do.”

 “Did you really have things to do, or were you making things to do so you wouldn’t have to spend time with him?” he asked. “What are you afraid of, anyway?”

 Ja cast him a grimace. She hated how well he knew her. Seven years of being work husband and wife clearly had given him quite the insight to her psyche. “What isn’t there to be afraid of? You saw what happened to him last year in the press. I don’t know if I can handle that myself.”

 “You’re not a pop tart,” he said. “I rather think you outclass her in every category… and people will see that. He’ll be so happy to have you around, people will see it. And they’ll love you.”

 “But will he be happy? We argue about the lack of time together all the time,” she said. “Even when I do try to give him time.”

 “I think you need to take some personal time and see if it’s worth it.” He reached a hand into his suit coat and withdrew from the inner pocket a white business envelope. Unsealed, though thick with folded paper, he pushed it toward her on the linen-covered table top. He held a hand over it until she looked at him. “Before you open this, you have to promise me something.”

 “Promise what?”

 He cleared his throat. “That you’ll take the next ninety days off—use up most of your accrued leave time—and enjoy life.”

 “Three months?!” she screeched, drawing attention from the tables around them. She put her hand over his. “I can’t leave everything for three months. What are you going to do?”

 “Hire a replacement,” he said. “Because even when you come back, you’re not coming back as my assistant.”

 “I’m… not?”

 He shook his head and removed his hand. “Inside is a contract for your promotion to CFO.”

 “What?” she squawked. This was… everything. Everything she had worked for, ever. All the blood, sweat and tears she’d poured into business school, the long nights spent poring over the company financials for him, teaching herself the workings of their business. “What about Gordon?”

 “Gordon is retiring at the end of the year. We’ve not announced it yet,” he said. “I was hoping to get you signed before any press releases were made.”

 Ja didn’t know what to do. Her hands shook as she opened the envelope and read the front page. Sure enough, it was a contract for employment, with her details in all the right places. “Where’s your pen?”

 Bill laughed heartily at that. “I’m not letting you sign it until you agree to the following terms.”

 “Right, right, I’ll take the three months,” she said.

 “Nuh-uh,” he shook a finger at her. “There’s more. I also insist that you take weekends off, like the rest of us.”

 She nodded. “Fine. Pen.”

 “And, for as long as you have a globetrotter for a boyfriend, you’ll take a mandatory two-week holiday every quarter,” he replied. “Presumably, to be with him.”

 “That’s ridiculous, Bill. No one gives that amount of leave.”

 Bill laughed. “Well, I do. Now, shake my hand and agree to it. I will be checking up on you to make sure you’re following the terms of the contract.”

 She didn’t hesitate to shake his hand, or sign on the dotted line. She did, however, resist calling Tom to give him the good news. He could stew in his juices for a little while longer. Served him right, anyway, after the way he’d treated her earlier.

  That was how she found herself standing around like an idiot, all alone, just on the edge of the red carpet leading deeper into Leicester Square and the Odeon for the Thor premiere, dressed to the nines. Somehow, Bill had talked her into taking the company credit card and spending the rest of the day on a good pampering—sod all the work needing to be done. Bill had clearly called ahead to various places, knowing where he was sending her and what she needed for entrance into Tom’s world. Because she sure as hell didn’t know what she needed, and they’d outfitted her in all the latest fashions with fancy hair and makeup to boot.

As far as birthdays went, even with Tom’s whinging earlier, it had turned out all right.

 Until then, she breathed in and out in an effort to find calm, trying not to freak out in the sweltering sea of bodies bumping back and forth, against her, into her, all around hugging and talking and making a ton of noise. That didn’t even include the flashing cameras and the yelling. Good God, the yelling! From both fans and paparazzi. She didn’t know how he did it. And, in fact, she considered turning right around on her ridiculous heels and heading home.

 But Bill had been right, like he was always right. Ripping it off like a plaster was the best thing for it. Then it would give her the appropriate amount of time to see if she really could deal with this life—with Tom—before her three-month sabbatical was up. Now, all she could hope for was that he actually wanted her here.

 He had been livid when she rang to tell him that she couldn’t get away to have dinner before his premiere… that they’d just have to meet later. So livid, in fact, he said nothing and hung up. She’d almost canceled everything—called Luke back to say never mind on messengering the pass to her and everything. But she didn’t. She wanted to take the chance. For once in her life.

 An incredibly tall older guy with grey hair passed beside her, his arm brushing hers.  He paused a moment, smiling brightly down at her. It took another full second to realize it was Jeff Goldblum which precipitated ten-year-old her having a minor meltdown. Okay, maybe it wasn’t minor. She was practically vibrating with anxiety, blinking wildly, as her mouth dropped open.

 Jeff smiled charitably at her, pressing a warm hand to her arm and cocking his head to the side. “Hello, dear.”

 “I’m, um… hi,” she wheezed.

 He laughed and looked at the pass hanging around her neck. “Why don’t you, uh, come in with us instead of waiting out here? No sense standing out here getting trampled on.”

 She shook her head. “I’m waiting for Tom.”

 “Aren’t they all?”

 “I suppose a few of them are,” she murmured, glancing across the street at a group of women wearing very large Loki helmets of different fabrications. “I’m his, er, girlfriend.”

Well, she supposed she was. She didn’t know anymore.

 Jeff clapped his hands gleefully. “Oh, I knew you seemed familiar. He was going on and on about you during our downtime between press this week! He showed us a few photos.”

 Her face inflamed and she looked away from him nervously. “Really?”

 “Just between you and me,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially, “he’s smitten.”

 “Thanks,” she said.

 Jeff let out a laugh again, a full deep one, then slipped a hand around the pretty woman beside him, who must have been his wife. “We’ll see you inside, lovely.”

 And they moved on, leaving her with a massive crush and blushing cheeks. Fortunately, a loud roar in the crowd stole her attention, though whatever had happened was then blocked by a large black SUV.  She breathed in, then out, listening to the insanity, making out the name they’d begun chanting.

 He had arrived.

 She stood on her tiptoes—which, really, she already was in these shoes—trying to see over everyone, but she was too small. So, she resigned herself to waiting until he was done doing whatever. The car pulled away, leaving him in full view as he worked his way down the line signing things, taking photos and shaking hands. It was insane. But it did give her ample time to look over his svelte form, in a dark charcoal grey suit, cut to his body, perfectly tailored. She’d always admired that about him—how well he dressed. Okay, dressed when he was on the job. The everyday clothes? Those would need to change if she was going to be around him more.

 Heck, she’d be perfectly fine if he wore nothing in the privacy of their respective homes. But when they went out? She didn’t want to be staring at the same thing all the time.

 When Luke pulled him along, toward her, she noted that he’d also cleaned up his beard, trimmed it a bit. He looked better. Better than better. Except for the way his lips were pressed together, like this was the absolute last place he wanted to be. Sullen. Fuck, why had she given him such a hard time on the phone this morning?

 No, wait. He deserved it for unleashing his green-eyed monster earlier.

 Still, she realized, belatedly, how much she’d hurt him, too. It softened her more than her nervousness already had.

 Finally, they moved nearer to her, joining the throng slowly making their way down onto the main part of the red carpet. They didn’t seem to notice her—which wasn’t hard, surrounded by so many large people—so she elbowed her way through the black-clothed handlers and stopped dead in front of him, just as he began to pass by.

 He froze, frowned, squinted his eyes as if trying to make sense of the moment like people do when they see an out of place object. Then, before she could prepare, his arms shot around her, crushing her to his chest, lifting her in his arms and spinning around. She wobbled in his secure embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck for support just as she felt a giddy giggle springing from her throat. Then he kissed her, full, and long, with demanding lips and teeth and a bit of tongue—for good measure—in full view of everyone. Fuck, he never ceased to steal her breath away.

 “What are you doing here?” he asked, a huge smile splitting his lips.

 “What does it look like I’m doing?” she retorted and fingered the lanyard and pass around her neck so he could look at it.

 When she finally met his eyes again, she saw tears in them. Maybe not full blown “I’m about to sob” tears, but definitely a little mist. And it broke her. Literally broke her. Why hadn’t he just pulled his head out of his arse and told her how much something like this meant to him anyway? Bloody man.

 “Did you know you were doing this from the first time we talked this morning?” he asked. “If so, I apologize.”

 “No, I didn’t,” she said. “I really did have work to do… but let’s not talk about it now, okay? We do need to talk, though. You need to stop being such a jealous arse, and I need to stop letting good things pass me by. But right now, I just want to enjoy the night with my boyfriend.”

 His shoulders stiffened. And he suddenly looked like a boy who’d just won the top prize at some sort of school event. “Seriously?”

 “Seriously… what?” she teased him, making him work for it.

 “Boyfriend? Not ‘friend’ or ‘lover’ or any of the other ridiculous names you’ve applied to what we are, but never really committing to it?” he asked.

 She blushed. Had she really been so bad? Maybe so. “Yes, boyfriend.”

 “Well, then,” he replied, entwining her hand with his, “since you’re my girlfriend, I think you need to come with me.”

 “Of course I’m coming with you,” she said.

 “No,” he said and waved his free arm at the brightly colored screen with the Thor Ragnarok logo printed across it, and the many, many flashing camera bulbs going off at the latest celebrity to stop in front of it. “I mean, you’re coming with me, and I’m showing you off tonight.”

 She frowned. “But Tom…”

 “Nope. Stop. You’re here with me now, and I don’t intend on letting you out of my sight.”

 She sighed. He was right. This was what she’d agreed to by coming here—it was what Bill told her she needed to do to figure out if she could handle this life with Tom. There was only one thing to do for it. Follow him in front of the firing squad.

 “Don’t let go, okay?” she pleaded, her voice tremulous with nerves.

 He shook his head. A giant grin made her insides wibble. “Never.”

[chroniclesofawkwardness]

Higher Ground

I love coffee.

Probably not the same way a mother loves her newborn, or with the intensity that certain sects or Christianity proclaim to love Jesus, but it’s close.

When I close my eyes sometimes, I can still taste the first cup I ever had, at age sixteen. I don’t remember if I had it with hazelnut creamer or black, but I do remember looking left and right that morning at the kitchen table, half expecting my dad to come home for lunch from his midnight shift as a cop and ask what the hell I was doing drinking coffee.

“Mom said I could!” was ready on the tip of my tongue.

Before I started drinking coffee, I’d heard everything from, “It will stunt your growth” to “It’ll put hair on your chest.” These and other descriptions of what coffee could do made me balk at it during the innocence of childhood, and want it even more as a sometimes defiant, hormonally-charged teenager. My first sip of coffee whet my appetite for culinary danger. I felt like a beverage badass, having finally tasted what had been an adults-only indulgence for all of my sixteen years. It was awesome. Dad never came through the door that day, but on that one occasion at least, I wish he had. 

At 38, I’ve stopped holding out hope for that adolescent growth spurt; my grandma stopped telling me, “You’re getting so tall” when I was 13. What’s more, the trend in men’s personal grooming seems to be to shave the hair from your chest and other areas. I was a late adopter of manscaping, but this doesn’t mean I’m going to compensate by carefully shaving a unicorn into my pubic hair, or meticulously dyeing it all the colors of the rainbow. 

Damn you, coffee... Damn you... 

*Five minutes later*

Aw... who am I kidding? I could never stay mad at you. Let’s have a make-up cup.

When I was an undergrad, I got a job as an assistant at the front desk of the dorm where I lived. I worked from 11 PM to 3 AM most Friday nights. Before almost every shift, I’d turn on a little Mr. Coffee coffeemaker I had, brew two cups by the pot’s measure, add whatever flavored creamer I could find to my mug, and take it with me as I rode the elevator down to start my shift. Holding the mug in my hand and drinking its contents made dealing with oh-shit-I-lost-my-room-key drunks a bit easier.

My first trip to Serbia in 2003 meant my first cup of Turkish coffee, a style in which beans are pulverized to the point that they look like powdered sugar. In Serbian class, I’d learned that Turkish coffee was made using a long-handled pot called a džezva. You bring hot water to the edge of boiling, add the coffee, stir, and wait for the coffee to rise. If the water boils or the džezva overflows, you’ve screwed up. I’d been looking forward to trying Turkish coffee from the moment my plane touched down in Belgrade, so when the Matejić family offered me some, I didn’t dare refuse. I was tired and didn’t quite know where or when I was, but coffee was calling to me. 

There was just one problem. For all the praise heaped upon it in the classroom, in tales of tassology, and in the Matejić family living room as St. George watched dutifully overhead from his portrait on the wall, nobody warned me about the sediment that rests at the bottom of every properly made cup of Turkish coffee. I’ll go to my grave believing that the Matejić family knew the whole time that I didn’t know about the sediment lurking at the bottom of my tiny cup, and they placed bets before I even arrived about how long it would take me to notice. If tassology is the practice of fortunetelling by reading coffee grounds, tea leaves, or wine sediment, my fortune that day was clear. The Matejić family chose not to intervene.

I spit the sediment back into my cup almost as soon as it touched my lips. Zoran, Ljilja, Aca, and Miloš bent over with laughter. Knowing what I know now, I can’t blame them. 

Years later in Novi Sad, Massimo almost killed me with his powerful Italian espresso. My heart nearly lept from my chest as I raced home from our English lesson trying to figure out what was happening to me. I couldn’t help thinking of what seems to be a natural human attraction to things that challenge or could kill us, such as skydiving or doing the tango with a beautiful woman. I hadn’t gotten a tassology reading from the 2003 Turkish coffee sediment, but as my heart continued to thump, I wondered if I’d tempted fate one too many times, and would as least die having done something I loved as one of my final acts on Earth. 

As the years passed my comfort in coffee increased. Though I once gave a friend a džezva as a birthday gift, I rarely drank Turkish coffee and steered clear of Italian espresso. 

I experimented with pods and French-presses before finally settling on some kind of a Black + Decker brew station that has three of four more features than I really need. Its filter is reusable, but I’ll often curse myself if I forget to clean it out, thereby leaving it for a zombielike version of myself the next morning. More than once, I’ve asked myself who would do such a stupid thing, but then I remember that I have only myself to blame. If a practitioner of tassology could read my fortune in those used, wet, and clumpy grounds, it would probably say something like: You will be unnecessarily angry today. Your lucky numbers are 7, 19, and 23.

If my palate for coffee weakened over time, so too did my care of the coffee and its containers. To save space of the kitchen counter, I moved a canister of coffee from this most logical place to the shelving above my washer and dryer. One morning, shortly after 6 AM, I scooped out some coffee, put it in the filter, and went to return half-full canister to its illogical place on the shelf above my washer and dryer. 

There was just one problem. I forgot to secure the lid on the canister. As I reached up to place it on the shelf, I lost control. It went flying out of my hand, somersaulting like Simone Biles, sending precious coffee grounds all over, beside and behind the washer and dryer. I wanted to yell obscenities, but I quickly realized this wouldn’t do any good by myself in my apartment at 6:30 AM on a Thursday. 

I vacuumed up the grounds I could see as best I could, but the lid to the canister was no where to be found. Not knowing where the lid was bothered me more than having spilled the coffee. Out of respect for its fallen bean brethren, I wanted to preserve the remaining coffee in its original canister. I couldn’t effectively do this of course, without the lid designed to fit said canister. To add insult to injury, the coffee serving scoop had fallen into the no-man’s land between the dryer and the wall. I knew I didn’t need that scoop to get a satisfying serving size of coffee, but it was part of a set that belonged to my grandparents; as odd as it sounds, that little scoop had sentimental value to me.

When I got home that afternoon, I resolved to find the lid any way I could. I knew what happened was an accident, but I felt dumb for allowing it to happen by deciding to store that canister above the washer and dryer in the first place. I downloaded a flashlight app on my phone, located the coffee serving scoop, and fished it out of apartment purgatory with a tool that allows me to extend my reach to high shelves and tight spaces I wouldn’t naturally be able to.

Damn you, coffee... Damn you...

In search of the prodigal lid, I climbed on top of the dryer and shined the flashlight all around. Nothing. My knees hadn’t hurt that bad since the Prayers at the Foot of the Altar when I served the Tridentine Latin Mass at Holy Family Church half a lifetime ago. Back then, I wore skateboarders’ kneepads underneath my pants to cope with the pain. There, atop the dryer, my lapsed Catholic ass thought of something I hadn’t for years:

“If Jesus hung dying on the cross for three hours, you can get through this.”

Introíbo ad altáre Dei.   

I can’t explain why that thought occurred to me just then. Perhaps, in moments of discomfort, we revert back to what we know. These days, I don’t elevate Christ (or my coffee) to such lofty places. I try my best to remain grounded in facts, evidence, and reason while recognizing that not everyone will share my beliefs, or love of coffee. 

No matter how you grind the beans, we all should remain grounded in something. But, it does bring me peace of mind if you come to service my washer and dryer and you have a vacuum with a really long hose among your tools of the trade. I’d recruit you to find most of the remaining grounds about a month after the incident, and for years to come, until they’ve all been collected. Like a shepherd tending to the lost sheep of his flock, still I can’t let go. You belong to me. I belong to you.

The lid ended up in the laundry basket among a breakaway sect of coffee grounds, a group of granular renegades that had separated themselves from the whole in a great schism. Tired of the House of Maxwell, they had broken free like Protestants in search of a new method, or a perfect latte. Instead of putting these ground rebels back with the masses, I momentarily admired their conviction before dumping them out, and leaving them to their own brew. Turkish, French Press, percolator, pour-over, drip, etc... that’s how it should be.

[captain-zajjy]

Solstice, Chapter 2 - A Final Fantasy XV Story

Pairing: Ignis x Female Original Character

AO3 | Chapter 1

Both Valeria and her mother had received invitations to attend the party at the Citadel to commemorate the signing of the treaty with the Empire. But work didn’t pause for politics, so Valeria found herself getting ready in her office suite at a few minutes past seven, doing the best she could with her hair and makeup in the small, poorly lit bathroom, mildly annoyed that she had missed out on her evening jog.

Her mother was already at the party and sent the family driver back to pick her up. The Citadel was draped in black and gold, no expense spared on decorations and catering, and predictably packed, a veritable catalog of Lucis’s best and brightest (save the Crown Prince, of course). Valeria recognized most of the Lucian guests from similar events in the past, but she was surprised to see Kingsglaive uniforms on all the guards.

But it was a special occasion, after all. And the party was crawling with Niffs. White and red garbed Imperials dotted the crowd, and it was strained smiles and awkward pleasantries all around; just because they were now at peace didn’t mean either side had to like it.

Valeria caught sight of her mother’s dark bobbed hair among the crowd and, after greeting several women with whom she’d gone to school, made her way across the ballroom.

“Ah, my lovely daughter, Valeria,” her mother said smoothly, introducing several people Valeria recognized as potential investors. That explained why her mother was laughing at all their bad jokes. Valeria smiled and played along, but she was relieved when the men moved on to the bar.

Her mother immediately turned off the charm and gave her daughter an appraising once-over. “Why didn’t you wear that new black dress?”

Because I didn’t choose it for myself, Valeria thought. Going on twenty-three years old and her mother still tried to pick out her clothes. It was embarrassing. Aloud, she said, “I just like this one.”

Her mother frowned, as if to say navy blue was somehow too ostentatious, but blessedly let it go.

Instead, she said pointed to the little leather bag attached to Valeria’s wrist containing her phone, ID, lipstick, and some gil if she needed to call a cab to make a quick exit. “Get someone to check that. Your phone makes you so antisocial.”

Valeria spread her hands in exasperation. “Anything else I’m doing wrong?”

“Oh, hush.” Her mother gave her a playful swat on the arm. “You look very nice. Did you see Godric Octavio over there? Why don’t you go say hello? I can’t believe a handsome young man like that is still single.”

That’s because he’s an insufferable shit. Godric Octavio was indeed quite handsome, perhaps even better-looking than the Crown Prince himself. The Octavio family shared a common ancestry with the Caelum dynasty, claiming descent from the eighth son of some ancient and virile king, and the resemblance was still there to some degree. Valeria didn’t care about any of that, but if it would get her mother off her back…

“Fine,” she muttered.

“Don’t slouch, dear.” Her mother always had to have the last word.

Valeria migrated over to where Godric Octavio was attempting to flirt with some poor serving girl.

“Hello, Godric,” she said cordially. The waitress gave her a grateful look and quickly disappeared into the crowd.

Godric hungrily took in Valeria’s appearance with heavily-lidded eyes. He’d clearly taken advantage of the open bar.

“Valeria Soleil,” he slurred, pushing a lock of dark hair out of his eyes. “You’re looking good. Way better than high school,” he added, gaze glued to her chest.

Charming. Valeria ignored the sudden, overwhelming urge to take a bath and forced a smile.

“How kind of you to say.” Much as she wanted to, she couldn’t be outright rude to him - that would inevitably make its way back to her mother and then she’d never hear the end of it. But that didn’t mean she had to be nice.

“I’m surprised to find you all alone over here,” she said with a dark smile. “Don’t tell me you’re losing your touch.” At the Academy, Godric had always, always been surrounded by a gaggle of girls.

Something coherent flashed behind his eyes, a recognition that ‘oh, we’re going to play this game,’ before they glazed back over with drink. Before he could respond, an ear-splitting rumble shook the roof above them.

Valeria jumped, startled, but let out a laugh when she looked through a window and saw a hundred sparkling points of light blanketing the nighttime sky.

“Let’s check out the show,” Godric said, taking her arm. “And make both our mothers happy.”

That made Valeria smirk. She followed her escort out onto the terrace, ignoring the way he kept bumping into her as they walked. Along with the rest of the party-goers, she watched the impressive fireworks display heralding Lucis’s peace with the Nifleheim Empire. And she might have even enjoyed it, if not for Godric trying to slip an arm around her hips.

“You know, you never gave me the time of day back in school. Heh heh...I bet us being here like this now would really piss Scientia off.” When Valeria turned to frown at him, Godric drained the remains of his drink. “Where is old four-eyes anyway? Not here, obviously, since he’s not up your ass.”

That gave her pause. Were they really so obvious that even a blockhead like Godric Octavio had taken notice? Not that they ever did anything other than socialize, anyway. He’s drunk, she reminded herself. And trying to get a rise out of you.

In response to his question, Valeria shrugged, trying to look indifferent. “Out of town, I guess.” No one needed to know that she’d spoken with Ignis on the phone just yesterday.

“I never could stand that smug son of a bitch,” Godric muttered. “Always walking around like he was hot shit, all because he works for the Prince.”

“Well, the feeling was mutual, I assure you.” Valeria turned back to the fireworks, trying to squash the little bead of irritation that cropped up at someone badmouthing Ignis. Were it socially acceptable, Scientia would kick your ass, she thought with a smile.

She wondered if he was back on the road to Altissia now. He’d texted her several times to tell her that the car had broken down, but mostly to lament the Prince’s lackadaisical attitude toward the whole affair.

Poor Iggy. Did all royal chamberlains have to deal with this sort of thing, or had he been saddled with a particularly difficult charge? Valeria had texted him back with the hopeful reminder that, at the very least, he’d be getting help from Lady Lunafreya soon.

Godric wandered off in search of another drink, or maybe another female, as the fireworks continued to pop and crackle overhead. Unsurprisingly, it seemed they’d pulled out all the stops with the display, each wave of light getting brighter and louder than before. The force of the it had even started to shake the furniture on the terrace, plates and glasses rattling against tabletops.

A massive boom actually knocked some of the decorations over, and caused Valeria to sway slightly on her feet. She looked around her then, seeing faltering smiles and hearing nervous laughter. If this was part of the show, maybe the were overdoing it a bit.

A deafening crack sounded, and the floor suddenly fell away from her feet. No, this wasn’t part of the show. This was wrong. Very wrong.

When Valeria next blinked, her face was inches from the floor tiles and screams filled her ringing ears. She pushed herself to her feet, strangely fixated with the tear in her pantyhose and the little bit of blood welling up on her knee. Another blow sent her sprawling into a serving cart, and she found herself mumbling an apology to no one in particular as she picked herself back up.

In front of her, a corner of the terrace had simply vanished. People were covered in plaster, dust, and splintered wood. Some were moving; many were not. In the midst of the rubble she made out the bloody ruin of half of Godric Octavio’s handsome face.

Valeria stared at the scene before her uncomprehending, like there was some disconnect between her eyes and brain. A tug on her arm and her name being shouted in her ear drew her attention away from the horror.

“Valeria, we have to go.” Her mother grabbed her hand.

Valeria blinked at her. “Mom, what…?”

“Now, Valeria.” Valeria allowed herself to be lead along by the hand like a small child, trying to fathom just what was happening. The building continued to rumble and shake. A huge mass of people clogged the entrance to the stairwell, pushing, screaming, shouting.

“Move!” Valeria’s mother was shorter than her daughter, and rail thin, but she shoved people aside with the ease of a man twice her size, pulling Valeria through the crowd and fighting their way down the stairs.

A siren began to blare, not just in the building, but throughout the city. Valeria had never heard it before, but its meaning was clear: Get out. Run.

Her mother stepped over a splayed body on the landing, pulling Valeria along when she balked. Sorry, she wanted to say to the unfortunate person. Maybe they should stop and help, but she was too afraid to do anything but follow where her mother pulled her.

They tumbled out into the city street along with the handful of others who had managed to make it all the way out of the building. The air seemed almost like a solid mass, thick with smoke and dust. Beneath the drone of the emergency siren was the whir of engines overhead, the rat-a-tat of gunfire and boom of explosives.

With one hand clinging to her mother and the other clasped over her mouth in a vain attempt to the filter the choking air and stem her coughing, Valeria ran, trusting her mother to understand what was going on, to lead them to safety. The city of Insomnia was no longer recognizable, like they had been plucked up by an invisible hand and dropped into a warzone, the faraway kind she read about in the newspapers, not where she lived. Not the impenetrable Crown City.

As they rounded the corner of a narrow alley, her mother skidded to a halt, and Valeria collided with her back. In front of them eerie red lights hovered in the gloom, and there was a clattering of metal on metal as mechanical men emerged from the fog with rifles drawn…

Gunfire rang out and Valeria felt her body being shoved aside, searing pain ripping through her left shoulder. Her mother twisted and spun, her body hanging in the air for what seemed like an impossibly long time before crumpling bonelessly to the ground.

Valeria crawled over to her on her knees. Her mother’s dark eyes were rolled to the back of her head, the grey dust covering her body punctuated by at least a dozen bloody, red holes.

“Mom!” Valeria screamed, shaking her. “Mama! Mama!”

Run. It was her mother’s voice, not coming from the body Valeria clutched, but firm and commanding, directly in her ear. Run.

Valeria looked up and saw the magitek soldiers reloading their rifles. Run.

She dropped her mother’s body and took off, back down the alley. She ran and ran, tears stinging her eyes, smoke filling her lungs, not stopping for anyone or anything in the streets. She might have even been running in circles for all she knew, but eventually found herself on a broken causeway where the fog wasn’t as thick, where far off in the distance she could see what remained of the Wall.

Eventually her legs gave out and she fell to her knees, left arm hanging limp and numb. Her entire left side was covered in blood. Oh, she thought, feeling strangely detached. They shot me.

When the adrenaline started to wear off, she began to shake, her left side seized up in pain, and she collapsed on the pavement. Valeria couldn’t say how long she laid there, trying to find the moon and stars through the haze. By the time they came for her, her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth and nothing hurt anymore.

She found herself being scooped up by metal arms clad in white and red, muffled voices saying something about the ‘medicus.’ She wanted to fight back, kick and scream at them for killing her mother, but she couldn’t move.

They’re going to kill me too, she thought, as she was dumped into the back of some sort of vehicle. Was there even anyone left who would care? The company might erect some kind of memorial in her honor, and people would say she was taken too young, say she had so much potential, but they wouldn’t actually grieve her loss. Her father and Ignis might, but they both had their own lives, complete without her in them. That thought somehow made her sadder than the idea of her impending demise.

And with that sense of loneliness, the darkness enveloped her, smooth and cold and comforting.

Despite their numerous misadventures, Ignis had to admit he was enjoying his time on the road. It was good to stretch his legs, to actually wander the wilds outside of the city instead of reading about them in books, to finally put all that combat training with the Marshal to good use.

Noctis remained ambivalent as ever, but Prompto and Gladiolus seemed to genuinely enjoy and appreciate his cooking at camp and compliment his skills on the battlefield. Ignis didn’t do these things for praise, of course - it was all part of his job - but it nonetheless felt good to be acknowledged by his friends.

And so he woke (before the others, of course) with a particular sense of fullness, not pertaining to food or hunger, but a contentment of the heart and soul. His intention was to watch the sunrise over Galdin Quay with a good cup of Ebony in hand before they embarked on the ferry for Altissia and Noctis’s wedding. He had a suspicion this might be the last chance he had to relax for a while.

As it was, his hunch proved correct, but for reasons he never could have predicted.

Strangely, he found the coffee counter empty - it may have been early, but Galdin Quay was a luxury resort and staff worked around the clock. After several minutes and several impatient knocks on the counter, a young barista shambled over, her eyes red as if she’d been crying. Ignis supposed she must have been dumped by her boyfriend or some such and decided not to complain, but before he could open his mouth she spoke.

“I’m sorry, uh...for the wait. It’s just-” Ignis thought she might start weeping again, but the girl managed to keep it together. “My brother was in Insomnia. He was so excited about his new job in the city...I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You just want your coffee, don’t you, sir?”

Ignis felt something churning in the pit of his stomach, the instinctive sense that something had gone horribly, terribly wrong.

“Has...something happened in Insomnia?”

The way the color drained from her face indicated he was right to fear asking the question.

“You don’t know?” she whispered. “Six, you’re not...are you from there?”

Ignis nodded, his bad feeling evolving into full-blown panic, but he managed to keep it inside. “What’s happened?” he demanded. The girl pointed a shaking finger at the newsstand next to the counter that had somehow managed to escape his notice during his quest for coffee. Ignis picked up the morning’s paper.

Insomnia Falls. He blinked, adjusted his glasses, but the words remained. Beneath the headline was a photo of, presumably, a street in the city filled with rubble and covered with ash. The unmistakable red lights of Imperial craft were just visible through a thick shroud of smoke.

He collapsed onto the nearest stool, his mind racing to comprehend what was in front of him. An Imperial invasion...the Treaty signing...a trap...King Regis dead. Ignis looked back up at the barista and she nodded without a sound. Yes, it’s real. It’s all real.

“Keep it,” she said, gesturing at the newspaper. “And this is also on the house.” The steaming mug of coffee she placed before him had lost all its appeal, what with the massive lump forming in his throat.

His first instinct was to go and immediately wake the others, to let them know the horrible news, but he stopped himself from getting up. Let them - especially the Prince - get a few more hours of blissfully ignorant rest before the course of their lives was forever altered.

Instead, he got out his phone and dialed his uncle, then Valeria, then half a dozen other people he knew had been in the city last night. Each number went directly to voicemail. Of course, he thought. Whether directly or through collateral damage, the Empire would have destroyed most of the cell phone towers serving the city.

That realization didn’t exactly ease his concerns, but for now, he had to believe they still lived. The Prince remained his priority, perhaps more than ever, for if they’d killed the King, the Imperials surely would not be content to just let his heir go on living. At least for Noctis, he could still do something, could still protect and comfort him.

Val, he thought, be safe. Be strong. All he could do for her now was hope.

[stranger-who-writes-fiction]

Wrote a thing. A short(ish), fluffy thing, featuring Clark, Kara, and Alex, inspired by this. (As always, hoping that I’m not stepping on anybody’s toes or anything.)

...

“She blew out her powers,” Clark explains. His voice cracks, and Jeremiah isn't sure if it's from worry or simply due to the boy's age. “I didn't even know we could do that.”

“Tell him—tell him what you named it,” Kara wheezes, forcing a smile to her face. It's strained.

Clark doesn't say anything right away, looking at his cousin with wide, concerned eyes. He's never seen her look weak. Or tired. Or hurt.

“I don't think you'll ever be able to top 'freeze breath,'” Jeremiah declares, following Kara's lead. No sense in getting the kid worked up any further—especially when they don't really know what they're dealing with. Not yet.

He pulls the front door open wider, and automatically reaches out to help, only to remember that Clark can undoubtedly handle Kara's dead weight better than any human can.

“Solar flare,” Clark finally says. Jeremiah whistles.

“Well. I stand corrected.”

It's dark in the house. Jeremiah has to turn on the light in the kitchen as they attempt to make their way quietly down the hall. Clark tries to remain focused on Kara, but he's never been to the Danvers' house before; they always visit the couple at the lab.

It's...less cluttered than he expected.

He finds his attention drawn to the fridge—not that it's anything special. It looks just like the fridge at home: white, scuffed, void of frills—but it's covered in magnets and...what looks like math worksheets. School assignments, he realizes. Addition. Subtraction. Handwriting. Most, if not all, feature some sort of smiley face in the upper corner, along with a 'Good job!' and 'Super student!'

Jeremiah tells Clark to get Kara situated in one of the chairs at the table, pulling his focus away from the collection of papers tacked on the fridge door. Kara's...mostly cooperative. Well. She tries to be. Her legs don't want to seem to get with the program. Her feet catch on the table legs, and it's not like Clark is the picture of poise, or anything.

By some sort of miracle, they don't break anything.

“I'll be back,” Jeremiah promises. “...make sure she doesn't fall out of the chair.”

Clark nods, and Kara slumps across the table.

(Still...technically...in the chair.)

And then Clark doesn't know what to do with himself. He's not sure if he should sit or continue to stand.

“Sit, Clark,” Kara tells him, sensing his silent struggle. (Only because she's totally been there, totally done that.)

He sits next to her and hovers anxiously. (Not literally, though he’s so worked up that he just might, if he’s not careful.) She's looking really pale and just generally...not right. He hopes Jeremiah will have something here. Clark worries that he won't. It's not like they've got some sort of...secret underground workshop or anything.

Right?

He's startled when the hall light suddenly clicks on, and a sleepy Eliza Danvers pads in, clad in flannel pajamas and a robe.

And padding dutifully alongside her is a child Clark's never seen before.

“Kara!” the kid cries, and Eliza tries to shush her, but the girl is already hurrying over to his cousin, who has somehow found the strength to sit up and smile in greeting.

“Alex!” It takes every ounce of reserve power to get that exclamation point on the end. “Oh my gosh, you're getting so big!”

Once more, Eliza tries to corral her daughter and shush her, but Alex won't be deterred. She looks like she could be...five? At most? And she doesn't even balk at the scrapes and bruises on Kara's exposed arms, just pulls out one of the other chairs, climbs up on it, and examines his cousin closely.

“You missed my birthday,” Alex says in a manner far too mature for any five year old. In Clark's opinion, anyway. Maybe she's older? And she's just really small for her age? “My birthday and the science fair.”

“Sorry,” Kara tells her, letting Alex poke and prod, turn her face this way and that. She winces a little, but otherwise doesn't complain.

Eliza just shakes her head, mouthing an apology that Kara waves off. Tries to wave off. Her arms feel like lead weights.

“Kara's been busy in Metropolis, remember?” Eliza asks, coming closer to keep any eye both on the precocious kindergartner and the injured alien currently sitting at her kitchen table. Clark moves himself to one side, not wanting to get in the way. His foot snags on one of the chairs. “She said so in the card she sent.”

“What's wrong?” Alex ignores the reminder, clearly not too upset about it. She wants to know what's going on now.

Kara looks to Eliza for help in explaining.

“Remember how daddy and I told you Kara and Clark work like batteries?”

“Mmm. Kinda.”

“Well, Kara's all out of juice,” Eliza says, practically pulling Alex away from the Kryptonian. Alex giggles at the comparison, and seems content to settle down with her mother, now that she's conducted her Kara Exam. No longer focused on Kara, she finally notices the tall, gangly stranger in the room. “...Hi.”

“Hi,” Clark waves. “...I'm Clark.”

“I'm Alex,” Alex tells him. And that seems to be the extent of their conversation, because Alex turns back to Kara and starts talking about a science project involving worms (larvae, Eliza gently corrects) and beetles.

Clark watches them with just the slightest hint of jealousy. He doesn't know the Danvers as well as Kara does—she met them a long time ago, after she moved away from Smallville and out to Metropolis. Clark was still at the Kents, and would only accompany Kara on rare occasions to visit the scientists. Not a yearly check up—neither of them really required that sort of thing.

But clearly Kara had visited them more often than those scant, sporadic check-ins. It's like...Kara has a whole family that Clark doesn't get to be a part of.

At that point, Jeremiah comes back in, clanking loudly thanks to some equipment he has slung over his shoulder. He seems surprised to see his wife at the table, and raises an eyebrow when he spots Alex.

“It's way past your bedtime, kiddo,” he says, shooting a questioning glace at Eliza.

“She heard everyone get up,” Eliza says, simultaneously shrugging and yawning. “You can try getting her back to bed if you'd like.”

“Mmmm.” When Jeremiah doesn't immediately rise to the occasion, Eliza rolls her eyes knowingly.

Clark smiles.

“Okay, Kara, let's see if this'll help at all,” Jeremiah clambers over, dragging the collection of equipment with him. “Hmm. You know—maybe this...hmm. Couch might be better?”

“Couch sounds great,” Kara says emphatically.

So Clark finds himself relocating his cousin, moving her from the kitchen to the living room, where Jeremiah sets up...a bunch of lamps.

“Your basic sun lamps,” he explains, grunting slightly as he tears off a piece of duct tape. “With a few...modifications, here and there.”

“Cool,” Clark says, watching him work. “Need any help?”

“I think I've got it, but thanks,” Jeremiah says. Clark nods. “You can help yourself to whatever's leftover in the fridge, if you want. I know you guys walk around perpetually hungry.”

This is true, but Clark is still a little too...riled up from the whole affair. He declines the offer of food, but he does accept the stack of blankets and pillows Eliza brings in. He holds some out to Kara, but Jeremiah reminds him that it's best not to obstruct the lamps with something like a blanket.

She does take a pillow, though.

And soon enough she's taking deep, even breaths. She's not quite asleep, but she's looking relaxed and comfortable, at least. Clark finally feels his anxiety dissipate. (He reminds himself to be careful with the relieved sigh...wouldn't want exhale too hard and knock over an end table. Or the armchair.)

“You sure you don't want to stay in the spare bedroom?” Eliza asks him.

“I'm okay here, thank you,” he says, pointing to the armchair.

At that point, Alex wanders in, dragging a sleeping bag, pillow, flashlight, and some sort of stuffed...moose?

“Oh no you don't,” Jeremiah intercepts the small, determined Danvers. She fusses and fidgets. “You leave Kara be. She needs rest.”

Kara cracks an eye open. “She's not bothering me, Jeremiah. Really.”

“Promise I won't!” Alex tells her dad. “Pinky swear, even.”

Eliza doesn't look convinced. She faces the prone Kryptonian. “You really won't mind?”

“She's fine.”

So Alex ends up perched on the other armchair, small face scrunched in concentration as she keeps an eye on Kara.

Clark has never seen such a serious five year old.

He maybe mentions it, following Jeremiah and Eliza out of the living room, intent on getting a glass of water from the kitchen. He regrets it immediately, realizing it must sound like some sort of insult, or judgment.

But instead of taking offense, Jeremiah and Eliza just look...amused and resigned.

“She's always been like that,” Jeremiah says. “I've never had to put her in ‘time out.’ The kid does it herself.”

“When she met your cousin,” Eliza interjects, “she just up and decided she needed looking after.”

Clark fills the glass provided by Jeremiah, and takes a thoughtful sip. “...Well, she's not wrong.”

“Don't be surprised if she decides to adopt you too,” Eliza warns him. Then, much to his surprise, she gives him a tight hug. “Goodnight, Clark. Let us know if you need anything else.”

“...Thanks,” he says, returning the hug carefully. Jeremiah claps him on the back.

“Your cousin's gonna be just fine. Thanks to your help.”

“Aw, I didn't do much.”

“Not true.”

The Danvers retire for the evening, and Clark wanders back into the living room, having finished his glass of water. He's both surprised, and yet not, to see that Alex has abandoned the armchair and is now pressed against Kara's side on the couch, listening as Kara softly tells her a story about Krypton.

“Have I told you about the Fire Falls before?”

“Nu-uh.”

“Well, there was this one time...I was with my friend, Thara...” Kara tilts her head and smiles at Clark. “...Clark knows this one. Right Clark?”

“Yeah,” he says, moving the arm chair a bit closer to the couch. “I've heard it like, a thousand times.”

“Then you'll have no problem telling Alex,” Kara challenges with a smirk.

“Yeah,” Alex grins, siding with Kara.

“With! Sound effects,” Kara throws in.

And Clark groans, but of course he acquiesces. How could he not, with two pleading faces peering at him in the soft yellow glow of the sun lamps?

“Alright, fine...” he says. “So, Kara was out late breaking the rules—”

“Hey, hey, let's stick to the facts.”

“...Like I was saying, Kara was breaking the rules...”

(Clark and Kara visit more often, after that. Together. Because Alex Danvers will have it no other way.)